Keeping all the things I knew inside

I didn’t realize how bad I was missing Uncle until these past two weeks. They weren’t fun weeks. One week work blows up on me and I completely scare the shit out of the Old White Dude. Seriously, when the man takes about five minutes just saying over and over “Because you matter” and asking if you are safe… you know you are making him concerned. Once that’s over, your brain is completely mush and it doesn’t want to get up and go on.

 

The next week, I become bitter and petty. I find something within myself to start fighting back because I don’t want those bastards to win. I want to prove that I am better and I deserve better. It’s still rough and I keep sliding back into dark recesses that I don’t want to be in. Which doesn’t make therapy easy. Especially when Old White Dude brings up Uncle and it hits you, right in the gut that you honestly miss him. You miss being able to just decompress with someone that gets what your head is doing and won’t judge you. I miss the comfort. I miss being able to laugh with him and forget the world.

 

And not only that, I didn’t realize I was starting to view Uncle in a manner of him being a male role model for me. I was able to be open with him and it’s well known that I’m not open with people. I told him pretty early on about my trans status. I don’t know why I did, but I did…and it might have been one of the better things I did this past year. I felt safe and I told him. He’s the first one I really came out and told in that section of my life. The best thing was that it was almost instantaneous how he would refer to me as a fellow and always got pronouns right. Uncle is one of the few that did.  I miss him.

 

I miss him enough I was talking to someone else and they know him so I mentioned him. We were joking around and talking and I said about how I would try to keep him on his toes and that I did miss him. The one I was talking to mentions to me that they know Uncle enjoyed my company. Then it went a little further, because they know that Uncle is proud of me. There was a sucker punch in the gut. Not in a bad way, no no not at all in a bad way. It’s just.. It is so very hard for me to hear that people are proud of me. I’m not used to it and I’m always waiting for another shoe to drop if anyone says they are proud of me. I do not feel as though I am worthy of any praise. I feel as though I am a nothing, why would anything I do be worthy of praise?

 

So I have a lot of feelings that are warring against one another. It’s not easy.

 

I’m trying to make the past stay in the past and not bleed into the now, but it is getting harder and harder. I keep finding myself flying backwards and feeling very small.. Very tiny. It makes me feel so weak, because there are times lately that all I want is to feel safe and wrapped up in someone’s arms… like in a parental way. Some of that is because I can’t even conceptualize that. I do not know what that feels like and I’m afraid I will never know.

 

I am trying to take care of the little kid within me, but he is so hard to hold onto.  He needs a parent. As much as I might try, I’m afraid I’m never going to be able to make that part of me feel safe. I do not think I can do it alone and I’m terrified of asking for help. I know I need it, but there is a fear that I am going to be turned away. I am afraid I will be rejected again because here I am, over the age of 25, and I cannot take care of myself in certain ways.

 

I know I am never going to be able to find support and what I need in my family of origin. I know I have to go out and beyond them. I know I need to do this, if I can ever ask for the help, with my family of choice. With my family of origin, I know I have to go away.  And the more I listen to it, the more I feel a connection with “Father and Son” in the idea of me vs my family of origin. They know them, they don’t know me. They know the me they wanted me to become. I don’t think they even know my favourite colour….and they have known me for my entire life. In all of that time, they never noticed that they never had a little girl but rather a little boy. They didn’t notice they were harming me as I kept everything bottled up inside. They wanted all these things for their little girl, and I was never going to be what they wanted. I am a disappointment in so many ways and I’ve accepted that. Which isn’t good for me, because then here I am believing I do not matter.

 

I am afraid I will never know what a parent’s love feels like.

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