From day one, I was pushed in the direction of living a feminine life. From being put in dresses. to being given barbies and other "girly" toys, I was told that I was a girl, because that's what body I was born into. naturally, I believed that I was in fact a female, because I didn't know any better.
There were signs that pointed to gender variance, even as a youngster. I found myself in the company of boys more than anything, and I strove to be "one of the guys." I did things most boys loved to do, like playing in the mud, picking up bugs, etc. When I entered daycare, I gravitated towards the boy toys they had, although occasionally I would play with toys meant for little girls.
I even went as far as telling one of my friends that I was a boy, in which he promptly replied, "you have long hair, so you're obviously a girl." At that time, we didn't understand gender or anything of the sort, so of course, we just went with what society taught us.
In fourth grade, a female friend of mine began wearing boys clothes. I thought it was cool, so I begged my mom to buy me some masculine clothes. She bought them, unknowingly fueling a fire that would burn in me for years. I dressed in these outfits, finding them to be the most comfortable things I'd ever worn. I wore boys clothing for months. This period of time didn't last long though.
It was the time right before middle school, in fifth grade, that I began trying to dress more feminine, so I could fit in. I wasn't happy, but I pretended to be. During this time, I began to have serious behavioral problems, that would gradually get worse over the years. As my body changed with puberty, I was not excited to watch these changes occur. I couldn't quite understand where these feelings of digust were coming from, and I couldn't put a name to them.
My relationship with my mother began to deteriorate, and friends began pulling away from me as well. I tried so hard to fit in as the girl I thought I was, but I was so miserable. All throughout middle school, I had outbursts and was almost constantly depressed, although at that time I didn't know what depression was.
My mental state was in a rapid downward spiral, and it seemed nothing could fix it. My disgust with myself and my body increased as time went on, but I didn't know how to articulate or even explain the feelings I had. Therefore, I kept them bottled up inside, and they were like a poison eating away at my body.
It was then in the summer after ninth grade that I was introduced to the concept of being transgendered. I watched a movie called Boys Don't Cry, and I was quite surprised at how closely I related with Brandon. I'd never even given the idea that I could be male a thought until then.
I began to do research on being transgender, and suddenly I could put a name to the feelings I had. I was dysphoric of myself, because I felt like I was in the wrong body. I felt a sort of relieved, realizing that I was a male all along. But how would I tell my parents, who believed their daughter identified as female?
I sat down in front of the computer and began to compose a long letter to my father. After many hours of typing and revising, I finally had a satisfying coming out letter. I stuck it in his shoe for work early the next morning. the entire day, I was on pins and needles. I didn't know how he'd react to the fact that his daughter was not his daughter after all.
His response was one I'd been dreading, and a bit worse than expected. He shouted hurtful things at me. We stood in the kitchen, face to face. He screamed at me, and I cried in response. Towards the end of that horrible evening, I called my mom in a flurry of tears, explaining to her what I'd done, and she too denied that I was transgendered.
She used religion as her weapon, saying that "God doesn't make mistakes." She said she'd continue to love me, but wouldn't support me being transgendered. It hurt badly, because both my parents had rejected the idea that I was a male in a female's body.
I asked to get my hair cut. My dad refused, so I cut my hair myself. I did a pretty good job of cutting my already short, pixie cut hair into a more masculine style. I began to bind, and pieced together a few masculine clothing items I had so I could appear more like a male. My dad and I had to make a trip to Virginia that week, and during that time, I passed as a male for the first time ever.
Over the next few weeks after my coming out, my dad began to open up a bit. He took me shopping for school clothes and willingly bought me masculine clothing and shoes. I was extremely happy, and I started school the very next week.
Absolutely no one recognized me, and some of my friends even thought I was a cisgendered male. I eventually talked to them, and came out to them as transgendered. Over the next few months, I faced oppression and rejection, and I wound up hospitalized twice due to depression. I tackled these obstacles, and I continued to live as openly as a transgendered male for nine months, until I allowed my mom's religious views to pressure me back into identifying as a female.
It was then that I began suffering from depression worse than before. I found myself hospitalized three times over a year's time. My true identity was hidden. However, in the summer of last year, I realized that I had to be myself once more, and I came out as transgender, again. My mother blamed my "decision to be transgender" on the fact that I'd gotten emotionally hurt by someone. I didn't care what she said, and continued to identify as male. My behavioral issues almost ceased to exist during this time period.
Then a few months later, I changed abruptly back to female, and once again I became unhappy with myself and was miserable. I changed for other people, and now I know I can't do that anymore. I am Liam, I am a male. I know that, and nothing will change me. I have made it past the first obstacles, and I know I will make it past many more to come. I am starting testosterone in five months, and I am happier than ever.
