Two little make-up bags..

.. And the person I am inside.

I'm trying to suppress him. I went out and bought a little bit of cheap contorting make-up for the male days, something to sharpen my nose and jaw line. Broaden my brows. I've been panicking, keeping my eyes off the mens clothing, shoes, anything.. everything. I'm growing out my hair. Only female clothes, only female pronouns. From here out.

I felt sick though. Trying to look away. Trying to keep myself in check. Trying to keep on my biological side of the spectrum.

I know I'm not transgender. Not completely. And being both isn't an option. Being both doesn't make sense. I really thought it did, I really thought I was okay. It's hard and confusing. And .. I can't. I won't.

Sexuality is one thing, but gender.. How can.. How can I possibly be both?! Just.. need to stop kidding myself. Stop asking others to give in to my delusions.

Perhaps that now that side has a name.. It's gone to far.

I'm sorry Toby. no one will get a chance to say your name.

Taking back my back my space.

I know this blog has been given, as an open book, to many trusted people over the years. Sadly, because of which, this space as been censored and filtered. Then slowly, left to collect dust.

But I'm unable to let something that I held so dearly to my heart, as my safe and cherished home, die that way. I need this space, I need to take it back.

There has been so much going on, that even with a search to talk to outside persons leaves me needing more. This was where I voiced my concerned and worked out what was going on. It was the best space for me.

So you'll be seeing much more updates. Funnily enough, I wrote this out months ago, craving the same thing. But I was unable to hit send. So here is that post.

Little Miss Lines..

..And the words she can't write down

This is my blog. My space. Where I can write what ever crosses my mind, or is even a flicker of a thought. But that's no longer true. No, this space, my space, it's filtered. With every new face I bring to this space, the less I'm able to write. Then, less and less, to the point there is no longer any updates. 

And that's not fair. 

I'm not able to write about the bottles of wine that hide in my closet. The smiles and glances, or kisses exchanged. How my loves are so very far away.. And I know I'm hurting them. Or the countless times I've stayed up all night sharing secrets with my room mate, our eyes as wide as the moon. I'm not able to write down how scared I am. How I'm scared to walk close to the railing, cause I'm thinking of what it would feel like to fall from five stories up. Or, how I'm thinking of chest binders, again. How each day I'm more uncomfortable in my skin, just craving to be neutral. 

And that.. That is not fair.

This is my space. And I have to reclaim it. What ever comes from that, has to come. I can't suppress these thoughts and fears any longer, I'm bursting at the seams.

I'm just, so very tired..