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actualtext · 2 years ago

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Nov 14, 2022

A timeline

My mom got pregnant in high school at the age of 16 with my sister Nicole and had to drop out. Nicole's father, as far as I know, wasn't in the picture and died very young. So, from the very beginning, my mom was a single parent. My mom was a very hard worker, so more often than not, my sister had to take care of me. I'm pretty sure my sister is the one who potty trained me. Nicole is 11 years older than me. My mom met my dad (as far as I was told, he was a friend of her older brothers), and they got pregnant with me when she was 28 and he was 40. I'm not sure to this day if I was conceived before or after the wedding, but I do know that my parents were catholic. All that meant back then was that contreception was a no-no, that if you got pregnant, you'd better be married before the baby is born out of wedlock, and that abortion wasn't an option at all. At around the age of 6 months, my parents decided to move to colorado, and I'm not sure why. I don't have any early memories of my father, especially not when we lived in Colorado, because he decided to move back to San Antonio before I could identify as an individual and formulate memories. I suspect it wasn't long after having me that my parents separated. Later in life, my sister told me my dad would beat my mom and just treat her really poorly.

Despite not having a high school diploma, my mom was able to find a job at a nursing home. I remember her saying she was a CNA, but I'm not really sure how that was possible without a high school diploma . I know for fact that she worked at a nursing home though. She would have to take me with her sometimes when she didn't have child care. She made enough money to support two children and live in an apartment. My sister eventually ran away to San Antonio from Colorado (at least that's how I remember it), because she missed her boyfriend Javie. Nicole got pregnant at the age of 14, and had her first baby, my nephew Javie, at 15. She then had her second child, my niece Mari, at 16 or 17. By this point, she had her own family unit and wasn't really present in our lives. All I really remember is that it was me and my mom for a while. Occasionally my sister would live with us for a few months but she didn't really get along with my mom so she would eventually leave and be on her own again.

For whatever reason, what I assume to be the death of my uncle Ruben, her brother, my mom decided to return to Texas. This is the point that our lives got turned upside down. Without a highschool diploma, she couldn't find a good paying, stable job. she usually had to work two jobs, usually fast food entry-level jobs that flopped just as quickly as she found them. She was always working, which meant she was never around. I remember vividly having to couch surf with different family members thinking that we were just spending the night and having slumber parties everywhere. I hated how many schools I went to. Ultimately, I went to 7 elementary schools, three middle schools and luckily only one high school. This was before finding out about the mckinney vento act, and how if you're homeless, under this act you can stay at the same school regardless of your physical address.

Another thing that happened when we moved back to Texas was that I met my father for the first time since being able to form memories. It wasn't shortly after, that he molested me. My mom would get upset that I wet my bed until I was 11 years old, but she didn't know this was a common side effect of child molestation. I remember whenever we would visit him, he would kiss me in a very non fatherly way...he would try to make out with me. I hated going to see him, but I continued to go because I didn't know how to tell anyone what he was doing to me.

My mother and I continued to be chronically homeless up until the day she died. I was 23. Two days prior, she and I were really excited because I had just gotten a job at a local grocery store. The night prior, I'd just gone to see the band Blink 182 play in austin. I didn't want to wake my mom up so I stayed with a boyfriend that night. The next morning, she hadn't texted me which was unusual for her, so I went back home around noon. When I entered our apartment she was nowhere to be found on the lower floor, so I went upstairs to look for her. I noticed the bathroom light was on so I knocked on the door and called for her, but there was no answer. I opened the door and was immediately hit in the face with a cloud of steam. It was almost hard to breathe with how thick the steam was. I called out to her and when I heard no answer, I pulled back the curtain and that's when I noticed she was laying in the tub, lifeless. The proceeding moments are all kind of a blur, but I remember yelling at the top of my lungs for her to wake up, and repeating "mom" overs again. When my boyfriend who had driven me grabbed my shoulder, I kind of snapped out of whatever was making me wail the way I had been. He needed me to give the authorities my information so they could come help us. I remember feeling so guilty that I hadn't been there. I had been out having fun and she had been alone. One of my cousins had told me that they had had a conversation with her earlier that morning which made me feel a little better that it hadn't happened while I was at the concert. An aunt (her sister Irma) asked me "why weren't you here for her?" and that just killed me. I felt fortunate to have received a degree in social work because we had been taught what leads a person to addiction and whatnot. I feel like that was the only reason I didn't turn to drugs and alcohol after my mom passed away. My mom had bipolar disorder so sometimes I was her golden child and other times I was only someone who held her back in her eyes. I have a lot of trauma related to my mom like my lack of self esteem, my irrational fear of cockroaches which is also tied to being homeless, but I think finding her is the heaviest.

