I need to apologise for offloading my thoughts here, but I am struggling at the moment. The pink fog is thick and sometimes it drags me into dark thoughts. These sudden emotional surges keep knocking me for six, and writing them down feels like the only way to make sense of them.
I have been cross-dressing since I was a teenager, and now, at 52, I still do not have the right words for what I am. What I do know is that the feelings are only getting stronger, harder to push away.
It is not only about clothes. It is the makeup, the hairstyles, the body shape, the curve of cleavage. Even the smallest details can set it off. My heart pounds. My chest feels tight. I get this overwhelming rush, almost like I am about to break open.
It happens when I see women on the street. It happens when I scroll through Instagram and see other cross-dressers or trans women. I admire them, but I also envy them. That is the hard truth. I find myself thinking: why can’t that be me? And the ache lingers long after I have put my phone down.
Is it anxiety? Maybe. But maybe it is something deeper. Maybe it is just my heart telling me I cannot keep burying these feelings.
I do not have answers yet. I just know I am caught somewhere between admiration and longing, between envy and grief. And every time my chest tightens, it feels like a reminder of the life I want but still haven’t found the courage to live.
Maybe the gentle truth is this: I do not have to have it all figured out right now. Maybe it is enough to admit I am feeling it, to keep breathing through the fog, and to know I am not alone in this struggle.
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