The inner despair of self-deception and denial

Growing up assigned male at birth and trying to fit into the expected role that life had planned requires a degree of denial. This ran deep as I tried to explain away every moment, I felt out of place or drawn to things that didn’t seem acceptable. Instead of embracing these thoughts or attempting to understand myself I would bury them, it seemed safer that way. The world had shown me enough from a young age to know that society did not appreciate anything that seemed to cross the narrow line of normal behaviour.

Therefore, like many of us, I struggled in silence. I was unable to really investigate the thoughts and feelings that were racing through my mind. Gleaming a little from the internet and rejecting each new possibility with an even greater sense of fear. The first stages of denial. It wasn’t long before I concluded even without really understanding it something was different about me. I didn’t really fit in and felt like I lacked the same instincts as boys my age. In my mind, different quickly became wrong.

That self-destructive behaviour

This sense of wrongness breeds all kinds of additional negative thoughts. All of which started to lead to some pretty destructive behaviours. Most notably binge drinking, after all my older brother provided the perfect environment. Almost any time after the age of 12 when the boyz were over I’d have a few, which would often turn into way too many for a kid. VB, Goon, really whatever was going around it didn’t matter, personally Woodstock 440 ml cans were a favorite since they had more bang for buck. Regardless, drinking was an escape, and has been for a long time whether it provided me an opportunity to let go a little or a moment where I felt I fit the mold and had proven my masculinity.

As I got older and my old friendship groups seemed to fall apart everything else started to collapse. My grades that I had worked hard to maintain fell as I completely disengaged from school and became truant. Staying home as much as possible and making the odd excursion into the city instead of turning up at school. Afterall, I increasingly felt out of place, alone at school. Lost in my thoughts and angry at myself, I was quickly becoming filled with self-loathing and despair. Those period in year 9 was one of my lowest points and the first time I contemplated suicide producing several plans I discounted each on due either to the probability of success, the potential to end up disabled in some way and the impact on others. Thankfully, my own sense seemed to override the desire.

Finding somewhere to belong

It was at this time that I was at my lowest that I started to gravitate towards a new group of friends. The nerdy media club which was full of misfits and loners that we ostracized by the more popular groups. It isn’t too suprising really, we all found each other as it turns out a few of us were dealing with some similar issues and I would not be the only one to later embrace my queerness. Yet, this was not something we shared, I wasn’t going to be opening up about any of the shit going on in my head and no doubt the others felt the same.

In many ways this group along with a few supportive teachers helped save me from myself. I gradually through the next year started attending school more regularly and focusing on my studies. Afterall, intelligence and critical thinking were embraced by these groups and not seen as a threat or a potential target for bullying. Instead, we would engage in political debates and almost endless discussion and more than once I found myself advocating for ideas just for the sake of these intellectual contests.

The things we do out of denial

It is perhaps because of this impact that I regret and am deeply ashamed of my behaviour with these friends the most. Afterall, while things were stable at school internally, I was still struggling, secretly indulging in crossdressing, and hating myself after every time. Feeling disgusted with myself, a deviant that was out of control. This self-loathing and shame lead to a need to prove my masculinity and the odd drinking binge was never enough. So, as the biggest member of our little group I’d often lash out, sometimes it was play fighting but often it went a bit too far. Regardless, at the core was denial and the desire to create a facade that might hide any glimpse that I was different, wrong.

Looking up, or not

Still things were looking up as I approached my last two years of schooling. I had some element of stability and had regained a level of control. I had risen from the ashes determined in some way to fulfil some of my potential, I was smart enough to do almost anything. It was just a matter of will. Amongst this newfound resolve I decided on my direction I would be a writer; the ideas were already buzzing around my head and reading had become one of the few positive escapes I had. However, of course writing is rarely the most profitable or consistent profession, so I needed something else, and teaching seemed the perfect fit, an opportunity to give back to those that had supported me. It made sense. There is a lot I got wrong back then but this part was so right. If only I had that same clarity about myself, how things might have turned out.

Even in my personal life for a time things seemed to be going well, I managed to find my first girlfriend. A workplace romance, it took a while but somehow, we ended up seeing the Da Vinci Code on our first date and it seemed like we had a few things in common. Hell, we could even talk about Pride and Prejudice together, but I just felt out of place. I was always waiting for some sort of instinct but there was nothing and all I had to go for was my brother’s example and the wealth of movies and TV shows I consumed. Although I avoided most romantic comedies out of fear, I doubt pop culture was helping me much. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that it ended in a train wreck, a terrible D&M at the school formal where I have always felt like I revealed too much and then she sent a text message. If it had been a movie, it would have been a tragic comedy panning out to show me broken on a train station, crashed in a few simple words, “I can’t be your girlfriend.” She tried to call me a couple of days later to talk but I had too much pride and was far too hurt to talk to her.

All that was left

So once again I felt broken, like there was still something wrong. Even as angry as I was, being jilted by text message especially. I never really blamed her. Afterall, I was defective, I’d shown a glimpse of that despair, or the deficiency and she ran. It made sense. I figured then that I would be alone, since I didn’t really like myself it seemed impossible to imagine anyone else could love me.

All I had was my path and my intelligence, which was something. It was something I could be proud of, and it would drive me to achieve tangible success. Even if I were alone, I could at least be comfortable and aspire to a little fame. I would fill that emptiness with achievement and maybe it would be enough. Emotion had brought me nothing but pain and despair. So, I would distance myself from it as much as possible, at least that might quite the noise in my head. At least it would protect me from anyone else seeing the truth. How wrong I felt.