I chose this username because that's how I've felt for the past eight years of my life, like a zombie. Only dumber. See, everything was so much easier for me when I was alive, when the only difference between boys and girls were long and short hair. Back then, I was very sheltered from even the notion of sex and gender, let alone that it was possible for people to transition from one to the other, or anywhere in between.
That all changed when my half sister came out as MTF over IM when I was 10 years old. My parents found out about it eventually, and with the way they acted you would have swore she killed a puppy before their very eyes or something. They've gotten better about it over the years, but they still refer to her as a 'he' way more often than they should. I make a point to correct them whenever I catch them doing it, because I know that one day, that will be my fate too.
The first (identifiable) instance of gender dysphoria I can remember occurred when I was twelve years old. Many more followed of course, but this one is special because the effects of it linger to this day. They were talking about some sort of crackpot study on the evening news, about how young boys don't make eye contact as much as young girls do. I decided, upon watching it, to stop making eye contact with my parents, all in the vain hope that one of them would figure it out, grab me by the shoulders, and say the one thing I wanted more than anything to hear: "It's okay. We'll still love you if you're not a girl." I'll probably never hear them say that.
Despite my half sis being trans, I never really knew much about being transgender in and of itself. I worried if I did, my parents would be mad at me for not being normal. So, I always thought transition was a male-to-female exclusive thing, as I was raised on 'girl power' 'boys drool' and all that. Of course my sis transitioned. Girls are awesome! Girls can do anything and wear whatever they want! But if that was so, why didn't wearing jeans and baggy clothes ease the discomfort I felt with my newly grown breasts? Why did I cry when I read about breast ironing on wikipedia, not because the thought scared me but because I was now too old to do it? (Side note, if you happen to be a pre-pubescent FAAB person reading this: it's not fun, don't do it.)
I found an answer when one of my elementary school friends came out as FTM. He then promptly received no shortage of backlash from my best friend of 10 years and her mother, with an extra helping of female pronouns, all of which occurred behind his back. I hated what they were saying about him and really wanted to tell him the truth, but I didn't dare speak up. This was my best friend after all, the one I had been with through thick and thin, why jeopardize our relationship over something someone else was doing? Something he'd never know about? Besides, I wasn't a freak like him, right...?
As six feet under as I was, my old school friend offered me a ray of hope. It was through him I learned about binding and T; looking deeper on my own I found top surgery, informed consent clinics, and most importantly, people who had the decency to treat transgender people like actual human beings. We don't talk much anymore, my old friend and I, but I would thank him if we did. Though I still didn't feel 'trans enough' in my teens to go about starting my own transition, I knew one day I would get over that. That day is today.
However, despite finally accepting myself as 'trans enough', I still feel like I'm not 'allowed' to be trans in a way. You see, I can understand the reason why my best friend and her mother are so hostile to transgender people. It's a crappy, unfounded reason and I despise their worldview (which is why I've been distancing myself further and further from them lately), but it's still a reason. All throughout their lives, both my best friend and her mom have been the victims of men, physically and psychologically. They like me, they like the fact that I always stayed the same while their lives were in turmoil, it would be a betrayal to them to suddenly 'change'. Adding to that, my mother too, another victim, is very ill, both physically and mentally. Should I really add to the stress when my parents all ready have enough to deal with? My SO (who should be sainted for sticking with me through all this) once told me to be myself, that nothing else mattered. But being yourself is hard when the people closest to you may turn out not to matter.
So there's my wall-o-text. I can't say I have any major dreams or aspirations for the future–I can't even see myself in ten years–but I at least hope to make a few friends here and be a constructive member of the community. It's nice to finally open up about all this, even if it is to strangers on the internet. Opening up to another person in real life won't be for a few more days now, my counseling appointment isn't until Thursday. Wish me luck, I guess.
