Here's my real blog post, Molbuns. The one where I explain what's been going on in my life for the past few weeks. It's been a whirlwind.
You know that feeling when you aren't sure if something is true, and then you tell it to a few people, and then when they repeat it back to you it sounds realer and realer each time? I had this hunch...and I told you a little about this hunch, Molly. The hunch was that maybe, perhaps, I would be happier if I were a girl, and I hunched it because suddenly one day I felt utterly defeated, like the universe sat on me and farted. I wanted to wear high heels, damn it, and I wanted to brush my long hair and to have a skinny waist to dance with and for god's sake I wanted to have the kind of sex you don't see in movies, where two people are so drunk on each other's happiness that it doesn't even matter if they ever fall in love they just fall on the floor and wake up at noon smiling.
Anyway...so I told this in not so many words to you, and then my Adam, and I also asked Jessica about it (who, by the way, is a freaking expert) and then I started going to a psychiatrist. Yeah. That happened. And I said I'm not happy in this city because I can't explore my gender identity, there's no way in hell they'll let me walk down the street as anything other than what my dick dictates (I have to be a boy), and so I need to get far AWAY from here. I told them that. Last night I went to the dean of students, in her apartment, and we sat on her couches and I told her...and the first thing she told me was, "That's fucking amazing." I have never in my life felt so fabulously vindicated. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I'm not headed there alone...
You know that feeling when you aren't sure if something is true, and then you tell it to a few people, and then when they repeat it back to you it sounds realer and realer each time? I had this hunch...and I told you a little about this hunch, Molly. The hunch was that maybe, perhaps, I would be happier if I were a girl, and I hunched it because suddenly one day I felt utterly defeated, like the universe sat on me and farted. I wanted to wear high heels, damn it, and I wanted to brush my long hair and to have a skinny waist to dance with and for god's sake I wanted to have the kind of sex you don't see in movies, where two people are so drunk on each other's happiness that it doesn't even matter if they ever fall in love they just fall on the floor and wake up at noon smiling.
Anyway...so I told this in not so many words to you, and then my Adam, and I also asked Jessica about it (who, by the way, is a freaking expert) and then I started going to a psychiatrist. Yeah. That happened. And I said I'm not happy in this city because I can't explore my gender identity, there's no way in hell they'll let me walk down the street as anything other than what my dick dictates (I have to be a boy), and so I need to get far AWAY from here. I told them that. Last night I went to the dean of students, in her apartment, and we sat on her couches and I told her...and the first thing she told me was, "That's fucking amazing." I have never in my life felt so fabulously vindicated. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I'm not headed there alone...
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