★ journal

cuando todavía estaba en la eso, recuerdo sorprenderme. estaba sentado en mi cama, creo que todavía compartía habitación con mi hermano. mis padres estaban fuera en el salón, les escuchaba todavía, moviendo platos o hablando. no recuerdo que me hubiera peleado particularmente con ellos antes de preguntarme qué es lo que tanto odiaba sobre mí mismo. no entendía por qué desde tan pequeño me he sentido así, más chiquito que el resto. la altura no ayuda.

siempre he sentido que todo el mundo sabe más que yo, o que mi voz no merece ser más alta que la de las demás. le hacía favores a todo el mundo. a día de hoy hago favores y la gente no sabe que les estoy haciendo favores. eso me hace malo?

pero en ese momento quise pensar que a lo mejor era desagradecido. a lo mejor un poco egoísta. mi madre me decía mucho que era egoísta (tenía 10 años). ahora tengo veinte y siento que todo esto ya se me sale por los poros. como lodo. pegajoso, mugriento y sucio. muy sucio.

escuché a mi padre decir mi nombre en la terraza desde mi habitación y casi hice una cara porque me da asco cómo suena. odio dejar mi olor en mis cosas. odio pensar que la gente piense en mí. y aborrezco el hecho de que pueda tener tanto rencor. no lo puedo sujetar con ambas manos.

no sé qué hacer con tanto odio. no sé dónde ponerlo. y al mismo tiempo ya se ha asentado dentro de mí y no paga hipoteca.

me escondo del espejo y me cuesta hacer cosas por mí mismo. las hago porque las he hecho toda mi vida, pero no me siento lo suficientemente valioso ni como para oler bien, ni para vestir bien, ni para tener higiene. valgo menos que eso. mucho menos.

todo esto me distrae. me cuesta más hablar, ya que no siento que mis palabras sean mucho más que balbuceos, y me cuesta más pensar, ya que siento que mis monólogos no son más que berrinches y toda epifanía una tontería. seguro que alguien lo ha pensado ya antes. seguro que alguien lo ha dicho mejor.

mi padre el otro día me dijo que le molestó que le dijeran que el objetivo de la vida era “salir de su zona de confort”, justo porque él había trabajado toda su vida para conseguirla. que ahora solo le quedaba protegerla. a lo mejor tiene razón.

02.09.25

i'm so detached from the way everyone perceives me. i don’t recognize myself in the vision others have of me.

i don’t like the way everyone perceives me. or the way i feel about the perception i think people have of me

i don’t know if the real me is me or a distortion i have of myself— because i also think of myself cruelly. i feel small all the time, i feel like my voice is too high and my side profile is weird looking. like a frog.

i feel like im impersonating. who am i dressing for?

i feel like sometimes people don’t take me too seriously and i think it’s because i look like a child (i should start working out) maybe it’s my height or the fact i can’t grow a full beard yet

or maybe it’s just the way i am, i don’t really know, it does frustrate me but i also can’t seem to stop acting the way i do, and build a newer version of myself, one that is more calm, because i feel myself getting calmer

i hate social media and i hate non physical interaction. i hate being stressed about how to look cool but doing it noneffortlessly. there’s an effort in that. i should stop worrying about all this

in 5 months im going to look at all the pictures i took for myself (because maybe i am a little cool) but never posted and think “ah. why did i think so little of me? i was so cool” because maybe i am

all people want to hear trans people talk about is trans regret, but i’ve never seen anyone talk about trans guilt, so is it just me? is it too taboo? is it wrong to think that i was never “born” trans? that i am just happier and more myself this way? that besides all the pain, all the horrors, i still find comfort in my identity, joy in the way i express it.

while all of this is true to me everyday, the whole experience of transgenderism all too mundane, i know that i will never find peace in gender. gender is the antithesis of familiarity and comfort.

i don’t feel like a woman, and i am my own version of a man; a version that maybe is only mine. i do feel out of the box, like i can never find the right box to check, “male” “other” “prefer not to disclose” i just want to leave them all blank. gender is such an abstract, shapeless concept to me it doesn't even have a face, it doesn't have legs or arms, how can i possibly name it?

