I don't remember thinking, as a prepubescent child, that I was or should have been a boy. Sure— I fought my mother over dresses and—until I outright refused to wear them—insisted on pants or shorts underneath (and cowboy boots!); but most little girls do, I imagine. I always thought that I should have had a twin brother called Luke and once or twice tried to make my family recognize him; but so many kids have imaginary friends. I took enormous joy, once, when an older woman told my mother that her son (me) "looked just like one of those little Hanson boys;" but I don't think, looking back, that I would have told you that I was anything but a girl. I knew what made a boy and what made a girl; but for a long time, it didn't dawn on me to care.
When puberty hit, though, I absolutely hit a wall. You can see it it in photographs of me: from eight to about 11, I'm a grinning little flower child running around in costumes and building forts and bunkers and inhabiting imaginary worlds; after that, I'm a sullen-looking, unkempt creature trying to hide (a.) in too big clothes and (b.) from the camera in the first place. I disassociated from my body. I wanted so little to do with it that I wouldn't even pull my own hair (which was long) up into a ponytail until I was about 14; doing so would have, I felt, cemented the fact that I had a body to take care of.
When I was 11 or 12, we got a computer with Internet access, and I almost immediately became a boy online. I reasoned with myself that if my parents ever found out, I'd tell them that it was a matter of simple safety: online predators were more likely to go after young girls than after young boys, right? I didn't believe my excuse in the slightest, but I kept repeating it to myself, because I knew that what I was doing would be considered wrong and kind of sick otherwise.
In exchange for a dying IRL social life, which suffered when I realized that I would never fit in with my male friends and that I was a walking lie when I tried to fit in with my female friends, I had a very active online life as a boy until I was about sixteen (at which point, one of my friends did find out, sending me spiraling into guilt and self-hate). Increasingly, though, I began experiencing moments of complete, paralyzing terror when I remembered that the day was approaching when I would have to give that up. They'd come out of nowhere and literally strike me down. It felt like my body was being crushed. It was like having a heart attack.
So I gave it up. Tearfully confessed to the people I'd betrayed online. Promised myself that I'd become a better person. Gave into my mom's increasingly active attempts to get me into girls' clothing. Finished up high school wanting nothing more than to be someone else. Was depressed and withdrawn all through college. Finally saw a counselor in the second semester of my senior year and am now, newly 23, still trying to figure out who or what I am and what to do about it.
Long-winded. But I felt like I had to get that out. Hope that helps your project a bit, Cryan.
