To start this off, no, this is not a suicide note, and one more thing…
I’d like to say that I’d greatly appreciate it if you didn’t immediately scroll to the bottom to find out what this is about. You will understand and feel much more attached to the subject if you read from beginning to end.
I trust you follow this,
This isn’t easy for me to talk about, my Friday afternoon was spent in tears, and my Saturday morning was spent in a mascara ran depression of over-thinking and over-hyping. However, it is becoming easier to talk about, having come to terms with it.
As most, if not, all of you know, I am gay. I have been gay since i was concieved, there was never a moment where i just busted out in my teen years and screamed “I’m gay!”, it has just always been. I often found myself always more curious about males than I was about females and there were often times that I would do what most girls did during school-years and fantasized about a Super-Man sweeping me off my feet with a gigantic rock to delicately put on my finger. Well, most people don’t get married at 13, so let’s lay that thought to rest before people reading this think I got engaged.
Basically, when I moved from my dads in Utah, to my mothers in Wisconsin, I began seeing the finer things about being myself. I began straightening and growing my hair out (BAD combination). THEN it was about 6 inches. NOW I am happily running my fingers through 18” of wavey locks.
I had my mother borrow me her makeup (which 1. was two shades lighter than my face, and 2. I never gave back. SORRY MOM!) and found myself able to be a completely different person. Halloween that year was the first time I REALLY went out in makeup. I had the best makeup in the damn school, with compliments coming from bitches, yes, bitches I thought hated me. I finally felt what it was to be pretty and popular for the first time.
People who tell you it doesn’t feel different have clearly never been on both sides. Going from a nobody to a somebody feels like buying an expensive gift for somebody, for no specific reason. Like having your feet RIGHT over the air vent as the cool runs through your toes on a 100* day. There is no ending in describing this feeling.
A couple months after that was our winter dance. I had just gone shopping for a nice outfit (which just seems ridiculous now that I look back) and I felt a strange need to really show how feminine I could be in front of 400 people. Well, after getting made-up, dressed, and having my hair curled by my best-girl at the time, I took off for the dance. Jaws dropped, heads turned, eyes rolled, etc etc. Loved and hated all in one. I even had a guy grind on me while I was dancing, as a joke, of course (…i think). Popularity had struck again. The night went on with no other news.
A month later I went to the Mall of America with my mother. I REALLY wanted to go to the MAC store, having tried a few Estee Lauder products, I really wanted to try out their companion store. It was there that I found my shade of makeup that a kind woman named Meg(an) helped me find. She also did me the GREAT pleasure of completely redoing my entire face. This girl had me wipe everything off, then she moisturized, prepped, primed, concealed, covered, shaped, contoured and blushed my face to perfection. I had never felt so… So… Beautiful in my entire life. I had wished my mom was as much into beauty as I was, I just wanted to share a makeover with the world, and she was my world, so why not? Well basically I walked around the rest of the mall thinking I’d never take off this extra layer of face, face, face. Little did I come to realize, I have inCREDIBLY oily skin that still seems completely untreatable. Poor me. Imagine my horror when I found out I NEED to remove it later that night because… dare I say… We had…………… White pillow cases: The greatest of ALL sins.
My face is now always sheated in a thin layer of some form of makeup, at all times.
However, during my time at my mothers home, I began figuring out horrible, HORRIBLE insecurities that I only started getting when I fully experienced high school.
The first of all was my nose. I’m not sure where I got it from, but I suspect from my great grandfather, not sure, what I do know is, I never knew my mothers father, and my dads father was only around for, well, about 1% of my life. So god knows they could both look like Toucan Sam and hell if I’d ever know. Basically I saw a few photos online of models facing to the side during photoshoots. I did a shoot of myself the same way, and discovered exactly how long and shapely my nose is. It is still one of my insecurities.
The second thing I noticed, was my lack of body shape. I grew up thinking I’d magically become a big muscular man in my mid-twenties. Well, by mainly sitting on my ass and eating from the time I arrive home from school to the time I went to bed, I weighed 180 pounds. It was a horrible feeling to watch yourself go, and not have the self control to handle it. But, after aging and moving, I lost the weight, although, now, I was like a thin balloon stretched over a stack of bones, there really was no substance to me. So about a year and a half ago (being early 2011) I walked everywhere and at only carbs (don’t listen to them, ladies, carbs are good when you walk) and I ended up with a body that made even girls run to their rooms and cry. I am 90% happy with what has become my sculpture, and I one day hope I can pass my secrets to people willing to listen instead of act like I’m being mean. I want people to feel happy with themselves, so if you complain about being fat, then shut your fat mouth and let me tell you how I went from 180 to 120 and now, comfortably at 140 and slowly rising with age. Young people can have GREAT wisdom if you just fucking listen, damnit
My third, and probably most CRAZY of insecurities is one that most people, men and women deal with. My butt. Having gained, lost, and gained weight, it kinda looked like a rotting watermelon. I tried covering up the insecurity, claiming it was big, etc etc. But then I began walking and saw it plump back up, to the point where i felt secure again. However, my securities soon declined again, causes by, non-other than, someone else influencing my own lack of self-worth. I would bring up my new bodacious buttox, only to have them say jokingly “bitch, you don’t have an ass” and then go on to talk about their beyonce-booty. I have realized that I shouldn’t tell people anything about myself, for either the fear of them lying, or having them being so honest that they themselves feel more empowered. You cannot tell a pretty girl that she is ugly, and then tell her how you love being beautiful, because you will kill her, and she will kill herself trying to be you, that, my good people, is why we have size zero Barbies and bulimia.
No matter my insecurities, I still build myself up every morning by telling myself, to my mirror, that I am perfectly imperfect. Its a great practice, and I feel like a lawyer when people try to call me ugly or worthless. Can’t read my p-p-p-poker face, hoe bag.
