had a dream where i had to die for some reason. recite the shahada, lethal injection, roll me up in a shroud. the primary emotion that bled through after waking up was sadness, regret that i wasn’t able to keep living my life, missing all the moments i could have had and things i wanted to do. i really wanted to keep living because i feel like im finally living a life that’s mine rather than being an observer to someone else’s that was technically mine but also i really wished it wasn’t.

i feel like many of us have had the passive si phase where we’re not actively trying to end it, but wouldn’t have been mad to fall asleep and not wake up. wanting a form of peace and not being picky about where it came from. when i was a kid i had struggled with gender, obviously, but had no idea why i was constantly depressed and anxious and no conceptualization of a way out, so i was like whatever removes me from this torment, sick.

clearly i’m not there anymore; i’m so fucking early in self actualization that if i croaked now, i’d mostly be mad/sad on how much i’m missing out. i have a lovely relationship, a job that has been treating me right post coming out (still taking notes in case i need evidence), and i know a few names at the regular trans meetup nearby. extremely content but also aware of how much i still want to do, how many other names i want to learn (maybe make new friends for the first time since covid???), even how i want to spend time with my queer coworkers outside of work (one asked me if i wanted to get my hair cut with her at this queer friendly salon).

that’s a nice change of pace and it reminded me how far i’ve come, i’m not the little girl trapped without a way out, im a slightly bigger girl with her whole life ahead of her