Processing regret through writing
Trans girly here (31) and I’ve really been suffering with depression recently. So I tried some semi-creative writing to try and process this.
I posted it on substack. I’ve also copied the piece below for ease.
Would be really interested in any feedback on this, including on how much of this others can relate to.
I’d like to write more to help me process my feelings.
I found it very hard to write but very cathartic.
https://saradux95.substack.com/publish/post/197132348
“Dear Rachel
I know you have never been called that. But that was what your name was supposed to be.
Some accident at birth meant you never got given that name. But I know who you are.
Growing up
I remember how scared you were to join your secondary all boy’s school aged 12. It didn’t feel right.
But what choice did you have? It was the best school in town.
Your choice was either accept the world that would certainly have destroyed you, or try to escape through academic excellence.
You knew something wasn’t right as soon as you walked into that place.
The way the other boys interacted, behaved and talked to each other. You weren’t like any of them. Even your best friends were different.
It didn’t take long for others to realise this. The insults came quickly.
You had to play a character as best you could. But let’s be honest, it was never very convincing.
Meanwhile your body started to change.
Those evenings blaring music from the shower while you stared at your body, wondering what was happening to you and why.
Your face changing, your body getting bigger, hair growing in places you didn’t want it to grow.
You didn’t know if it was normal to feel this way. You never told anyone. You were all alone.
I’m so proud of you for keeping going. You thought a lot about getting off that train that you thought would never lead to happiness. About ending it all.
But you stuck at it. No matter how angry or sad you got.
As you got older, alcohol helped quiet the thoughts. Unfortunately, it’s something I also turn to now.
My life now
I think about you all the time. I often wonder what you would think of me now.
I know my life is probably not what you imagined.
I’m not successful, I’m not ambitious, I never travelled the world.
I know you wanted all of that for me. But things got more complicated. I hope you understand.
I’m old now. Time is changing my body in the way it changes everyone’s.
I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I’m sorry my fear robbed you of so much time.
What would you make of me if you saw me walking down the street?
Would you have been repulsed by what you saw? Would I have made you more scared to come into the world?
Would you have recognised yourself in me? Would you have been proud that I tried?
Would you have seen me as beautiful?
I know my fear robbed you of the chance to be normal, to be happy.
I am sorry.
Becoming a freak
I live with the signs of my own cowardice every day. Every look I get on the street, every time I look in the mirror, every time I speak. The signs of fear, showcased in the form of my testosterone-scarred body.
As you knew it would be, it hasn’t been easy to exist in the world as a 6’3 transsexual (how I lie even to you — you know I’m 6’4).
I am scared my body is monstrous to so many people, most of all myself.
Every time I stand towering over friends and acquaintances at parties. Every time I look at my top-heavy body, with my broad frame and narrow hips. Every time I expose the full extent of my hairline.
I joke around a lot with people, much like you did. It’s much easier to be the clown than to be yourself. But every joke from friends or strangers still makes me wonder if there’s some truth underneath it.
You were always scared to be a freak. I’m scared that this is what I’ve become.
Finding you
I have tried to be brave too.
I have changed my body in every way I possibly could. Surgeries, fillers, hormones.
I’ve also sought validation from others. Men, AI chatbots, strangers on the street.
Sometimes I think it brings me closer to you. Other days it makes me feel that I’ll never see you again.
Every rejection. Every AI-generated response that doesn’t tell me exactly what I want to hear. Every time someone notices the signs of how my body has changed, or worse still, how it hasn’t.
There are days where I think I might be able see you again. Today is not one of those days.
I look at the other girls who did what we wanted. The petite girls, the beautiful girls, the girls who were braver than us and avoided the worst of puberty.
I know I shouldn’t, but I envy them so much it consumes me. I sometimes worry I hate them.
Better to delude myself than sit with that thought. Tell myself they’re not prettier than me, they don’t look more feminine. How else can I deal with the consequences of what I failed to do? Letting time and puberty rob me of the chance to simply exist without explanation.
Why can’t I have what those girls have? I know the answer. Everybody does. I’m just scared to say it out loud.
My body cannot look like that. Time and fear made me too tall, too broad too masculine.
Writing these words even now hurts me. The fact that the cause of that was my own cowardice hurts even more.
But I know finding you is not about more surgeries or how strangers view my body. I have already found you, because I know you are still there somewhere.
We grew up together. You are me and I am you. I have never felt closer to you than writing these words down.
I am writing to you on my iPhone in the bath.
I didn’t have a plan for what to say. I have just tried to say exactly how I feel. I wonder if this is the first time I’ve ever been honest in my life. I’m glad it’s with you.
I am sorry we lost so much time. I promise I will keep trying for you, and keep searching for happiness.
One day, I hope I get to a place where I don’t need the world to see us to be happy. Right now, that still feels far away.
But I feel very close to you right now. I hope we can keep talking.
I love you
(Almost) Rachel”