When I learned to wish on a star, I immediately knew what to wish for. I would sit in my window (shared with my older brother) and wait for any glimpse of trailing light that my mind could trick me into seeing. I wished for silly things; new toys, a baby sister, a puppy, etc. But this night, my brain told me to wish for something new. My 5 year old self wished that he could wake up the next morning as a girl.
I’ve thought about this often in my life. It was an innocent wish on a shooting star, it couldn’t possibly mean anything, right? The thing about adulthood is that hindsight really kicks your ass. I was thinking about this moment in my life - these two seconds of my five year old memories, and my mind began to wander.
I don’t know how to follow the train of thought that I took, but it went something like this. At five years old, I wanted to be a girl. When I was in preschool, I asked my parents for tights. I was afraid to ask them, because I knew I was supposed to ask for a pair of cowboy boots. They bought me a bright pink pair. I was mad because I wanted yellow. That same year, I got in trouble at preschool for wearing the dresses in the costume corner, and for wearing my yellow tights under my pants so my parents wouldn’t know I wore them to school. I played with barbie dolls; in fact, I had 36 of them. My brothers played with legos and trucks, but I didn’t want anything to do with that. In elementary school, I would sneak into my mom’s room to play with her (very limited supply of) makeup. I thought this was all normal. I made my first two friends in the second grade. They were the nicest girls I’ve ever known (or at least, up to that point.) When my brothers and I started playing video games, I always chose the female characters. They were my favorites and the only ones I would use. All hell broke loose when we got games that would let us customize out avatars. “That doesn’t look like you,” my brothers would say. “I know, but she’s pretty. I like being her.” I would reply.
In middle school, I began to develop feelings for my male classmates. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought my gayness made the rest of my childhood make sense. If I’m gay, that means I have to be a little feminine, right? I was comfortable with this.
In high school, I gained a lot of weight. I noticed at this time that I absolutely hated my body. I chopped it off to the weight gain and moved on with my life. But those feelings were always in the back of my mind.
It was the summer after my senior year of high school that I met my first friend who happened to be transgender. Okay, so I actually already knew her, but this was when she came out to me and told me she was really a girl. “Cool! You be you, girl.” I was ecstatic for my friend. But I never knew being exposed to her would shake me the way that I’m starting to realize it did.
Before she came out to me, the only experience I had with anything trans* was from movies. I thought it was an impossible concept made up by hollywood to sell product. After learning all I could, I realized I was jealous of my friend. At the time, I thought I was jealous because she could be herself and I was still in the closet with my family (about being gay.)
After that summer, I went off to college and repressed my lingering jealously. It made me bitter. I was an angry young adult. In my junior year of college, I met another young man. He came out to me almost immediately - told me he is a trans* man and that he is taking hormones. This opened the door for my feelings again, but this time it clicked. I started to identify with the stories he was telling me. Of course, I repressed it. I didn’t talk to him much after that.
Fast forward to today. I’m 25, very openly gay, and very confused. I know what my heart is telling me. And what my brain is telling me. But something is getting in the way. I read about trans* men and women everyday. About their experiences, their suffering, their happiness even, and I somehow feel selfish. How can I be one of them? I feel dysphoric, but it isn’t debilitating, it isn’t causing me to suffer. I tell myself that it isn’t fair to real trans* men and women for me to want to group myself with them because my suffering is nothing compared to theirs.
But then I realize as I’m writing this... My stomach aches when I think about my body. My face shrinks, my eyes swell. But it still isn’t enough. This isn’t what these men and women are describing.
I don’t know how to properly express what I want to say. I know in my heart that something isn’t right. I’ve been repressing it for so long, that I’ve become numb to my feelings. I’m afraid of not feeling numb, though. I don’t want to let down my walls.
But I do.