Well, here we are, coming to the end of our time together. In a month you'll be gone, and things will be different. I don't know the ways in which they'll be different, and that's a bit intimidating in the devil-you-know vs. devil-you-don't sense. So in that light, I sometimes think, "are things between us currently really that bad?" It wouldn't be ideal, but we could get by.
I know these thoughts are just cold feet and fear of the unknown, of events I can't control, like putting my future in the hands of a surgeon. After almost 30 years battling you in some form or another, I've become excellent at controlling and compartmentalizing you. But that's a cold comfort at best. I don't operate under the delusion that our split will solve all my problems. I'm hoping it will be an improvement, that's all. Regardless of what the outcome will be, I think you'd agree things can't go on the way they are.
I want to say that I never hated you. That word never applied. I used plenty of other words though - annoying (used the most by far), burden, unfortunate, wrong, obstacle, etc. You did come with certain advantages, of which I did partake and even enjoy. You played a huge role in shaping my body, and that body has allowed me to do some really fun, interesting things. Because of you, I know what it's like to dunk a basketball, and play competitive tennis and other athletics on the level that I did. I have fond memories of relationships with gay men that wouldn't have happened if you were absent. And let's not get started on male privilege - which I unknowingly basked in for so long.
You held a lot of disadvantages, too. As time went on, those drawbacks became more and more troubling. You made sex a bit of a challenge. You were good at sex, I'll grant you that, but in your eagerness to do well you neglected to provide me with any pleasure. While you did your thing, I would stare out windows and drift off in thought ... "Why am I doing this again? What do I get out of this? I wonder if the Red Sox won tonight." I wanted to have sex, but not with you. You always ruined it. Instead of connecting with the person in my bed and experiencing that inimitable spark together, I was off somewhere else. I'd have to close my eyes tight and instruct my partner not to touch me as my imagination did the necessary heavy lifting creating scenarios where you weren't around to fuck things up. Only after I hit the point of no return could I pull my lover to me again, attempting to grasp a bit of closeness in that fleeting moment.
It was when you began to affect my friendships that I knew we had to change. When spending time with my closest girlfriends, I sensed that I was always at arm's length. Not because they didn't love me or wanted to exclude me, but because you were there. I couldn't relate to them on the plane of shared experience. They had the bond of being women, growing up as girls, facing certain challenges and riding certain highs that are exclusive to the female gender. I tried my best to "get it." I wanted to get it so badly. Looking back now, I can see that I failed miserably. There was no getting around you.
Even if I had succeeded in connecting to my friends in that way, I still would've lacked something else they had that I desperately desired: looks. I wanted to be pretty like them. Their clothes were beautiful. In my yearning they would let me wear them, but on me the clothes ceased to be beautiful. On me they became awkward and pitiful. Only their bodies, their hair, their gorgeous soft faces could imbue beauty to the fabric, and vice versa. I had none of those things. It was immensely frustrating. I could approach my desired goal as close as I wanted, but I would never touch it because of what you had made me. As someone who's prone to clinging to logic for comfort, my only conclusion was self-hatred. The problem was me. I was standing in the way of the things I wanted - femininity, fulfilling relationships with friends and lovers, happiness. Everything, really. Eventually I realized the error in this line of thinking. I wasn't the problem. And I'm not the problem now. And you know it.
It's not me, it's you. And I can't do this anymore. It's over.