As old as Tolstoy and Life itself

I might be stupid and probably overlooked something in Leo Tolstoy's ”Confession” but I did expect more of it. Maybe because he's a Name To Remember. I totally agree with him, every step of the way, but he over intellectualize, and use a far too complicated language and he was already middleaged when he wrote things I could be writing myself. I felt old, cynical and bored when I read it. Been there, done that- anything else to add? No? Thought not. Yet, it gives me something to ponder, something to write, even though I don't really have anything more to add either.


Here I am, alive and well, reasonably happy and contented with my life such as it is. Because I choose to be. I didn't choose to be born, at least not as far as I know, but I continue to choose staying alive. Why? What's the point? I am a mortal creature and sooner or later my heart will stop beating and it scares the hell out of me. I don't want to die because it means nothing will be left of me. Of ME. I don't care if I'll ever write any books that will be published or if I ever have any children for the world to remember me by once I'm gone (even if that would be very nice) because I won't get any pleasure from it as dead. I certainly love myself enough to enjoy spending time with me and rejoice about the things I like to be rejoycing about. I'm not sure I'd like to do it for eternity though...at some point it got to get boring, like hearing the same joke over and over again, but still. I don't want to suddenly die without intending to and lose my selfconciousness. But sometimes I don't want to live either.

I was debating the same thing as Tolstoy quite seriously for a time only a couple of years ago. Well, early twenties anyway. Being transsexual or in any other way very different from ”normal” people and knowing their prejudice against you or disapointment when you don't live up to their expectations of who they think you are tend to do that to you. You wonder if you're alowed to live at all, if you're fit to breath the same air as everyone else and that maybe your being here, alive, was a mistake to begin with since the way you are, who you really are, is not accepted. They'll hate you, ridicule you, threatning you, hurting you both physicly and emotionally, be disgusted by you and reject you. Only for wanting to be who you are, any way you are. As if your person and your life somehow had anything to do with them.

It does, though. Whoever you are, whatever you express or don't express about yourself are things other people will measure themselves against. If they percieve you as a girl they'll act accordingly, change their behaviour and expectations to fit with what they percieve is fitting for a girl. If they find you pretty and are attracted to you they might come on to you. And because they think pretty girls have a fixed set of equipment and programming that is the same for every girl they'll be very disapointed if you don't, and instead of accepting that they made a mistake (which many people have a hard time doing) they'll convince themselves it's your fault and I'm sorry to say you can't do much about that. Except try to explain, of course, but some people don't want to listen or understand. They don't like being called dumb or uneducated. They rather believe that you mock or decieve them by purpose. Though this is all so very interesting too, I digress.

As I was different from most people I knew I were going to have some difficulties throughout life. Not just life long medical treatment but also doing the things that seem so easy for everyone else. Everything from choosing changingroom or toilet to having a job, partner and family. Even beforehand I knew these things would be hard; I wouldn't just accidently find out I'll have a hard time becoming a parent, or that some employers don't accept my differences and so on. My family and friends, the people that I love and depend on, might kick me out in the cold. Was I ready to face that pain or did I rather spare myself a miserable life despised, poor and alone?

Difficult as that may be, being transsexual is not the real reason for why I discussed wether I should live or die. It only brought it to it's point. I've questioned Life for as long as I remember, or rather; I've questioned Death, but it adds up to the same thing in the end. I've always loved living and being alive; I know nothing better than to wake up in the morning with a still beating heart no matter the pain awaiting me as it does for all living creatures. But I've also always known, or at least since I was four years old, that everything alive must also die.

