The light in my closet has burnt out and I haven’t bothered to replace it.

It’s this time of year when I lecture you all about the importance of attending your local pride festival. This annual column talks about how much fun it is, how empowering it feels to be out in the daylight, and the positive effect trans-participation at pride festivals has on the gay community, and society at large.

This year, I’m not going to do that though. Matter of fact, I doubt I’ll be attending any pride events this year. You see, I have a confession to make.

The thrill is gone. It’s true. My interest in crossdressing has waned to the point where my wig (carefully styled into a beehive), probably does have a nest of spiders in it. I haven’t dressed in at least two months.  And I haven’t enjoyed dressing since I did a photo shoot for myself and for TGForum back in December.

That’s a long time to go without. And I can’t say I’ve missed it much either. In the past, if I went “dry” for more than a month, my femme side would manifest itself in my dreams. Not so these days. My legs are hairy, and I’m sporting a full goatee.

I don’t visit the chat rooms, and I don’t read the blogs of friends discussing their trans-ness. Updates to my MySpace and Flickr pages are getting fewer and farther in between. I’m in danger of losing my tranny ID card, and I’m not all that upset.

The reasons why are myriad and murky, to say the least. I think part of the disconnect comes from dissatisfaction with my physical self. I porked out to 250 pounds a couple of years ago, and while I’ve been exercising regularly and am back down to 210, I still have a mental image of myself as a cow.

There’s probably also a dash of post-divorce depression that’s lingering, but that’s another column in and of itself. The desire to be in a relationship and the inability to find someone I can connect with also contributes, I’m sure. I could be repressing my desires simply because I know the degree of difficulty of finding someone without gender issues getting in the way.

But the biggest factor is brutally simple: I’m bored. I’m bored with the vanity that goes with my crossdressing. I’m bored with other people’s vanity. There has to be more to life than just worrying about how you look to the point that that’s your only topic of conversation. (And I will admit a lack of feedback on any of my trans-endeavors probably doesn’t help things either.) I’m frustrated that so few of us actually talk about anything socially relevent. I’m not the biggest activist around, but I’m hesitant to get involved in anything where it seems like nobody cares.

Yes, I thought maybe I’m transsexual, and I’m ready to start the journey from part-time to full-time. But I find my mind wandering in the middle of any TS discussion, when the topic of hormones comes up. And it inevitably does. I’m sorry. I just can’t relate.

So, why don’t I just purge and get it over with? Why don’t I just label myself as “admirer-used to crossdress”? Because I know as soon as I do, it’ll come roaring back, and I’ll have to start from scratch. And that will suck.

So, where do I go from here? Beats me. But I guess I’ll keep in this holding pattern until something manifests itself one way or the other. Maybe my friends will contact a wealthy philanthrapist who’ll hire a team of Avon ladies to forcibly feminize me. Maybe the board at Southern Comfort will beg me to be the keynote speaker this year. Maybe I’ll get laid off and find solace only in dressing up and cashing my unemployment check en femme. Or maybe I’ll just go quietly into that night.

Category: Transgender Body & Soul