…die by the blog. It’s a precarious situation when you put your life online for the world to see. I know the risks involved in telling my life’s story on this blog, but the benefits have outweighed those risks. I understand, and have understood since I posted my first picture on here, that I could be outed at any time. I almost outed myself by accident more than once.

What I didn’t expect was to lose a friend. The friend, actually, the one who facilitated my reemergence into the light. I shared my secret with her, and though she had trouble with it at first, she came to embrace my particular brand of uniqueness, allowing me to be Stefani, and helping me with my look and style.

I took that for granted, I admit. What’s worse is that she expected more from me. More than I could give. Certainly I loved her, but though I tried, I came to realize that I wasn’t in love with her. I told her as much. Perhaps she was hoping I would come around, but sadly I did not. I don’t like dating, so it never became an issue, until it did.

When I wrote my last post, I failed to consider how it would affect my friend. The date with this girl didn’t happen. I had invited her to the writer’s group I’m involved with, since she’s also a writer, but once she got the schedule at her new job, she apologetically had to decline. We have yet to reschedule.

Unfortunately, my insensitive post left my friend reeling. She let it be known that she was done helping me, that she couldn’t continue as my assistant. She threw all my belongings into a box, which I had to lug home. My clothes are now ensconced within two large plastic totes, secured with padlocks. Stefani, I’m afraid, is on hiatus.

I’m considering my options at the moment. Since losing everything years ago, I’ve had to rely on my family. That’s why I don’t have a safe place to be myself. My situation has begun to improve lately in part, I believe, from accepting that I am transgender. Though I have no plans to transition, I know in my heart that Stefani is who I am.

I don’t know what to do. I know I need my own space. I could move to Amarillo, where I work. I just need to find an apartment I can afford. But I also want to return to the DFW area. Maybe it’s time I think about moving back. I’d have greater freedom there than I would in such a small city.

I’m not going to be rash in my decision. I also hope my friend and I can reconcile. I miss her, but I’m going to respect her wishes. I won’t try to force myself into her life, and I have to accept that our friendship might be over for good. For my part, I wish her the best, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t a better friend.