Following on from yesterday’s “Why I Love to Write” post, I thought I’d share a small piece of my history with you.
I talked in yesterday’s entry about when I first started blogging, and the situation I was in.
Writing captures moments in time, and that blog was very narrowly focused and a true reflection of this situation I was in. I began blogging at a time much like this, in weather similar to that we are having at the moment.
Here for your viewing pleasure (or pain) is my first ever blog, written a couple of days after someone had suggested blogging. The post is from July 27th 2006, entitled “Interesting Times”
Before I was [name redacted], which I’m guessing must be slightly confusing for some, but now I’m Hannah, and sometimes people don’t get it. I’m not sure why that is. Whether it’s due to genuine lapses of memory, or due to the fact that some people genuinely struggle with the idea of Gender Dysphoria (unhappiness) being a true medical condition.
Hannah is the person I wish t0 be, H is a standard letter of the alphabet, and [name redacted] well he’s the stuck chewing gum on my shoe. I say this because for some people, he doesn’t seem to be going away. The thing is, I’m happy as Hannah, I’ve never been happier. When I look in the mirror, I can see something I like. But what do other people see? Young man or young lady? I get called both! Fucking both! I’ve not had any male clothes for months – I can’t make the NHS go any faster.
The thing is I love it when people call me Hannah. It makes my heart dance. But when people call me [name redacted] I feel like an alien. I’m not him.
I’m not a he either. Tina, my counsellor says I should correct them but I feel unable to, almost rude if I do.
Residential living is hard too, I feel as though my personal space isn’t respected sometimes and people always want or need me cos I’m likeable. But people are so needy and it drains me.
Someone even walked into my room to talk to somebody about something that was
As the title says, interesting times.
Went to management did I? Due to someone talking to someone else. That’s kind of the way it is in residential living. It’s called compromise. But it is a mindfuck. It’s amazing to think how you blow even the tiniest stuff out of proportion, with hindsight.
They were great people. They helped me with clothing, bought me makeup, and were like a family to me. Without them. I wouldn’t be me. Thank you John Darling Mall
Affectionately known as the greenhouse.