‘ve been spending so much time in my head lately. The influence of various people in my life has left me completely emotionally shut down and repressed.
My intellect has always been my coping mechanism for dysphoria since it’s the main part of my personality that people reward and accept. Growing up, I would spend all my private life absorbed in creative projects that demanded everything of me, and a lot of my public energy with clubs and whatnot. I would tackle all these in a way that demonstrated my own intellectual abilities because, well… that’s what people wanted to see in me.
When at last I came out to myself, I began to open up what had up until then been closed rooms of my soul. I had this image in my mind of myself as a shy, frightened child locked up in a dingy study my entire life. When I came out, it was as if I opened the doors and began sweeping the rest of the house (all dark and dusty) with a flashlight. I discovered there were many rooms in my soul, most of which I had neglected or largely ignored because I was too afraid of what my house would look like if I put them all together.
Eight months have passed since then, and I can say it has been wonderful visiting the other rooms in my house. There have been many times where I’ve felt the freedom to pass from one room to the next, enjoying my emotions and thoughts and desires and hopes and all the other parts of the house all at once, integrated, whole, synthesized. At these moments I’ve felt such joy and youth and peace, no matter what’s going on around me.
The problem is that I now feel my house under siege from others. My parents, after invalidating my identity about as much as they could, have been putting financial pressure on me to make me see a particular psychologist who is part of the “reparative therapy” movement – that is, he thinks queer people can and should change who they are (and he thinks he can help with that).
It really feels like my house is under attack, and instead of being able to glide about just gazing at paintings hanging on the wall or perusing long-neglected books and reupholstering furniture, I’m forced to run back into my small, cramped study to draw out battle plans.
It really sucks right now. I’ve made so much progress putting my life back together again, but these peoples’ constant barrage of criticism (unspoken or direct) is closing doors again. I’m being sent back into dark places where I used to live, where the only thing worthwhile about myself was my intellect, where all my feelings hid because they’re dirty and shameful.
I’ve spent my entire life in that small cramped study trying to think up ways to deny that the rest of my house exists. Well, now that I’m finally living as a homemaker and not a prisoner in my own house, I find myself being chased back into my hole.
I want to cry almost every day, but most of the time my emotions are so completely cauterized that I can barely shed a tear.
To the gates! Ready the archers!
But I’m so fucking tired…