Does anyone understand that asking me to die more, to gut it out more, even to do something that is supposed to be “good for me,”  by manning up, is a request bound for failure?

The only thing that might turn the tide is a taste of life, of embrace rather than denial.  But life for trannies is almost always a process of defense rather than one of the kind of following bliss, negotiating the fears of others.

It astounds me that people around me don’t choose to speak to my possibilities, but rather to where I can get even tougher to do what they think I need to do.  It’s not about “yes,” but rather about “have to.”

But hell, my possibilities scare them, so instead they think I should be able to toughen up, be a man and just do it.

And that is the most disempowering idea that I have ever heard, that the only way out is more denial, at which I am my limits. It means that the only way to claim my own power over my own life is to end it, push the play again button and take the chance of going straight to another hell.

Oh, well.

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