Sometimes it seems as though we're all little more than mirages as we pass each other in the hallways of Susan's Place or bid adieu at the doorway. Mirages unable to resume our human form until we hit the 'exit' button or close our laptops. In some ways, the illusion that I'm visiting with other illusions makes it easier to speak unfiltered truths (though, hopefully, truths spoken gently and compassionately).
But then, something happened a few months ago that made me realize I am not a mirage and neither are you. I posted something I thought was funny that I realized later was so malapropos it compelled me to 'quit' Susan's for two weeks. Not out of embarrassment or shame, but because I never wanted to hurt another 'mirage', shatter another illusion. Because we all bleed red blood and shed salty tears. And words can be cruel weapons regardless of the intention of those words.
I have since learned I can delete my posts. And deleted one just yesterday. I was so inspired by my power to alter the past that I returned to the grossly malapropos post of months gone by. Alas, there are limits to my power and was unable to delete the offending post. The only option given me was to contact a moderator. Perhaps Lori or Danielle would have deleted the post for me but I decided not to get them involved. So the post remains a thorn in my foot (and, no doubt, someone else's a fact that deletion would probably not have been sufficient balm). But, on the bright side, it is a thorn that makes me tread more carefully through the halls and doorways of Susan's.
So, I have learned we are not mirages and we are not illusions. Even so, there is something surreal about Susan's. I assure you (as I assure myself), I tell the truth on this site to the best of my ability. But after I close my laptop and leave Susan's Place, it seems as though I have a carpet bag full of other truths I tell to other people not so engaged or concerned with gender variance and the dysphoria so many of us deal with daily. I'm going to big family reunion over the 4th of July. I will present as a man and I am confident no one will ask about the status of my request for Planned Parenthood to manage my GAHT even those who know how desperately I desire HRT. I will share other truths with those gathered and, hopefully, we will all enjoy a pleasant afternoon.
Even at home I carry a suitcase full of other truths. I rarely crossdress in front of my daughter and never crossdress in front of her partner. They've been together nearly five years but there is still a bit of frailty to the relationship: she voted for Kamala and he didn't. He is a good man (stereotypes aside) and my daughter loves him very much. He is aware of my gender variance but I am determined not to rock the boat.
Which brings me to the conclusion of this treatise (and I greatly appreciate anyone who has persevered this far into my narrative and assure you of imminent closure). Maybe. Just maybe. I am more real. Both more corporeal and more spiritual. More human. When I meet you in the halls of Susan's than I am in my own house and among my own people. Thanks, everyone.