i am stuck at being perceived as too masculine to be a woman but too feminine to be perceived fully as a man. then again, the question opens itself: what is a man? to that i don't have the energy to reply. the same way i do not know why being treated as a man brings me happiness, or how when i looked at my chest after getting top surgery it felt so natural i felt like i had always looked like that. there were no tears, no overwhelming joy, just unfiltered familiarity. something i never felt i truly had before that day. so, no, i don't really know why this happens, because all i can think about is a question mark and all i can feel in my brain is pure static.

i feel like i owe an apology to my mother, to my aunts, my grandmothers, my girl cousins for “leaving” them. i can’t look at them for too long because i start thinking about everything i’m missing. i’m sad i can’t do makeup, that i can’t play dress up, i can’t be princess and i can’t wear dresses without the urge of exploding, and without the eyes and stares of everyone because i am not a woman, inherently feminine, elegant, with makeup on, but a man on a dress. a man with makeup. i am not a man. all i want to be, is to “be”. i just am. i am.

on christmas eve, my grandmother gifted me a purse. it kind of broke my heart. i've had top surgery, i can grow a beard (sort of), i have been on testosteron for 5 years, out for 7 (seven!). my dad didn't really speak after that, also taking offense. i said thank you and went to my room to put it there. my mom came in (she never knocks) and told me that she can keep the purse, that i don't have to use it. i said okay. i told her i didn't understand why this happened, and that i felt that nobody in my family thinks of me as a man. not even her. she said "me? not even me? or your dad? your brother?" i told her i didn't know. she held me and she hugged me and she told me "i see you as a man. as my boy. my beautiful, beautiful boy". i have never known peace like that.

but i still can’t really look at my dad, like, really look. i can't hold my brothers, boy cousins and my uncles gaze and feel like i belong, because i will never be truly treated like them. the awkward manly hugs, the pat on the back, the high fives. they don’t know how to greet me. i know they don’t see me as a woman anymore, they kind of can't,but also not fully as a man, because how could i be? but also not neither. i am just their son, their nephew, their cousin to them, or more “leowhousedtobe[beep]” and it’s going to be like that forever. no matter how buff i get, how long my beard is. they've proven me that. i am not talking about my mother.

being trans is all i think about and it’s the last thing i think about when i have to describe myself. it's the last thing i guess that goes through people's minds when they think of me, but i have a feeling that if you were to ask them who i was, it’s everyone’s first thought.

the end of the summer is here at last. these three months have been very rough for me. so many ups and downs, i felt like i was on a rollercoaster: my dog passing away in may right after i finished my last college exam of the year, right before my trip to japan, and after a series of other events in my life, like my period coming back... it’s certainly all been very tough on me. one of the hardest months of my life so far.

i feel very disconnected from everything and, overall, i've never felt more incapable in my life—incapable of almost everything: of success, of happiness. i don't feel valuable. my second year of college was terrible for my mental state. i broke, in every sense of the word. i completely broke. i don't know how i pulled it off, but i did, and that's a small win. i got honors in my character design class, and it made me feel very proud of myself. it's funny how, no matter my age, i always yearn for that academic validation. shrugs.

picking up web design has honestly saved my summer. i look forward to it every day, adding and filling up everything i can. i have so many ideas for little things i want to write here. i've never been a journaling type of guy in the first place. i don't know how long i'll keep this up, but i'm trying to enjoy the experience anyway. nobody reads this anyway, and it's freeing.

i'm very grateful for my friends, and i feel like i've reconnected with many of them this summer, but sadly i've never felt more alone and alienated from people my age. it's so hard for me to speak, to voice anything out loud. i don't feel smart enough for any conversation, and i am so painfully shy. i hate it. i shake and i can't speak to save my life. and i'm so sensitive to jokes... i'm made of glass, and i hate it.

i've picked up reading again after years of not touching a book. i'm trying to branch out from art only and come to terms with the fact that i will become a teacher—and that's okay, because it's also what i've always wanted. animation degrees break you, man, i swear.

i want to do so many things once i get back to madrid. i'm really looking forward to this winter. i want to go outside more, like my friend anna does. and i hope i get to see her soon, too. i really do love her.

things i enjoyed this month

a detailed explanation of my trip, day by day :-)