When my mom passed away, we had been living in public housing. The officials asked if I wanted to stay and let me know that I owed them money because I never reported having gotten a job, and that I would have to be added to a waiting list like everyone else since it was no longer me and my mother, but me alone. It was pretty obvious this wasn't the life I wanted to live, so I told them that I actually didn't want to live in public housing anymore. I couch surfed with my sister for a week until she asked when I would be leaving because she didn't want to get in trouble with her apartment officials. I then couch surfed for a few months between three locations: my cousin Pricilla, my boyfriend at the time, Gabriel, and my friend Amanda. Gabriel, my boyfriend of four years, got tired of me being sad all the time and told me "I dread coming home to you." So I ended that relationship. Some of my belongings at my cousin's house had been stolen, the most valuable being my mom's gold rosaries, so I left that place. Amanda had a whole family, and I felt from the very beginning that I was burdening them, so as soon as I could I left. Thankfully at this point, my friend Rick needed a roommate so we got a place together, and while I have lived in many places since then, I haven't been homeless since.

My relationship with my sister has always been strained. She's 11 years older than me so we don't really have much in common, and at some point in her young life had to take care of me because our mother was always working. She also had a very different relationship without mother because she was the first child, and because our mom was just a child when she had her. While with me, our mom had already matured and had experience being a mother. My sister had to grow up at an early age and didn't really get to experience her youth. I grew up seeing her take her frustrations out on her children, which made me dislike her to no end. Her daughter/my niece is one of my favorite people. On the night of my niece's graduation, my sister kicked her out. I was out of town when it happened but when my niece called me, I offered her a place to stay immediately. She stayed with me for about three months, during which time my sister convinced my mom's side of the family that I was housing a runaway. They all stopped talking to me, despite my attempt to clear up what had happened. When our mother passed (before the incident with my niece), my sister was living in Corpus Christi and needed a car because hers had been totalled. Because I needed my sister here with me, I agreed when she asked me to finance a vehicle under my name. She said she would be able to make the payments and that she already had a job lined up at a place she had previously worked at. I had no reason to not believe her, so I signed for the car. Three or four months had passed and she hadn't made a single payment, messing up my credit. When I confronted her about it, she said something along the lines of "if you're so worried about your credit, you can just take the car." At this point in life, I embarrassingly enough didn't know how to drive. Nor did I have the financial stability I needed in order to finance a car, I was couch surfing for fucks sake. She knew this, so there was nothing I could do. I have a brother from my father and his ex wife. He's older than my sister but I don't know by how much because I've only seen him a handful of times. I guess I should be grateful he hasn't had the opportunity to screw me over or hurt me other than by not being around.

