Today is Valentine’s Day, and even though I was as single as Season 1 Chandler, I had been looking forward to this day for weeks. The first annual “Queer Connections” was taking place here in Boston, and I had signed up to this glitter-filled speed dating event to finally find someone who was cool with my trans-ness on an intimate level. I had given up dating apps months ago and was eager to continue my New Year’s Resolution of dating without any virtual pre-screening (pun very much intended). I woke up this morning eager to get my queer on and find an awesome bi guy, trans man, or [insert appropriate word that rhymes with ‘girl’] girl that loved musicals, Avatar, the last Airbender, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe with whom I could sing in the car while my hair blows in the wind.

Given my anticipation, I was shocked to find myself typing an apologetic letter to the organizer, uninviting myself from the event.

I’m a bit of a contradictory introvert, to be perfectly honest. I thrive off of human interaction and also have very littler interest in people. I’m probably on the phone (yes, actually talking) at least 4 times a week, however it’s usually the same 6 people that I’ve always interacted with. But something had been gnawing at me in the weeks leading up to this event, and I couldn’t figure out what until this morning. It hit me like a truck, ramping from the night before into a fever-pitch today, enveloping my mind and bouncing around my consciousness with an obsession that rivaled the dysphoria of my youth.