Journals

I kept several journals about my dreams and in-the-moment thoughts since I was around 15. Not just in the “I wrote them” sense, but also the “I carried them around with me across the country and in every move” sense. I don’t even know why — the quality of my writing was frankly terrible, I rarely dated any of my entries, most of them were in utterly atrocious handwriting, and there was absolutely nothing special about the quality of the booklets themselves, they were literally drugstore-level binders.

Like probably most teens, I thought my intellect and insight were significantly more developed than most, but I wasn’t even fooling myself with these. There was no illusion that they would one day be astonishing autobiographical keepsakes or precious relics. So why on earth did I persist in keeping them? Was there some connection to my past I was hoping to maintain? Was I concerned I wouldn’t remember these times?

As it turns out, yes to both of those. There were huge chunks of my life I completely forgot. And, as I came across my old entries, there were indeed Signs.™

Certainly, I’m reading into things now with a heavily-trans slant towards my old writing that may not have really existed, but a couple entries stood out as amusing:

March 26, 2003 [dream journal]

“You can’t cross this bridge,” said the woman, loading a ferocious intensity behind every word. “Only fairies are allowed to cross this bridge. You’re a normal person,” and she threw me back.

undated, likely April 2003

I long to return to that period in my life when I was able to hang out and stay up late and spend the night with girls, and simply enjoy their presence and company without the overarching atmosphere of sexual interest.

undated, likely July 2003

Sweet-smiling pink-cheeked in green / she leaves the Marina Creek bus / I want to be her / I want to be us.

[literally written out, I want to be with her and to be her, the classic trans lesbian dilemma]