The truth? The truth? You can’t handle the truth!

Read on, if apparently, you believe otherwise.

In my formative years I was living out on the streets and in share houses. My identity was non existent. My place in the world was unknown. My social skills weren’t.

Perhaps because of this melting pot of emotional disaster, along with a general feeling of the inability to feel loved nor accepted, in short, feeling invalidated in all parts of my life is what led me to thinking that life would be better as a bisexual.

The logic is sound, after all, opening up the door to the possibility of love and acceptance regardless of the package it arrives in makes far more sense to me than most things.

I accepted everyone I met as they were. I never judged, I never questioned, I just accepted them at face value. Now, this got me into a lot of trouble, because people are not what they seem at face value – but it also brought me great joy.

One such person was Fleur. She was always a tortured soul. I met her a little after she started her hormone treatments. Fleur always felt out of place. She always felt wrong in society. Felt wrong in her skin. To some degree, there was an attraction of awkward understanding between us from the beginning.

Fleur made me understand that for her, she could not identify with the image that reflected back at her in shiny surfaces. Her struggle had led her to do many things to try and “sort it out”. Like me, she had also decided to cross the “hetro barrier” and “become bisexual”. In fact, she had been in some serious lesbian relationships for a few years before I met her. In the end, though, she understood and accepted the fact that she could no longer remain a woman and had to become a man. This was the person who I was watching transform in front of me over the next few years.

Fast forward three years, and never being one to take things slow or dally, Fleur (now Ron) had finalised the last stage of the gender re-assignment process. Ron had decided by the end of it, that while he was indeed attracted to females, it was males that really cranked his (newly prosthetic) shaft.

By this stage I was actually legal and still looking for love in all the wrong places, and Ron “offered” to be my first male.

As much as I loved Fleur, as comfortable as I was with her and with him. I discovered, that no matter how open your mind is, no matter how willing you are … some of us are just not geared to have same sex relationships … so Ron and I never got past second base and I discovered where my sexual identity actually stood.

I was 100% certifiably lesbian … but unlike Ron, I never had the courage nor conviction to alter the package I came in.

Sometimes I think about it, but I’d make one ugleeeee woman … and the truth is that I have had to deal with so many things in my life, that it has become background noise.

So, there you go – that “lesbian trapped in a man’s body” line I use? There’s more truth to that than you think.

Thus ends my Truthful Tuesday session.

Author: xntrek

Just an awkward, politically incorrect, maladjusted, ire-filled, eccentric curmudgeon and decrier of lawn trespassers.

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