I have been thinking about all the ways my poor habits of masking away my troubles (yay ASD/ADHD double-whammy!) has lead people to make understandable yet incorrect assumptions about me my whole life. Not to mention being *autistic*, so just internalizing all of that "feedback" and ending up in a situation where I have no idea who or what the fuck I really am! The persistent gaslighting and loss of memories and sense of reality has made figuring out that I am *in fact* trans and not delusional a fucking *nightmare*.

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Anyhow, I've been thinking on all the times I upset the people I cared about, and a common thread since I was like 18 was this assumption that I was some masculinity-obsessed dudebro/softcore sexist, yet my feelings about women were *entirely* positive and I *hated* more masculine stuff. But then I got it, most people complaining about how hard it is to be a man compared to a woman *are* toxic, not someone who *wishes* they were a woman.

Like, I hated how I was ineligible for certain scholarships, and had persistent daydreams about entering a womans-only scholarship and winning it. The thought made me so fucking *happy* I couldn't help but share my "brilliant idea". Any guesses how many friends *that* won me!?

Or there was my sex life, whatever there *was* of one. I had an ex who barely tried to do anything for me as she was never able to make me finish, but I would spend so much time doing stuff for her. I got a lot of flack after the breakup for not seeing how this was a sign of the abuse of power in the relationship, but I honestly, literally, never cared. What I wanted was intimacy, I yearned for a certain kind of touch, but nothing was ever right. I don't blame my ex for not spending much time on me, getting frustrated with me, because I was quite literally *impossible* to satisfy! That was, until I learned how to touch myself like a *woman*, something I could never have asked for in that particular relationship, but has become so important to me. There was also my very hot/cold relationship with pegging, I was always *fascinated* by it, but always got immediately turned off after it happened. People kinda just assumed I was afraid of being "gay", or felt emasculated, which was super *fucking* ironic given that I aim to be quite literally emasculated and am indeed *very fucking gay*. But how could I ever have explained that I wasn't looking for someone to penetrate my *arse*? There's also the fact that I dissociated almost every time I had sex for the first thirty years of my life, I'm sure *that* made me a responsive partner for *fucks* sake.

Or the fact that when people *would* try to call me out on this, I would get this awful soul-devouring shudder every time attention was brought to my masculinity. How must that have looked. to people who had every reason not to want a misogynist in their midst? Because it was not my *masculinity* that they wanted to erase, but what they saw as toxicity. Yet my revulsion at the term could only be interpreted as the reaction of an unrepentant bigot, and not dysphoria. Admittedly I was not surrounded by the *kindest* people in my life at this point, but who *isn't* kind of a shit in their early twenties, right?

And then, after *years* of me being unable to explain myself, imagine me trying to come out as trans. Now, while she said a lot of transphobic shit to me and abused me until I shoved myself back into the closet *twice*, both times prompting a suicide attempt as I'm sure y'all can imagine, I *do* understand why my ex-fiancée didn't believe I was trans at first. Like, every time I tried to explain my dysphoria in the years before I started solidifying my identity *must* have just sounded like an excuse. After all, my autistic brain has *definitely* thrown out some *stupidly* offensive shit over the years because I am 100% become error. But there I am anyway, forging the One Excuse to rule them all, bringing them all to the darkness, and binding them. This put me in the *impossible* position of trying to prove my trans-ness, and when I failed it just looked like one more *fucking* lie.

I just get so sad, thinking how differently my life might have gone. If I were born in the right body. If I were born neurotypical. If either (or both) of my abusers had let me grow into myself in peace. If I hadn't spent a lonely childhood as the outcast, the target of *horrific* bullying. If I had just found the words to once, just *once* explain myself without anyone misunderstanding me. Now I'm here, alone, transitioning in my thirties (thirty one years with scant few memories attached. Did I lose them when I broke down during the protracted breakup with my abuser?), in the end stages of my PhD, cut off a lot of old friends because they're the kind of people who *liked* the man I thought I was, and not good enough at making new friends to fill the holes left in my life any time soon. I'm definitely depressed, but I can't handle a relationship right now, so I have to ride this out with just my therapist (and you fine folks) for company for the time being.