At my current age of 29, my aunt Nancy (my dad's sister) asked me to drive her son/my cousin Michael to Dallas to pick up his son/my second cousin Jeremy. As soon as I met Jeremy, who I had never even known about up until this point, we became instant best friends. He became one of my favorite cousins, a favorite person, the brother I had always wanted. The two months that followed, we trauma bonded over the fact that we had both been touched as children. It was the night before halloween, and I figured since Jeremy was new to town, he probably hadn't made any plans, so I invited him to a halloween party I had been invited to. At this party, Jeremy and I partook in drinking as well as smoking pot. Weed was easy to come by because Jeremy works at a dispensary. Up until this point in life, I had only ever smoked weed once or twice a year because I didn't like how it made me more anxious than usual. By the time we left, we had sobered up from the alcohol but we were still high. I drove Jeremy to his fathers house. Jeremy said I could stay the night if I wanted to because he lived on the south side of San Antonio, and I lived in San Marcos, about an hour away. I had stayed at Jeremy's house before because sometimes I drove late, and both him and his father had offered me a place to stay with open arms many times before. I really appreciated them for that, and I didn't think anything of the offer this time around. I sat at Jeremy's dining room table for a bit, talking to him about a girl that he used to like who lives in Dallas. He said he didn't feel like he had feelings for her anymore, despite just recently seeing her, and crying because we had to leave her behind. I'm not really sure what my response was, but I remember being really sleepy and telling him I was gonna crash out already. I thought it was exhaustion mixed with the fact that we had smoked weed which has the common side effect of sleepiness. So, I went to sleep really heavy that night, as a lightweight when it comes to smoking weed. I was woken up with Jeremy towering over me, giving me little kisses. One of his hands was under my shirt stroking my breast, and the other was making its way into my pants. once I realized what was happening, I pushed him off of me and yelled "Jeremy what the fuck??" I remember pulling myself away from him and cradling myself in a fetal position while sobbing. I remember telling him how he ruined everything. He just kept telling me to calm down, but kept his distance. I grabbed my things and left as fast as I could.He betrayed me. Previous to this incident I had considered moving to Indiana with a friend who would have provided a support system for me outside of Texas. Lack of a support system was the only thing keeping me in Texas, really. This event with Jeremy solidified the idea of going.

I've done everything by the book up until this point, and I'm genuinely a good person. Despite being homeless, I excelled at my studies, ranking in at #7 out of about 450 students in high school. I even made time to volunteer, which I love doing. Despite the odds, I went to college and graduated with a degree in social work. I feel like I've been working so hard to keep my head up and stay true to myself, and still these bad things happen to me. I'm really hoping that these are all just signs I need to get out of Texas, and that Indiana will prove that by providing opportunities that I haven't had in the past, and by making me feel something other than betrayed and abandoned. We shall see.

#life #life story #story time #timeline #my story #your story #irenesauceda #irene #sauceda

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mrs-geuse · 4 years ago

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Empty (Hank Anderson x Reader)

This one is purely a twist of a page from my own diary.

I’ve had some requests for pregnant!reader and Hank and...I just can’t do that right now. My husband and I have been struggling with infertility for a year and a close friend just announced her pregnancy today, my niece was born 3 weeks ago...it’s been emotional for me.

This is purely a therapeutic attempt at getting through this for me and I’m sorry if it disappoints.

Warnings: Infertility, mentions of alcoholism, mental health struggles, and (a history of) self-harm.

Hank hears a slam from somewhere in the house and he’s instantly peeking around the corner, down the hall, warm pizza long forgotten on the kitchen counter.

“Y/N? You alright?” he calls. No response. “Y/N?” His mind is instantly working quickly, running through possibility after possibility of the worst shit.

You’d been going through it lately, your mental health at an all-time low for the last few months. It drove you to do some crazy shit and he was always there to pick up your pieces. He worried you’d resort to some of those old coping habits he knew you had. You’d told him you hadn’t done that in years, but it was still a very real possibility to him and it kept him up at night, the image of you bleeding out.

Tonight, he thought you were doing better. You’d been working on getting answers for what was bothering you…you’d spent a lot of time working through things together and – though the touchy-feely stuff was a little hard for Hank to vocalize – you were in a better place than you’d been in, well, ever.

“I’m fine,” you finally call to him, but he can hear in your voice that you’re so not fine.

“Sweetheart, come on, what is it?”

He peers into the bedroom, sees your phone face-down on the nightstand, your body on the bed, back to the headboard, knees pressed against your chest.

“It happened again,” you start, voice breaking a little bit. This could be one of two things, he knows.

Either another friend is pregnant or your period showed up.

Hank knows it’s not the latter, based on the positive ovulation test on the sink, the fact that you’ve been all over him for the last few days…

"Fuck, sweetheart…”

You shake your head, shake it off, try to take a breath.

“I feel like such an asshole, yanno? I’m happy for her, I really am, but I’m so fucking tired of it not being us. It’s been a year, Hank, a fucking year…”

He knows this, is very aware. He knows because you’ve been to the specialist, done the ten vials of bloodwork, the ultrasound up the cooch, the follow-up. Hell, he’d even done the jizz-in-a-cup thing just because he knew how much this broke you that you weren’t a mom yet.

