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Progressively the feelings were replaced by an avalanche of rumination. Did they fade for themselves or did the rumination slowly erode them? I cannot tell for sure.
At some point I started rehearsing some sort of metaphorical story about the whole thing; old men rule the land from their fortress. It is a letter from them to her, the outlaw who poisons the wells and subverts the order. There is pride in it, but also hints of plight. They mock her for being so arrogant and naive. Her popularity is just a fad. The people know deep down who best serves their interests. If one day she enters the castle she is going to feel lost and powerless. Its secret gears unknown to her, the layers and layers of meaning accumulated on its walls forever alien to her. Alone, powerless and sad, surrounded by whispers in the dusty corridors, now lifeless and dead. Is that her goal? To destroy an entire culture? All the wisdom that took so much effort to accumulate, all the social practices.
Some thoughts thought of the new identity as some sort of puppet, a pathetic little golem: a bunch of disconnected bits of gender non-conformity, patched together by the icky glue of sex, life blown into it by those darn identity ideologues on the internet. All the blood coming out of her when I take her apart is theirs and only theirs to blame, I proudly declared beating my metaphorical chest.
Those were the little theater plays I performed for myself until everything was over. There were moments were I got a bit scared of taking it too far. Sometimes fantasy and kitchy symbolism are the only things with the power to stabilize reality, it seems.
The point is, rationally speaking, I have many many reasons for not taking that sudden wave of bliss at face value. Maybe I will elaborate on this later.
Nothing in my mind can be trusted. Lies, lies everywhere.
But I cannot ignore it once more either. I tought I took all the precautions for that not to happen. For years I have kept the crossdreaming fantasies within the purely sexual and absolutely isolated from each other, totally convinced everything was just a fetish (understood in my own terms). I have avoided at all costs any element that could possibly be a precursor of an identity, like names, etc. The sexual excitement of those fantasy has been steadily decreasing for years. The "transformation fetish" component of that excitement is still there somehow but is way weeker than in adolescence (there was almost no focus on the female anatomy being embodied). [I'm honestly wondering if a certain bisexuality of mine might not be kicking in, because more and more all that those fantasies are is quick sketches of normal heterosexual erotic interaction (not necessarily sex), from the female point of view. ]
Anyway the feelings of guilt essentially disappeared a long time ago. The pressure to conform to a narrow ideal of masculinity is nothing like the one experienced in high school. I am still far from being happy and everything seems to require too much willpower in general, but the years of constant nasty depression are long over. I got rid of a lot of my social phobia.
So why this now? The issue needs some consideration.
[I hope it made some sense]
Last Edited By: oreb . Edited 1 time