I Feel Trapped

2014, Kandi as you know her, as you see her here, was born. It’s now 11 years later and while she is a living, breathing, real person, she is also suffocating. While she lights me up when she is fully realized, she wears me down. While she has allowed me to do and see things previously unimaginable, she never leaves me clearheaded. Much like I had self-destructive vices because she was buried in there, unable to see the light of day, her being has taken away from me another part of my life that I cherish, my male side. Being grandpa. Being a husband. Being more involved with friends in things I used to do (male things) more frequently. I am still these things in reality, but I am not these things in my own head.

There are days I wish I could snap my fingers and be female all the time. All the trappings of femininity are so appealing to me. A comfortable bra and panties that do what they are designed to do, support my actual breasts (without enhancement). The look of a beautiful cleavage (usually with enhancement). I was never attracted specifically to a woman’s breast size, I was always attracted to how one presents her girls, how she “packages” them. I have talked about when I was younger, I would specifically choose a seat, in church for example, to be able to look and envy the girl in front of me for the bra she was wearing. For how it looked under a blouse. For the fact that it was noticeable. I have been on a recent lingerie purchasing bender of sorts. I love being a part of the sorority, talking openly about fit or about a cute pattern or color. Asking about a bra style and how it would help me. Talking openly about choosing matching panties, feeling cute. Being treated like a girl when on occasion, I am making a purchase as myself. Being asked if I am purchasing a gift and immediately responding the purchase is mine. Every purchase, experience is an escape into a different realm for me. It’s almost like slipping into an alternate reality. It is addicting, affirming, glorious, expensive, amazing, delightful and renders me terribly guilty when trying to find room for yet another bra when I get home. Walking through the mall with that pink bag, delicately holding it knowing I am making a statement, even if no one is paying me any attention.

Then I wish I could snap my fingers and Kandi would not exist. That I could dig deeper into the competitive things I enjoy and could be much better at if I took the girl time I spend and channel that into boy time. Work out better, harder. Train. The aspects of being a part of the running community or the pickleball community, competing and binding with each other. People ask me why I don’t run anymore and the simple answer, it takes a lot of time. Time I now spending swishing around in a too young for me dress or heading again to the mall to have that escape.

I worry day and night about making a living (remember, I simply cannot get a “job”), always also trying to shape my calendar to create a Kandi day while still making sure I do things for the angel known as my wife. I make sure every meal is quality and ready for her, whether or not I am joining her for that meal. I make sure our yard looks good. I engage in home improvement projects, required in any house that is about 30 years old. You all probably do the same types of things. Yet, I cannot shake, even for an hour, thinking about anything female I can do. I am sitting here in all my glory with the cutest lingerie on, under my sweats and hoodie. Only me knowing I am wearing them. Feeling both absolutely “right” and never shaking the “what is wrong with me” thought.

I have said this frequently, no one actively choses a more complicated life to a simpler life. Being gay make life more complicated. Being bigendered makes life more complicated. There are many more examples. Yes, I know we are who we are. Yes, I have accepted who and what I am. Yes, I am in seventh heaven when I am out as Kandi. But the effort to present myself in a fashion that I wish is work. And I see all the flaws. I am both a victim of these feelings and a benefactor of such a gift. I am torn and it never, ever leaves me. I drink because I feel guilty. I drink because it makes everything smoother in my head, until I feel like dog crap in the morning, every morning. I am human, I am flawed, I am complex, and I am over analytical. I am no different than anyone else and I am completely different than everyone else. One day I will understand myself, but that day remains off in the distance.

Why do I tell you these things? So you know (you could simply be one person, struggling with these types of feelings) that you are not alone, you are feeling things many of us do. You are a valuable human being! I say all of this, and I never take my own advice… The struggle continues.

Thank you for this platform. It’s cheaper than therapy!