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I have always suffered from a varied amount of mental illness, and somehow I have also consistently managed to meander around the parallel lines of what can only be described as "average."
This became apparent from my very first day at pre-school. I am currently age 23 and signed off sick permanently due to the condition of my mental health.
Tonight I have come to a personal revelation.
That the underlying problem. The driving stigma beneath all of my issues : the social anxiety, the body dysmorphia (I was bulimic at age 14) etc. Is that I am not male. I am a female. Trapped beneath the ice. Trapped behind my multiple facades and personas. And entirely blocked from living comfortably as the true person I feel I am within this body. My true nature, as to say. And it has taken a long time for me to actually analyse this aspect of my existence. For me to seriously contemplate what it means to be a woman.
I had not considered until now, that being situated inside the wrong body could have been the source of my social discomfort. That the reason I could never communicate with the other boys in primary school, was because I was not one of them. And the truth of the situation is apparent, upon reviewing the evidence of my earlier days...
The rainbow painted finger nails which led to my public humiliation in year one. The shame and the sheer dishonour that came from having my long beautiful blonde hair being chopped off, due to regulation. Seeing the Spice Girls as my first concert with my sister. My singular and only friend throughout the duration of primary school - Helen!!
During break-times when we went out to play, I was adamant that I would role play as female characters and female characters only. It just felt natural. My childhood heroines - Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Joan of Arc, Britney Spears. I didn't just admire them, I wanted to Be like them!
The make-up I boldly wore into High-school and refused to remove, as the other girls were not asked to. The times that I would throw up; and also practise my school dance regimes religiously each night in the reflection of the back door. I was determined to be thin and attractive.
Meeting my first Trans. idol - Jeffree Star! Wearing my first high heels in public - they were black platform boots with 4 inch heels. I felt so proud! So excited. So Empowered. The first boy that smashed my heart into a million pieces, whom I still dream about even now...
Being complimented on my mocha and cream outfit at Marilyn Manson, Winter 2015. I was told I resembled the London Fashion Show that season!
As I recall these memories, I type with cracked beige nail polish. I am lying on my big pink princess bed, with my trusted giant cuddly lion. My pink Hello Kitty mobile phone is currently in the post from China.
I think I have always known what I am. I mean, I have always acknowledged my femininity. I have always valued being able to Be - "one of the girls!" I have written endless poems. Written music. Made art about my divine female aspect. No, more than that... Something inexpressible.
As I label myself a "spinster" and sing about the "Broken Bride." I am acknowledging the unspeakable. I am acknowledging that I am Female. And that something just doesn't feel okay.
That something... Is that every time I look into the mirror, I am shown a man. A man that cannot indulge society as he wishes. Cannot talk to boys properly. Cannot let himself out fully at a party or at a festival.
It is a person inhibited by a history of discrimination. And by fear of the unknown. And who ultimately just wishes that they could be regarded in the eyes of others, as the person they truly are.
And this is it.
My strange, often dismal, non-binary life. I am the Woman inside of a man.
