If you are reading this you know more about me than most of my family…

…or should I say my ex-family.


In 2015 my grandfather died. The last thing he said to me the day before he died was “thank you” after I told him I loved him. He never said it back.

That was also the last year I spoke to my father.

Over the past 2 years I have gone through a legal name and gender change, and as of January 2018 no longer live in Colorado.

Neither one of my parents know my new name.

Neither one of my parents know where I live.

Neither one of my parents have any way to contact me, even if they wanted to.

So you see, you already know more about me then they do. 

Most days I don’t even think about this. Most days are completely normal…

I go to work.

I come home.

I laugh.

I live.

So what hurts? Why am I still obsessed over the void that is left in my life? Why do I psychotically crave resolution?

The truth is I don’t know, and I will probably never know.

There is a special place that I always imagined family would go.

You know, that small comfortable place deep down inside where you know that’s all that really matters? That space that says “Even if the world ended tomorrow, at least I have these people“.

You know the space for people who tuck you in at night? Who let you sleep on the couch when you are sick.

For me, there is a void there.



On one hand, I realized that maybe I need to learn that it doesn’t have to be my “family” that fills that space.

On the other hand, it’s almost insulting to have surrogates in that space.



I think what I am learning is that…


…my space will always be empty…


…and I need to be okay with that.


So here is having an empty family space.

The only way I know it.

The only way it will ever be for me.







































































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