Was looking through an old hard drive today and I found some old pictures of me from before I transitioned. I only have a few of them because I didn’t like taking pictures of myself back then (hmm, I wonder why? /s). I thought about deleting them because I don’t like how I looked back then, but in a weird way they also made me happy. I think it is because they serve as a reminder as to how far I have come in the four years since I realized that I am trans. Comparing them with current pictures of myself, it is very obvious that I am much happier now.
I also found some old picrews that I made of myself shorty after I realized that I am trans. These made me really happy for multiple reasons. One is that they brought back a lot of memories. The other is helped me figure something out. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly when I had the realization and the best I had beforehand was sometime in late 2019, but those pictures are dated October 28th which makes them the earliest evidence of me being trans that I have. I made like thirty of them but here are two of them that I like.
Past me would be so happy to know that I actually look like this now:
This is an image that I think I used to come out to a few people. It’s hard to see, but I decided to add some estradiol to my mouth:
Anyways, I just felt like sharing. I’m curious if anyone else also used picrew at first to explore their gender. Also if you have any transition related stories you feel like sharing, I’d love to read those too.
I keep all my old photos, every once in a while I’ll be talking to someone about things and decide I want to see a chronically depressed cadaver go through the motions of… I don’t even really know what… just tons of pictures.
I got pictures of me blackout drunk staring disdainfully in a mirror, pictures of me trying to feign happiness in hundreds of locations at Disney World, pictures documenting the all day drinking and running through the woods at full bore on a 4 wheeler hoping I’d just smash my skull into a tree and die, the daily fire I would make when it was too dark to keep driving drunk through the woods and spend my nights getting more drunk hoping I’d pass out and get killed by wolves.
Sure, If it was life or death I could find a smile or a happy photo, but almost all of them are stoic at best and I’m going to keep them.
That poor fuck held on for something, and in his misery he gave me a life worth living, and for that he deserves his respect and honors. I cannot hate him or erase him. He hurt for so long, he wanted an undying death, and I myself gave him his wish.
Of course, you should do what is best for you, I just have been diving a bit too far into how the Ship of Theseus problem intersects with my identity and personality here lately and have decided I literally AM a different person and that’s okay and consistent with me being the same person I always was, just with less repression.
This like completely describes how I feel about my old self. I was suicidal back then, and I guess in a way my old self did die, although I was reborn as the much happier person I am today. When I look at old pictures of myself I always have this thought of “oh you poor baby” and then I want to hug them and tell them everything will be alright, but of course it’s just a picture and I can’t actually do that.
I have this one picture of me from when I was like 13 or 14, and in this picture I have these terrible patchy mutton chops, an unkempt bowl cut, and the most depressed look ever on my face. I absolutely hate the way I look in the picture, but I kept it anyways because I love the poor fucker that’s in it.