He can remember the anxiety for those results, remember what it felt like to think it was him. He’d been convinced it was him. Hank hadn’t really thought about having another kid after Cole…and then he met you. Young, you, and that almost scared him off – the knowing that you were gonna want kids.

Hank was a drinker, for years, still is – only now he has someone to hold him through the night and that makes the drinking a little less necessary, makes life a little more bearable.

Only the results showed that his swimmers were still good. And your results showed that your stuff was all good…so, what the fuck?

He remembers holding your hand in that office as the doctor told you news, remembers your sleepless nights up filled with guilt, for whatever reason. If there was something wrong, it was nothing to feel guilty for, yet he couldn’t talk you down from that.

The doctor rambled about how some healthy couples can try for a year with no success, have nothing wrong with them…twenty percent. Twenty-fucking-percent of couples and apparently you fell right into that group.

The agony this caused you, on top of everything else you’d been through. That year consisted of monthly breakdowns in the bathroom when the bleeding started. You’d been through your share of symptom-checking, so convinced you’d been pregnant that month – you’re not normally queasy, you’re not normally late – yet Aunt Flo always reared her stupid, fucking head and each month he’d have to hold his girl and reassure you that eventually you’ll be carrying a child, things would work out…

Hell, there were months you both went sober – just in case that might help. Only it didn’t, it only made the both of you more anxious, made the constant sex almost a chore, drove you both into arguments and bullshit…

It was only recently that you sat at that kitchen table wearing his police shirt, going on about how you needed to live a little, how you needed to learn to let time do its thing. In theory? Great idea! In practice? There were so many fucking roadblocks to that happiness.

Including when your friends post on social media that – surprise! – they’re expecting!

It’s always like a gut-punch, always feels like falling and anger and guilt and ‘how-dare-I-feel-this-way-it’s-not-their-fault’ yet each month you watch them update with pictures of pregnant bellies and then eventually they post that the baby has arrived. Not to mention the monthly updates from everyone about what their little bundle is into and what things they can do and milestones reached, first steps, first words, pregnancy announcement number two…

You’d been through it all and honestly Hank just wished you’d quit the social media bullshit, cut it out, and focus on the two of you and Sumo.

And then your brother’s wife got pregnant at month one and, fuck, did that send you spiraling. Day drinking, driving drunk, crying all the time. Hank didn’t know if you’d ever get out of the funk.

Yet somehow you did. You were so damn strong, he was excited for that piece of you to grow with a baby, couldn’t wait to see what that child could become, hoped it took more of your traits and none of his.

At first, he was tentative about a child. After Cole, he couldn’t imagine the amount of anxiety he would have. But he knew how much you wanted it, how excited you were every time you went down the baby aisle at the store…

Now all you do is cry, avoid that aisle, look away.

You’d gotten through your sister-in-law’s baby shower just fine and now that the baby’s here and you’re seeing your parents step up as first-time grandparents…that hurt is real and raw.

And it’s not their fault, you know that, and you don’t hold resentment. You do avoid, though. Avoid calling, avoid social gatherings with the family. The shame you feel for not being a mom is something Hank can’t understand as a man, he just can’t. You told him once that it makes you feel like less of a woman and that shook him to the fucking core.

What kind of society puts this kind of pressure on the ‘natural progression of life’? How many people had asked about her getting pregnant, making assumptions that you weren’t trying, that you weren’t having issues.

“How did you let your sister-in-law get pregnant before you? You and Hank have been married longer, he’s old!” -the words of an actual family-friend. What a mess. How fucking painful for you to go through. He remembers that night vividly, remembers you walking him out because he was about to fight someone, remembers the way your tears looked as you paced in the parking lot, wondered how you were gonna go in and face everyone.

People suck, that’s for sure, and this is no different. People don’t understand and no one talks about infertility, you’re realizing. No one talks about the shame of it, the pain, the emotional devastation, what it fucking does to a happy marriage…

The two of you have come through stronger and you’re on a more positive, upbeat path but you still have your down days and Hank is very aware that you haven’t had one in about three weeks…

“Maybe we should start the adoption process,” you mumble with a sigh as he sits beside you, the bed dipping under his weight.

