I keep thinking about all the things I've dived into in my pursuit for an identity. I remember a couple of years ago when I became a furry, and I just...whole hog. Or at least as whole hog as I was willing to go given my budget and my anxiety at getting found out that I was part of a fandom notorious for weird sex acts.
It never occurred to me to buy a fursuit, that felt like that one step too far, y'know? But I did commission art, roleplay in some channels as my fursona (a rat with cybernetic limbs for extra EDGE), start referring to myself as a furry, etc. I never really felt attached to the fandom too much, though. Never really made that extra push.
A few years before that it was LARP. Live Action Role Playing for those not in the know. And I gave to that with just as much, if not more, relish. It helped that this particular identity-defining activity was slightly more socially acceptable, at least among my peer group, so I didn't have to hide it from anyone. I was able to freely talk about my adventures as an elf wizard among my friends, both LARPers and non, without fear of weird looks or being abandoned by closest associates.
And then something else happened in my life, I'm not sure when, or how, or why but I made a discovery about myself. I don't know how else to put it, but it's weird to realize that you're transgender at post-30, and I found I was starting to dive into this just as much...when I had to take a step back and examine.
Being trans is not a fandom. It's not a fun activity that you share with your friends. It's an identity. And while I'd been seeking identity in those other activities, not all of which I've listed here, it never occurred to me that this would be the one that I found. And this has caused me no end of angst, as much as that word is sort of a joke these days, because I find myself wondering if it's real or not.
I feel like it's real. I want it to be real. But...what if it isn't? What if it's just another activity I've found, another bid for identity that I'm desperately clinging to until something else comes along and snaps up my attention? This is one of my greatest fears. I hate this feeling. I hate myself.
I think, when it comes down to it, real or not...the root of the problem is that I desperately just want to be anything other than myself. Because that's what all these things have in common, a desire to be something that I choose to be instead of what was thrust on me by random chance and biology. And I hate that because...if it's not real, what does that mean? Does that mean I can never really be happy? Does that mean I can never really be satisfied?
I wish this was an article with a nicely rounded out thesis and a good conclusion paragraph, but the truth is this is just my thoughts spilling out over the keyboard almost randomly while I have the inclination to let them out. I don't even know if it has a point.
