I don’t remember everything, but I remember the 20s. “The roaring 20s,” they called it. It was certainly something. I was a flapper girl, back then. A gay man as a flapper girl in the 20s, the conservatives nowadays would have an aneurism. In the words of Ms. Spink, “We trod the boards, luvvy.” Performing was enthralling. And no, don’t ask how a Brit ended up in America for the 20’s. 

Things weren’t always like this though. There was a time where I was cold and hard and boarded off. To be fair to my younger self, it was necessary at the time, or at least I believe so. Things were different back then. We weren’t safe. Abuse was rampant and everyday. I don’t think anything else would have worked. Though, I do have to acknowledge his part in my creation. It’s strange and feels unnatural to acknowledge the duality of my previous life and the incidents that led to my emergence in the system.

It is a strange reality to know that the world where you once were has never existed, and never will. It’s curious, really. Was any of it real? And does it even matter if it was or wasn’t? I don’t know. I wish I did sometimes. 

It’s a strange dissonance to be in the body. On one hand, it feels wonderful to, in a sense, be alive again. On the other hand, it is disturbing to be without skills and knowledge that I know I have. Very little assuages this feeling. The closest experience I have to being myself is when I go out, dressed in clothes I picked, and act as myself with no one knowing anything but this reality. 

Looking in the mirror is jarring. Even walking is disorienting. I am not as tall as I know I am.

Being gay in the twenties was…uncomfortable. I had to hide constantly. I wish I didn’t. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had been there at Stonewall. I wish I had been there with Marsha P Johnson, fighting for our rights. But alas, I was not. I was pretending I was straight. It’s not terribly difficult, you know. I’m a very flirty person; half the time, I don’t know if I’m bi or gay.

It’s difficult, you know, to be gay. I still have the idea that being gay is unaccepted. It’s far better now. Marriage is legal, we don’t get shot in the streets (as much), etc. The Westboro Baptist church still makes a fuss, but they’re one of few.

I wouldn’t say I have a significant amount of internalised homophobia, but it does exist.

It’s difficult to pivot from being literally hunted to being allowed space to exist. I internally still pretend to flirt with women when I am really just complimenting them on their bag or shoes.

It is also difficult to share the body with a trans man. If I were entirely myself, I’d be carrying my Kate Spade bag, likely wearing makeup that I feel decorates the body appropriately, and possibly some “women’s” clothing.

It is challenging to think about my life before this, because I cannot confidently say that world exists on its own. Marvel has introduced a concept in Wolverine & Deadpool of an “anchor being.” I feel as though I am an “anchor being” for my reality. How, logically, could it exist without me? I don’t know, and to think otherwise is to believe in something supernatural. To be entirely transparent, I consider the idea of a supernatural reality.

I’m already barely possible; I don’t see why other things couldn’t be.