Something started a long time ago. I kept a journal to keep myself sane. To write my ideas down just for the sake of getting them out of my head. Especially when you struggle with a concept like transgenderism, there’s so many elements bouncing around inside I don’t know how it can not make a person insane. If anyone dealing with this doesn’t have a journal of some form, I highly recommend it. Your brain will thank you.

And then one day, my wife decided to cross my boundaries and read through my journal without asking. As she revealed this to me, followed by an explanation as to why it was justified, I became enraged, and I think duly so. There are few things a person could do that could have been viewed as any more of a breach of trust. But that was my wife. I won’t go into stories of her hacking my email or installing keyloggers to get my passwords… the journal story is enough. So in a completely frustrated and betrayed state, and having had people request me to start blogging, I did the only thing that seemed to make sense – I took my wife’s disregard for my privacy and made it public for all to see.

Since then, my blog has gained a certain amount of popularity and acclaim. Some have thanked me for scripting the very feelings they’ve been going through and helping them make sense. Others feel an immense relief just knowing that there’s someone out there with a similar story. It’s all immensely gratifying for me and I love that anyone is able to get anything out of my blog. I assure you that it’s for purely narcissistic reasons that I do it. i.e.: my own sanity.

But now I have reached an impass. My diary hates me. There seem to be so many other considerations I have to keep in mind. Sometimes the things that are bothering me most at any given point and time concern the people around me. People who read my blog. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt someone or start a chain of events that lead to unnecessary drama just because of my mental diarrhea. And then there’s the aforementioned ex-wife. She’s made it clear to me that she reads my blog and is collecting information from it for potential use in court should a custody trial ever occur. So suddenly for friends and foes I find myself censoring my thoughts or trying to arrange them vaguely enough so that they still bear the meaning and intent of what is in my mind. Such is not what I intended. The most gratifying part of my diary was always that I could assert a form of brutal honesty without reprocussions. That no longer seems possible and once again I become frustrated trying to get the thoughts out of my head.

I don’t know. Maybe I should start a journal.

Ashley