Apr. 20th, 2001

Stuck

Apr. 20th, 2001 11:22 am
adrienmundi: (Default)
I feel trapped. I’m caught in a block of crystal (not the pretty, decorative and fragile kind, but the heavy, solid, industrial kind) inertia. I feel like I have only two options (which I know is a flawed construction, but it feels real enough); either bow and bend to the forces of culture and society, which is what I do, or stand face into the wind and scream the perpetual “fuck you!”. The former doesn’t do much for me beyond keeping me barely functional; the latter seems too confrontational, too draining, and I don’t really relish the thought of making myself a lightning rod for the aggressively doctrinaire.

I don’t like the way I feel I’m forced to behave, act, present, and at a certain level, be. The (what I take as) unspoken assumptions based on appearance and perceived gender feel like shackles, forcing me to move, act, speak, and interact in ways contrary to what I want, to what feels right for me, and I don’t know how to ignore them, push them aside. Hell, on a more direct level, how can I hope to cross gender boundaries with the world at large when I don’t even broach the subject with longtime friends? I am totally willing to throw down or step up for a friend or loved one, but that courage seems to totally evaporate when it comes to doing something for myself.

Vision is the enemy. My eye has been colonized by The Eye; I see what the Other will see, given the opportunity. Despite my inner sense of being decidedly “not boy”, my Eye sees “boy in dress/boy in skirt/boy playing pretend” when I make the effort (which isn’t terribly often, seeing the above). The Eye offends me, but how do I rip it out? It sees, and I react terribly; I move awkwardly, like a child anticipating the blow. All sense of coordination, to say nothing of confidence and grace, evaporates, leaving me the awkward youth I still feel to be: stumbly, spastic, awkward, ready to be the butt of jokes and harassment. I certainly don’t feel like I can pull it off, so unsurprisingly, I can’t.

Damn it, I hate being afraid. How do I stop?

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