WHY?! Has been the ever returning question with a hurting, desperate and frustrated voice. Why must everyone I love, including myself, die and turn to dust? What's the point in having a happy fulfilling life if nothing will remain for myself and my memories once it's done? I am very selfish and selfloving and I don't want to give anything up of my own existence or anyone in it that I love. It's like working hard and saving money only to find out that you can't keep it. So why work and save? I'm here and I want to stay until I've had enough! I don't want to go to bed before I feel tired! What happened when I realized I was trans was that a new question came up: I'm here and I want to stay up- but do I, really? Would I really try to live by any means possible? No, there are limits. So on what conditions would I stay? I still loved life and wanted to enjoy it as long as I could, but on what terms? I asked myself if I even should live. For whatever reason I'd been given a limited lifetime, which was painful on its own, and on top of that I had to be trans and deal with that. For a long time I thought I'd given up my religion and belief in a God because I didn't pray anymore and didn't ponder about what God or Jesus wanted me to do but there were moments when I realized that I behaved as if there was someone watching, someone with a plan who had conciously created me with a set of skills and conditions that I had to use or abuse. I slowly understood that I didn't cease to believe, I'd started to deny my beliefs. If God existed I hated his guts for doing this to me. Life was a gift from God which I felt should be given right back because I didn't like the terms. Why would I suck it up and live?

Good question. Why would anyone? Why not kill myself? Too scared? Maybe, because oblivion is scary as hell. After all, life is something I know. It's hard, it's painfull, frightening and very complicated but I know it and it's also fun, interesting and often enjoyable. I am a curious creature and life holds so many opportuneties and surprising twists and turns you've never imagined could happen. It holds horrible things too but I've always taken the good with the bad as a natural state of things. In comparison death is rather dull. Nothing happens. So yes, I could give life back and die now so that nothing would start to happen because that is what all the happenings in life would compile to anyway- nothing. If life is a currency it's one that must be spent in the instant, right now and not tomorrow because then the currency have lost all value. It's not even paper to wipe your ass with. Perhaps, if it's gone by tomorrow, it has no value today either. No, it hasn't, not more than you make it yourself. And if it's not worth anything to you then why bother?

So everything boiled down to one thing; is it worth it? If yes, then why? Why do I choose to stay ”up” when I know I can be put to bed at any moment which makes it all pointless? Because if all is to nothing then nothing is what I'll get but is nothing really what I have, right now? If so, why do I think that? How come some people seem to lead happy and fulfilling lifes even though still knowing they'll soon die? (Here my musings don't differ much from Leo Tolstoy, which is exactly my point. What he discovered at fifty I've already dealt with at least once, half his age.) What do they have, what do they know, that I don't?

So in short my question was: is life worth dying for? Answer: I don't think so and perhaps I rather not live but some people seem to think it is. They seem to lead lives worth dying for. How do you do that?

Only way to find out is to live, right? And how do I do that? Can my charm and wittyness alone make me want to spend more time with myself? Of course not. I love myself enough to wish me a long and happy life but ”myself” is not so charming or witty while hiding in a closet, unemployed and feeling useless, ugly and unlovable. I waste of breath I was. And really annoying to live with. Gross, even. Seeing that girl in the mirror stealing my life was bad, having that girl useless and selfpittying was worse. So I had to do something about it. For what use though? I'll die in the end anyway. Yes, but at least I've given life a chance to turn into something good and I can keep on loving, not just myself, but my family and friends and other creatures of the world that I enjoy.

So in the end my curiosity won out. Like a child wants to stay up as long as there seems to be something interesting going on, even if I don't understand it, I wanted to stay alive. I don't expect to ever know why I was gifted with life, why I was gifted with transsexuality, why I was gifted with a need to write even if no one care to read. The why don't matter, it's just the way it is and I deal with it. The purpose of my existence is not for me to know, I've accepted that, but perhaps it is for me to create a purpose and hope it'll have some meaning somehow, somewhere, sometime to someone even if I no longer can care for it. The reason why I have to die and care no more is harder not knowing and to accept and I expect to struggle with that until I either choose not to live anymore or are ”put to bed” by other curcomstances. There's nothing else to do about it. No matter if there is a reason or not, if there's hope for my concious self or not, I'll find out eventuelly but hopefully rather later than sooner. Until then I'll spend my life as I see fit, making the most of it by the means I was gifted with no matter who or what gave it to me. If God exists I hope he approves of my choices in life and if he don't; well fuck him. It probably adds up to the same thing anyway- nothing.

But I still choose to live and that's good. Some day I might make a different choice. And that's all good too. Until then the meaning of my life is what I make it to be.