Only he knows you, he knows that you want to carry a baby, knows that there are options…like adopting an embryo…you’d researched your heart out. Researched about proper positions, different tricks, supplements, spent so much money on ovulation kits and doctor visits and pregnancy tests…

“I’m for it if that’s what you want, if you’re ready for that…” he rubs your shoulder.

You sigh, bury your face in his chest.

“I’m just so tired of waiting. I’m so tired of trying and getting hopeful and then bleeding. I’m tired of hearing from my parents that it’ll happen. I sort of wish something was wrong because then we could intervene. But now, what, we wait longer? It’s just bad luck? I’m fucking done with being told to wait and be patient, and that I’m too stressed. I’m pissed that people can have unhealthy habits or try for a month and get pregnant no issue while we have been doing our best to be better and this has been a full fucking year. Hank, we could have a three-month-old right now…right now! Holding a three-month-old. What the fuck?” you let a few tears slip by.

“I’m right here with you. I’ve seen how hard this has been on you. You’re stronger than anyone I know, baby.” He kisses your temple, rubs up and down your back. “You’re gonna be a great mom. And it’s gonna happen. No matter what I have to do, I’m gonna make you a mom.”

He doesn’t care how much money it’s going to cost; he needs to see you happy again. He misses it. You were so full of life once, you’re like a wilted flower now.

“You’ve been great with all this, Hank. Thank you.” You kiss him, lean into it more and Hank feels that spark, feels his arousal start up again.

“Fuck,” he sighs, “I know what you want,” his fingers dance across your neck. “How ‘bout we eat some pizza,” he kisses you, “and then,” another kiss, “we come back in here,” a kiss to your neck, “bring the whipped cream,” you smirk at that, “and enjoy each other.”

You hum. “That sounds so good right now, Hank…”

He nods. “Gonna run me dry by the end of this week,” he stands with you to head to the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, big man.” You smack him on the ass.

So maybe your life isn’t perfect, but it’s yours.

#Hank Anderson x reader #detroit become human #detroit become human hank anderson #hank anderson reader insert #detroit become human hank x reader #reader insert #detroit become human reader insert #detroit become human x reader

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tinybluedots · 4 years ago

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to my baby in heaven

Aida,

I remember the day I discovered you like it was yesterday. I had taken a test a couple days before and it came back negative. But I couldn’t shake the intuitive feeling. I remember coming back into my bedroom as I waited for the test. I set it upside down so I couldn’t watch it, and tried focusing on the TV; I was watching The Office. Interestingly enough, it was an episode where Pam is pregnant. In the background, Andy said, “it’s like a little magical foot just high-fived me!”

When I finally flipped it over, after what seemed like an eternity, the black word stood out bold and true: pregnant. I went into shock, I think. My heart jumped in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Me, a mother? I remember I jumped out of bed, pacing for a few minutes as the reality started to wash over me. Huh. Who would’ve thought? Instantly, I wondered how Nick would take it. What if he was angry? Would he leave? Would he hate me if he stayed? I felt sick to my stomach.

I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and walked outside to my car. The first person I called was my sister. I still have screenshots of her reaction (and the reactions of my other family members as well). She was really happy and, as bewildered as I was, so was I.

When I decided to tell Nick, it was a couple of days before his birthday. I remember thinking, “what a birthday gift.” You certainly were a surprise. He came into my room and sat down in my desk chair. I’d told him I needed to talk to him about something, so I’m sure he already knew. I felt really nervous; I could barely look him in the eyes. I played with my fingers and I felt so nervous I could hardly breathe. As the words came out, I remember how still his face was. He was so calm. He took a breath and said, “okay. So what’s next?” He didn’t even flinch. I wonder if he was in shock too. Somehow, I felt so much calmer in his presence. I felt safe and relieved.

That same week, our unit told him he was going to deploy again, even as he’d just gotten back home a couple of months before. I can only imagine how stressed he was. We were making plans and preparing things so that we’d be all set up when you came. He would’ve been deployed the majority of the pregnancy and for your birth, so I felt really overwhelmed too. Even going through the Army paperwork and all of the appointments, I started to feel very alone. He grew pretty distant, and we didn’t really communicate well.