This all may seem like a bit much but let me shed light to what you just read:
-insecurities about appearence
there is a connection to it all. If you can’t guess, let me tell you
It’s what most females do.
Now, let me bring some of that light to the past, oh say, year, I was starting to become an adult, doing my own things, etc. But I felt very alone. It’s hard watching your friends run off with boys, and not being able to because most guys “aren’t into that”. I lost a lot of friends along my last year in high school, but who doesn’t? And eventually I made a quick and dramatic move back here to Utah with my dad because of one reason I won’t discuss over the internet, and another being that I had nothing and nobody in the area I was living in.
Fast forward to now.
I’ve felt strange lately. I thought, a month ago, that i was basically just loneliness. It’s not that. If anything, I have the complete opposite of loneliness. I have people texting me daily for hangout times, and men trying to court me into a relationship that I am only half sure that I am ready for. My strange feelings aren’t from the lack of socialization.
They are from a lack of internal socialization. Asking myself what I think, asking myself how I’ve been doing, asking myself what’s good for me.
This weekend has been long, but not TOO long, just enough to give me a clear thought on what I’ve wanted.
This internal problem I’ve been facing has kept me in a state of lingo for the past 5 months. I haven’t wanted to do anything. I have sat around, I have eaten my feelings, I have made a mess of my health and my bedroom. Basically anything and everything someone could do to tell themselves “HEY! Something isn’t right!”, well, I was doing them. And sadly, people around me were not seeing these signs either, but simply taking it as a form of laziness. and although I shouldn’t use this as an excuse for not looking for a job, but when have YOU ever gone through a mid-life crisis and thought “hmm, maybe working with a bunch of dumb-fucks, flipping burgers for even MORE stupid people, in a hot building with stupid colored-coordinated clothing will ease my pain”…? Never. That’s when. So I feel like I have a basic right to be a lazy Bitch. If you’ve been through divorce, death, coming-out, addictions, debt, hatred, etc, you should understand my current state clearly.
I miss my happiness. I miss feeling beautiful. I miss the constant flow of energy I got from taking an hour to get ready. I miss the feeling of joy I get from never knowing JUST what outfit to wear. I miss looking and feeling sexy for my boyfriend.
I wish I could buy everything in Victorias Secret, but sadly, I only purchase half of the inventory, because I lack breasts (underwear is a different story, but that’s my business)
I wish I didn’t need to wear baggy shorts, and take my shirt off, at the beach
I wish I didn’t feel like I was taking a chainsaw to my body to rid it of the thick hair
I wish I didn’t have 5’oclock shadow
I wish my body was as in tune as my mind is
I said in a group I’ve been going to “My mind knows I am a woman, I go on through my day as a woman, I shop at the grocery store as a woman, I use the restroom as a woman… But I bathe as a man, I touch my chest as a man, I see my body as a man.”
This is my problem. I do not feel as if I was created in the wrong body, I do not feel as if God made a mistake.
My issue is that I feel like I was made become a woman.
I look at my face and say “god it’s pretty much got softer features”
I look at my body and say “I may BE a man, but my hips are wider, my waist is smaller, my thighs are thicker”
I even look at my hands and say “they are so dainty, so small and soft and rounded off”
I feel like I was made to transition, I feel like in the past few years my body has been pumping out more estrogen than testosterone and making me grow into a softer-featured body, meant to take easier transitioning.
I see so many transsexuals whom dont have the luxury of having already feminine features, and “force” their bodies to change.
But to me, it seems like I have been preparing to birth a new person, not suddenly sit on the toilet like I didn’t know I was pregnant.
I have been subconciously denying that I was transgendered, by covering it up with “androgyny” and “”girly-boy” termonology. And having sat down in a trans-youth group, and taking those tools to help me ask myself what I need to be happy, I have finally come to a concious peace with my transsexuality.
The difference between Trans-gender and sexuality is this:
-Gender is what you identify as, so as I said “i want to live as a female, be seen as a female, etc”
Gender is what i used to be
-Sexual is what you identify your sex as, for example “I want to BE a female”
This is my mindset and goal, currently.
All-in-all, there really isn’t any left to say on this subject.
Over the year, my near entire family has made jokes about “just don’t get boobies” or “just don’t become Jorgina” back in the days when I was just becoming more feminine. And I know, in the end, they will still love me for me, and not give a single fuck what I do. Hell, I have a ghetto thug-lookin uncle who you’d see on the street and cry because he looks so scary, and he was one of the first people that I ever heard of accepting my life, even LONG before I did.
I just want you all to feel safe and secure when I tell you,
I am still Jordan. I will remain Jordan, I will still be the kid who made a joke out of everything, even within this post, no matter what I end up, be it a female, a hooker, an alien, or an ugly, old, washed-up deep-sea fish that they scientifically decided to name Lindsey Lohan.
And no, that joke was not in bad taste, she’s discusting and has no career left.
I hope you all love and support me as you have
Thank you for not skipping to the end, and for those of you who did, i’m going to make it look like this is my last will.
And to my amazing dog Sookie… I hope you always remember to look up, and raise your gigantic head into peoples chins and noses as hard as you can because, you just don’t feel pain… and you are just so delightfully retarded…
I love you.
For the last year and a half, my mother and I have noticed changes in my body that you’d usually only find in women. Well, in the last six months i’ve noticed my chest getting ever-so-slightly heavier with each passing week. This is progress, after 6 months of not realizing their growth, I’ve finally noticed my chest feeling heavier. To remind you also, I am NOT on hormones yet, this is from my natural hormone levels. No pushing, no makeup, these are my real breasts. I’d say they are just below an A, for people who understand what I mean.