I sit here tonight mourning someone I have never known, myself!

I have spent 47 years hiding, suppressing, and ignoring my true self. She is still a child, never given a chance to grow up. I am approaching 50 with the body of someone much older. She shall never have a chance to frolic and play as all children should. I mourn the child I never was. I mourn my past, my present, and my future. Cindy is not comfortable in the body of an old man, and the man has no idea what to do with the spirit of a little girl.

I may be Transgender, but I can never present myself as the little girl I am. I mourn, for all that could have been, and all that will never be. Cindy mourns for the little boy who grew up to be a man, yet never was. If I transition, I will still need to hide myself. Society may be able to see the feminine elements in me, but I am not a woman. I am just a little six year old girl, scared and frightened. The more Cindy is let out, or I see her influences, the harder things are.

I go back to work in a little over a week. Who will be going? It will be the body of a man, the clothes of a man, and the . . .

It will not be Cindy. She may have broken out of her shackles, but she can not go to work. No matter how much I apologize to her, it will never be enough. She does not understand why she must continue to be hidden. Out of sight, but never out of my mind. I mourn for her. I mourn for the little girl who never was, and the little girl I still am. I mourn.