But we were excited. We talked about all the different things we wanted to do with you. We talked about finger-painting with you, and how we’d play games with you. We wanted at least one night a week to be family night. We wondered if you would be a boy or a girl. We wondered who you would be, what kinds of things you’d like. I made countless boards on Pinterest looking for nursery room ideas. My mom bought me the classic ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ and took me to the baby store in town. We walked around and she got excited; she shared stories of when we were little and what tips and tricks helped her. I felt blown away at how tiny the onesies were. I couldn’t wait to start wearing maternity shirts and having the professional photo shoot when I was bigger. I researched the best prenatal vitamins and the best oils and lotions to prevent stretch marks. I changed my diet. I talked to others in the unit who knew I was pregnant and they offered to give me baby gear they didn’t use anymore.

Nick and I talked about what to name you and how we would raise you. I was thrilled. Honestly, I’d been making a lot of poor choices and if it wasn’t for you, who knows what would’ve happened. You changed everything for me. I felt connected with you instantly. I would figure everything out so you could have an even better life than mine. I would do whatever I had to do to keep you safe and loved.

I would touch my hand to my belly at night and talk to you. I wondered what interests you would have. I felt amazed. You were alive in me. God had sent me a real life angel to hold and cherish. The heavens had given me a treasure greater than anything I could ever accomplish. I wanted to name you Aida. It’s Arabic for “gift,” and Jewish for “joy.”

But one day, after work, my body started to hurt. I started bleeding and Nick drove me to the hospital. We were so scared. But they did an ultrasound and I got to see your tiny heart racing on the monitor. I knew you were small but it really hit me then. I felt so amazed. How could there be so much life in someone so preciously tiny? Nick and I called you ‘peanut,’ you were so small. The tech said she wasn’t supposed to, but she gave me some ultrasound pictures of you anyways. I still keep those on my desk in my room. So everything was okay, we thought.

And then the same thing happened a couple of weeks later, right before my first real prenatal visit. It was late at night and I was in even more pain. I drove myself to the hospital. They ran so many tests, I was in the ER for hours. I think I already knew, too. The nurse came in and said they were waiting for someone from the OB department to come talk to me. I definitely knew then, though I hoped it wasn’t so. And when she did come in, before she even said a word, the nurse came in behind her and set down a box of tissues on the bed with me.

As she started to explain that you were gone, that they couldn’t find your heartbeat and what steps I could take, I feel like I flew away. I cried but I wasn’t fully there. I went through the motions. They discharged me at 2am and it was raining. I remember I couldn’t even feel my legs carrying me to my car. I was sobbing like a child; I didn’t even care who saw me. I could barely even see the road through my tears, and the rain made me wonder if Heaven was crying with me.

My mom came up to see me and I curled up next to her on the bed like I was five years old again. I tucked my face into her shoulder and sobbed.

I was in denial, too. I couldn’t really believe what was happening. I refused to get the surgery done. Maybe you were still in there. Maybe the doctors were wrong. Nick didn’t know how to handle it either, and we parted ways for some time. I had a playlist I’d made for you that I kept on repeat.

And the day I finally got the D&C, I feel a piece of me died. I still remember vividly how they prepared me for surgery. I remember watching through lifeless eyes as the overhead lights passed when they wheeled me to the OR. I remember waking up and feeling as though I had awoken to a nightmare. I could hardly move as they put me in a wheelchair and pushed me outside to meet my escort. The bright and sunny day seemed to tease me. I felt so broken, like a shell of a person being wheeled around. They didn’t perform the surgery correctly the first time, either, so I went back for the second time two nights later while hemorrhaging. I remember being in so much pain that I couldn’t change myself; the nurse had to do it for me. I laid in bed and sobbed as I waited for a slot in the OR to open. It felt as if there were claws digging into fresh wounds, draining me even further. My mom talked to me on the phone and she said, “I’ve never heard you so defeated, Kace.” It was true. I felt hopeless for the first time in my life. Nothing before had been able to break me, but this certainly had.

I felt like a zombie in a haze. You were really gone, then. My arms wouldn’t hold you. I wouldn’t look into your eyes. I wouldn’t get to watch you grow. There would be no first steps, first words, first days of school, first boyfriend or girlfriend, first car. No graduations, no wedding.

As suddenly as you were here, you had gone. An entire future was over after a single hospital visit. You took with you a piece of my soul.

