Who am I?

To be honest I don’t get it. Yes I know, I’m claiming that I’m part girl. And my wife says that she doesn’t know who I am anymore.

Who am I?

I’m the one who just gave you a massage because you were sore, even though I’m sick and you know that giving you a massage immediately after dinner makes me nauseous.

I’m the one who just made you dinner like I do 7 days a week.

I’m the one who after riding 100km for work, came home and went to fill up the car so you wouldn’t stress out driving to school the next week even though you had plenty of petrol.

I’m the one who never missed Valentine’s day, your birthday, anniversary…. Ever!

I’m the one who remembers your mum’s birthday when no one in your family does.

I’m the one who cleaned up, dried the dishes and put them away and wiped the floor like I do every day.

I’m the one who goes to work early so that I can get dinner on the table at 6pm, which is the time you asked for. And for which you are NEVER on time for.

I’m the one who busted their arse cooking on Saturday morning so that we could go out with your mum in the afternoon.

I’m the one who took your stupid brother in law out bike riding five times, to get him active again, even though I can’t stand his whinging, because he’s family.

I’m the one who makes you a packed lunch even though you get to sit down at home and watch mafs or whatever at lunchtime.

I’m the one who will travel by train and bus for an extra hour and a half to buy you chocolates.

Oh and I’m the one you yelled at today to call the nbn to abuse them. Did I complain? No I didn’t, I knew you weren’t angry at me but by God if you yelled at anyone else like that, they wouldn’t have given you the benefit of the doubt.

I’m the one who eighteen years ago said, “you know I’m scared. The way you talk about people when they’re not around. I’m worried you’re going to talk about me like that. I know I’m not perfect and one day I’ll do something that really upsets you.” and no I was not referring to being transgender because I had no idea. In any case you promised that would never happen because,” You’re my honey!”

I’m the one who you just told that you don’t mind still calling me honey because it’s just a name. Well it matters to me. If you don’t love me anymore don’t call me by an affectionate name. I could twist these words a million ways but I won’t. Just know that every time you call me honey now, it’s like a knife in my heart.

I’m the one who still loves you. But obviously that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Did I kill anyone? No

Am I a criminal? No

Did I cheat on you? No

Did I beat you? No

Did I abuse you? No

Do I drink too much? No

Do I gamble? OK so I buy ozlotto and powerball…. Minimum games!

Do I smoke? No

Do I have bad hygiene? No

Do I leave the toilet seat up? No

Am I a religious zealot? No

Do I try and control you? No

Am I overbearing? No

Am I a womaniser? No

Do I check out guys? No

Do I like guys? Ew! No! (not a slur on anyone who likes guys, but I don’t)

Do I look at other girls? Only to see if I could wear that.

Am I too boring for you? I have no idea.

Have I ever had sex with anyone but you……. ever? No

Am I transgender? Yes, but do you know what it means? No I’m not Caitlyn. I have a boy side and a girl side. For some shitty reason I’m stuck in the middle.

Do you think I like this? If I had a choice I’d never want to be transgender, it’s too hard. But you know what? I don’t have a choice. Does anyone choose to be gay or straight? No they just are. Left handed or right handed? No they just are. So do I choose to be transgender? No but I am. Did it take most of my life to figure it out? Yes it did. Do I feel like you’re punishing me because I didn’t figure it out a long long time ago? Yes

I’m the one looked after you as you recovered from vertigo twice and rearranged everything to revolve around you.

I’m the one who took your father to the hospital for appointments with oncology. Did any of your brothers in law do that?

I’m the one who brought in my shaver to give your dad a shave when he was in palliative care.

I’m the one who wrote and delivered the eulogy at your father’s funeral. I actually sat there with your father in his last month’s to get his story because I knew it was important.

I’m the one your mum saw after waking up from kidney surgery and told that, “it was worse than giving birth!” because I was the only one there.

I’m the one who made your dad pumpkin soup every week because that was all he could eat when he had cancer.

I’m the one who brought up we should start a family. And look who that brought us 😁

Physically I’m a boy. And that’s never going to change. I’m never taking hormones, and I’m never getting surgery to make me a girl. Mentally I’m close enough to 50% boy, 50% girl. And you know what? If I was mentally 100% boy, or close to, then we would never have got married. I would not have been the loving caring person that I am.

So here’s the thing. You can’t get past the clothes and makeup that I wear. You’re so blinded that you can’t see that I’m still the same person. I’m not asking you to make love to a girl. I’m asking you to accept me for who I am. And you can’t, or won’t.

Perhaps you think that the boy always looks so sad because I need to be a girl 24/7? No I’m sad because after all these years you don’t love me. And if you looked you’d see that the girl is just as sad too!

You don’t know me??!!????

I’m speechless

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