The nature of the self is an interesting thing

That a repressed state, a false vacuum of identity, a state that never should've existed... can be more stable and firm than the true self

Chipping away at the old self, building one anew

But who I am feels so less clear than who I pretended to be before

And it's strange, isn't it. You would think that every step towards the genuine would be a foot more firmly in what feels right. That every step towards what feels right would, by the nature of feeling right, make you feel more stable and clearheaded

But when you've lived a life denying yourself taking those steps, it's quite the opposite

Every chip on the old self hurts. It feels painful. It feels like you're losing yourself. Even though it was a self that never should've been there, it is hard to not mourn the breaking of it nonetheless

It is not that I miss being that self. I would never wish to be perceived as still wearing that mask of who I once was

But I miss when I felt like I could live as that self. When I had deluded myself into thinking I could do it. When I had convinced myself that the easy path was the one I could stay on

But I always knew the path I'm currently walking down was the only one for me. There's no former version of myself that'd be at all surprised that I turned out to be a trans woman. It was predictable to me, I knew it was coming, I knew I'd one day have to process it. I just hoped I could pretend to not be for the rest of my life

That I wouldn't ever have the mask I was wearing crack on me

And yet, that chipped mask fell off my face one day, and ever since feeling the air across my face for the first time, it is clear that it was never meant to be on my face in the first place

But yet, things remain difficult

And yet, this is who I am

But yet, I do wish the world were kinder to me