internalized transmisogyny
Finn offers me poppers at his birthday party, I take them, holding one nostril down and pressing the bottle against the other. I inhale, and my body becomes loose, my veins relax, expand, even. A quiet giggle escapes from me. I revel in the high, which only lasts for about five minutes.
A few days later, Reese and I go to the DIA in Midtown. I tell him all about what happened at Finn's birthday party, and that when we were cuddling in bed, I felt as if I was doing something wrong. I was not -- and I told Finn if I made him uncomfortable, he could tell me, and I wouldn't be mad. Finn reassured me I wasn't making him uncomfortable. He wanted to do this; after all, he initiated it. Reese and Finn both came to the same conclusion: maybe it's internalized transmisogyny. I agree with this sentiment.
It's not that I hate myself; it's that I feel that, as a trans woman, I'm not allowed to be a sexual being. Even though I know I am allowed to, realistically. The thought of sex is both exciting and disgusting to me. I am trying to unpack that.
Many of the other trans women I know also have this issue of internalizing transmisogyny. It is such a deep-rooted issue in our culture that without years and years of dedicated effort to change, transmisogyny, like most other societal issues, will continue to exist most cultures.
There's not really a solid end to this story; it exists as a lingering, haunting spirit. Perhaps there never will be an end, or, perhaps in two, three, years, there will be an end.