Photos and Memories

At times I use my blog as a way to vent, which won’t get a lot of likes, I know. However, some days I feel the need to share what’s on my mind. I tend to think that an outsider is more open-minded to what another human is feeling.  I remember being in kindergarten, which makes me 3 or 4 years old. I would refuse to have my picture taken to the point where they had to hold my head in place physically.

The reasons behind my actions didn’t click until I started experiencing gender dysphoria. That’s when I started to hide what I thought was this monster within me. On another note, I wish that everybody who teaches religion will be open to the thought that whatever Gods you believe in loves you no matter of gender or sexual orientation.

I use to find myself in panic when a photo of me needed to be taken. Somehow, even my closest friends to me say that my eyes look so sad. In my childhood home, where my dad still lives, photographaies surround it for my old self. My parents refuse to put any of them down. Saying it was excruciating is an understatement. It’s even worse is that my mum is unwilling to remove old photos of me from her social media. She left me no choice but to come to terms with the pain, even if it took years for me to do so.

Alex