If I would have known I was a girl

As I’m listening to old hits that played on the radio in my early youth, it all feels so weird as images that stuck in my memory alongside these songs surface and I cannot help seeing them otherwise, as if they were from another life. The way I felt then, so lost in this world, with only those few songs I got to hear on the radio now and then to hold on to, to make sense out of the world.

What I know about me now, after all these searches without a goal I led all those years merging into what I’m becoming, the construction of me, handcrafted by me, helps me see that lost young person as the me I could have been, simply could have been if anyone would have told me it would be ok, if I feel better this way, to be a girl instead of boy. Simple. I was a girl. They told me I was a boy. That’s why I looked so lost.

So it took me this long, and that’s a mighty long time, for me to sort it all out. Just this little thing: ok to be a girl if you want. What’s the problem with that?

I mean I didn’t really know myself, I wish someone older would have said out loud what seems so obvious now when I look at the pictures in my head this music is now lifting from the ground where they laid. All I knew was something was wrong. Something didn’t fit, as if I was beside myself, as if I wasn’t quite into myself.

I mean everyone saw that, that I wasn’t exactly into myself, it was quite obvious, those of my age mostly laughed at me, or bullied me, the older persons acted as if everything was normal. But back then, transsexualism wasn’t something that would pop to mind when you saw someone… someone I guess like who I was.

Things would have unfolded differently, I most certainly would have been able to construct myself better than the void that happened in my life after those wondering years listening to the radio in my room or alone at the cottage, scared of any noise outside.

I would have been able to build a me like I am now, like I have been for the last 16 months when I started an hormonotherapy that revealed the me hiding under the stupid male mask that was fitted onto me, just like the genitals I have were stupidly and wrongly stuck onto my body while in the womb.

I’m now strong enough to deal with these images from the past and sort them in this box on which I will write something like the origins of me or some of the ingredients of the me I am, something like this. I mean… when you have ingredients, you don’t necessarily have a dish.

Things are getting into place, I can stack this box of pictures on this shelf.

I can be me. Now.

If no more dark clouds burry me.

Dominik Rock