The Imaginary Eye (written months before my transition began)

 (Originally written on September 19th 2020. Days before my first therapy session. My first therapy session is when I decided that I was going to transition.)

I am my father's son, right? That's the expectation. Except, I've never been a typical son. And, he was taken from me when I needed him most. He's been gone longer than I ever knew him. An imaginary eye that's always been watching me from afar. A standard I've held myself too. Some kind of thing where I make him proud and we one day look back on this life like I did good, did him proud.

That's all well and good in theory. Continue chasing a shadow that isn't even there. Continue running a race that he never started. He left me to fend for myself, me and my weird, ill-fitting skin, and my awkward identity that I've tripped through most of my life. I'm supposed to find my place in this world. I thought I had it as a writer. That led to nothing and with it the only conceivable reason for why dad died to begin with. But that doesn't seem to be it. A lot of the times my pain and displacement feels like it was for nothing, like some kind of emotional flogging that has grown nothing in me but my desire to leave Nathan behind.

Was this supposed to strengthen my walk with Christ? Constantly not fitting in the life you have? Constantly fighting to be a person you don't really like being? What lesson does that teach? You were born this way so you must stay this way. No. Nathan might mean "the gift" but Vaela means liking who I am.

I haven't made any decisions. But I am way more open to this becoming something I never thought it would. Why? Because I deserve to not fight for the rest of my life. And, if she is me, she deserves to get to live a life. Maybe for the first time in my life.

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