Lets add another story to this growing list of transgender tales-
I remember since I was young, just how much I hated dresses and skirts. Even more so around the holidays as my mother forced me into the same dress every christmas because she wanted me āto look niceā. It was a disgusting red velvet dress with white fur on the collar and sleeve cuffs, and it was so itchy. But I was always more uncomfortable in it than I realized back then.
I also despised the color pink, not because I didnāt like, but because that was all I was told to fucking like. āBut pink is girly, all girls like pinkā so i hated it even more.
Cut to me arriving in middle school- I had no sense of āstyleā. As long as what I wore was three sizes too big, and covered every inch of me possible, I didnāt care what it looked like. But my mother thought otherwise. She told me I had to āStop dressing like a bum and put on something niceā. She regularly told me I looked like a homeless person, or a bum, and that I was going to make her look bad. So, pressured into changing myself to avoid the abusive words, I slowly began changing myself.
I started wearing things that were more āgirlyā, things with a lower cut collar, less coverage. I even started to wear makeup. Honestly, I was disgusted with myself. But I told myself that since I was getting complements on how I looked, and now that my mother was happy, that this was me.
It didnāt last long though. My last year of middle school I reverted back to who I really was, though still very uncomfortable for unknown reasons. I dropped the dresses, the low cut shirts, threw my makeup in a box under my bed, and left my hair alone. I eventually stopped shaving as well, mostly because that shit was too much fucking work.
Cut again to my freshman year, My motherās words were worse now. Not only that, but I was starting to realize I had anxiety issues as well, and soon noticed a rapidly growing depression too. So both the words on the outside, and the inside soon forced me back to becoming plastic. I pulled the makeup back out, put the low cut tops back on, tugged on form fitting pants, and tried my best to convince myself I was who Iām not.
After even less time this time, I went back to who I was once more. But not because it was too much effort this time, but because I had begun to venture into the lgbtq+ community. Finding out about transgender people and what made them who they were made me begin to question my gender, as well as my sexuality. What I would guess at around seven to nine months later, I knew.
It was odd for me, because I woke up, and it was like something had just clicked all of the sudden. I just thought, āYup, Iām a boyā, and it was like everything was starting to piece together.
I came out online first, then to my friends at school, all of the luckily being supportive and accepting. I asked my friends for name suggestions, as long as it didnāt start with the same letter as my dead name. One of them suggested Cole, and once more, something in me switched on. Then I broke up with my first boyfriend, whom I was dating at the time. He was straight, and it wasnāt going well anyway. Finally I came out to my parents, and as I expected it went terribly. My dad lied about wanting to support me as long as i was happy, and my mother, well, Iāll just say I wasnāt surprised with the words spoken that day. Nor the ones spoken in the two years since on her behalf.
But soon, my best friend and i will be turning 18 in a few months, and as soon as weāve saved up the money, weāll both move out together and get an apartment. Though we may rent a house if my elder sister decides to join us.
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
2087
vaporwave
