So, amazingly enough, my mother woke me up in the car when we were driving home from my therapist's appointment. It's quiet, the radio's off, and I'm a little groggy, so I asked her what she needed and she says: "Why do you want to be a man and not a masculine lesbian?" Of course, I'm shocked as hell, considering that Mother Dearest doesn't ever and hadn't ever talked to me about being trans before due to the fact that she said she needed time. So, it was a little eye-opening, and I, hoping to finally prove myself in an conversation with her, say, "Well, the pronouns and the name mean a lot more than you think, and I really don't feel comfortable with breasts and such like girls do. It's hard to explain, it's an internal feeling that I can't really share, but I know it's different."
There's this long, thoughtful silence. I feel like something amazing's going to happen. She's looking at me, she's thinking, she's got my eye contact... and then she sighs. "You were much easier to deal with as a lesbian." That hit me really hard in the ribs, it really did. I have a rather significant complex about being a burden on others, so hearing that I was one because of my own choices stung. I didn't say a word, hoping she'd stop. She didn't, of course. "I think you should reconsider your life choices, you know, I don't really think that you're a guy. You've never seemed like a guy to me. You won't be one until later, anyway, so being butch is fine."
I said yeah, I know, and it's harder but I think it'll definitely be more fulfilling if I'm in the right body, the masculine one I'm trying to be. "It's just because you're overweight, like your mama. If you lost a couple pounds and stopped being so sensitive about it, you'd be fine." That wasn't it at all, and I couldn't say a word because she glared at me and I shut up instantly. If I interrupted her, she would've smacked me. I knew it. So I put my hands in my lap and my eyes watered. "I think you're being stereotypical about genders. Being a masculine woman is completely fine, I forgive you if you didn't think so. I'm not going to call you by name or pronouns because I think you need to try being a girl again."
She forgave me. For being who I was, I was a mistake to be forgiven, apparently.
She'd just denied me everything, and then asked me why I was crying. I didn't say a goddamn word to her. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I didn't have anything other to say than 'Why? Why would you not believe me? Why?' But I couldn't say that either, she told me why. Because my choice was a mistake that could be forgiven. The rest of the carride was full of her telling me how much I considered her to be lesser, how I loved my father more, how useless she was and how much I hated her. At that point, yeah, I hated her, but I hated me more for hating my mother.
She told me to get the ->-bleeped-<- out of her car. I did, and then she looked over at me as I walked up the sidewalk to my front porch and screamed at me, on a Sunday morning, where everyone could hear, "Don't you dare walk away from me without helping your mother!" She muttered something spiteful under her breath that I didn't hear and didn't want to hear, then I grabbed some stuff she'd bought out of the carseat, apologized for brushing her elbow with my shoulder, and ran up to my room. I sobbed. For hours. It felt like forever, but I hurt so bad I couldn't begin to think about doing anything else.
That was a few days ago. She's acted like nothing's happened, even though I've been so angry and fuming at her but unable to speak it up without getting told I'm ungrateful. I was starting to get over it today, due to the fact that it's still around Christmastime and I was enjoying my new gifts. I got a package in the mail, however, from an all-womens college in Missouri. Of course, I didn't open it: I wouldn't ever go there like this, I would feel dysphoric for days. She looked at the envelope, then back at me. "Why didn't you open it?"
I laughed and told her it's a little silly for me to go to a womens college, isn't it? Her eyes narrowed, "You need to stop assuming things, you don't know if you'd like it or not, you haven't been." And I knew she remembered our conversation too.
I hate this place, she makes me sick and worried and I know I'm depressed, I'm suicidal, and I'm at a school I despise. I'm sick and tired of being forgiven, I'm not a mistake. I just want to be accepted somewhere where someone can reach out and hug me and tell me it's okay. I want that so bad. I've gone to youth groups, but Mother only takes me when she's feeling 'gracious' and I can't drive yet and shouldn't due to extreme anxiety.
I need help. I've done hotlines, I've done youth groups, I've done what I can and it still hurts. I plan on running away from home soon, finding a friend that could take me. I just want somebody to help me... That's all. I don't want to hurt anymore.
