I always felt 'off' from as early as I can remember. When my brother and I would play make believe, I'd always be the girl heroes etc, as children we never really thought anything of it, it was just who I wanted to be.
Fast forward about 9 years, I'm now 14 years old, I'd been sexually assaulted by the girl across the street, I'd been stealing my moms old clothes from when she was a teenager (some gothier mesh tops black skirts etc) and I was having a breakdown in my room because my mother'd FREAKED when she caught me wearing nail polish for the first time.. 'You're going to be sorry when your father gets home! He's going to put a stop to this right quick!' I literally just cried and poured it all out to my father, who just stoically exclaims; 'I'll allow the nail polish, but that's as far as this goes. If I catch you, or hear from anyone else, that you're wearing dresses, or makeup... not under my roof. Are we clear?' I had to swallow a very bitter pill that day, but I wasn't deterred, my brother graduated high school, and I'd began bringing extra changes of clothes to school with me, and my makeup kit, and changing in the bathroom at school.
Fast forward 7 years. My cousin D has come out as transgender. Her parents weren't initially super cool about it, quite the opposite in fact, but SUPPOSEDLY my father was.. I was furious, my first reaction was 'that (expletive)(expletive!)' 'Why does she get to and I don't?!' 'Why do my own parents tolerate her but not me?!' I began to feverishly research the process in its entirety anywhere I could. I was finally aware it was possible, and not just with copious amounts of plastic surgery. However, my fathers words still rang in my ears, about my being homeless and essentially not their child anymore, I buried it all. I buried it deep. I became what I assumed would be a 'pinnacle' of masculinity, even if I still wore makeup and nail polish. I cropped my hair short or I'd shave my head entirely like a skinhead. I drank, spit, cursed, smoked, fought, and had all but destroyed everything I was. I'd also had a constant rush of suicidal thoughts, I'd begun self harming again. All I could do to stay alive and stay sane was stay busy. I smothered myself in work, and when I wasn't doing that, I was hiding on the internet playing video games, at least there, I could be the girl I was supposed to be without judgement, or I'd be still secretly doing 'research' on transitioning, but whenever I wasn't sitting in that chair, I wanted to die. And it wasn't much of a life, in my eyes, to give up.
I carried on this way for another 10 years, by then I was 31 and nothing in my life made sense. I had a great job, high paying, with benefits, I have a beautiful girlfriend who loves me and we were going to get a place together, a house. Everything a typical hetero cis male would need to be 'satisfied' in life. It. All. Meant. Nothing. There was one piece of the puzzle that didn't fit. Me. I started having suicidal thoughts even now at work. I ended up with 'hash marks' all over the back of my hardhat for every time I thought about throwing myself to my death at work, and chickened out. It seemed like a good solution to me, I'd die in an 'accident' at work, my family and girlfriend get a boat load of money, and I sleep forever. My girlfriend finally cornered me about my feelings, I explained what I felt how I felt, why *I* think I feel that way. She urged me to seek help.
I approached my doctor about psychological help and now I'm here.