Before we lost you, I had a dream of you. An extremely vivid and spiritual dream. You were in my arms. You had dark brown hair and chocolate eyes like your daddy. You had on a pink onesie and a pink hairbow and you were smiling up at me with your hands held out. You laughed and so did I. I didn’t know it then but I think that was us saying goodbye.

You will always remain in my heart, and I know as I write this that you hear me. I pray that one day I will get to meet you and hold you the way I’ve always dreamed of. Until then, I will work everyday to become someone you would be proud of. I carry you everyday, my precious child. I love you and miss you dearly.

Love,

Your Mama.

#loss #grief #grieving #miscarriage #coping with loss #trauma #healing

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annoying-one-in-the-family · 4 years ago

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I said in the tags of my mommy issue post that I would write a daddy issue one too so here we go 🙃This is actually the second draft because I realized in the first one I was just relaying my parent’s entire marriage 😂

You can read more under the cut, but I’m going to provide a quick summary because this one I think is way longer than my mom one:

My dad and I have no relationship. He missed out on my childhood and was extremely neglectful (and I’m kind of wondering if he was narcissistic now) during the times that he was present. He competes with everyone else for affection and is such a people pleaser that he has literally almost ripped my younger brother’s arm out of his socket to force my brother to apologize to an adult neighbor who called my ten year old sister a bitch.

Unlike my mom, my dad has no interest in becoming emotionally healthy whatsoever even though he knows that he is emotionally unhealthy.

And my parents are still married amazingly.

So, my dad and I don’t really have a relationship, which is where the problem lies. It’s my understanding that he wasn’t really ready for marriage and kids when he married my mom (who was already a mother).

My dad worked constantly when I was growing up. He left for work early in the morning before we woke up, and he came home late at night after we went to bed. On his days off, he slept or would fiddle around with a computer, so he didn’t really spend much time with us at all. There’s a brief period of time on tape that he actually did play outside with us, but I’m positive this was an isolated incident.

So I didn’t really even know my dad until 2008, when my dad lost his job with a lot of other people. My older brother and I were 13 and 11, so we had the least interaction with him growing up, as opposed to my younger siblings who were 9 and 7 (not much of an age difference, but it was enough of a difference to matter).

Suddenly my dad was home all the time when he had never been home before, and my mother was the one who got a job to try and support us. This was especially difficult because my dad didn’t know how to interact with children at all. My biggest memories of him at the time were every year on Christmas he was an asshole to everyone around him (because his parents ruined every holiday for him) and that he flaked out on the father-daughter dance every single year in school. Not the greatest impressions.

Also, he made us stand in single file whenever he took us to the grocery store and used collective punishment, so my siblings and I really weren’t okay with him being the main parent. We had gone from a more open and relaxed parenting style of “do whatever you want as long as you don’t make noise that bugs me” to “I want you to clean this house from top to bottom using only a toothbrush and your tongue, and maybe I’ll let you go play outside if I feel like it, but also watch me take apart this computer and put it back together first”.

As I got older, this only got worse. I think he was hit with the realization that his children weren’t really small anymore with my older brother and I being older, already having hit puberty, and just wanted to go hang out with our friends at the mall. This was also around the time I had my first boyfriend.

I have to add in here that my mother did warn him that he was going to miss out on our childhood if he didn’t do anything about it, and he missed out on our childhood. And then he missed out on our teenagehood by isolating us and making us feel like shit because he missed our childhood (he’s still like this).

It got worse when I was thirteen after I had been raped. He has never really looked at me the same again to this day. While he didn’t know the full details until I was in college (where I got very drunk and told my mother what had happened with my dad and older brother in earshot), he did know that whatever had happened wasn’t consensual.

The next incident that stands out in my mind is when he told me I looked like a whore when I was fourteen while I was waiting to go to the bus stop. I remember it very vividly because it was a Monday morning, and we used to watch Chuck before I would have to leave. I was probably wearing a lowcut shirt or something, but I know that I only wore shorts one time in high school after I had been raped because my rapist was at school and would repeatedly sit beside me at lunch until I stopped going to the cafeteria at all to avoid him.

It did start to get better in the coming years, but our relationship is still very fragile and practically nonexistent. My dad knows that he is emotionally unhealthy because my mom and I have gotten healthy enough to call him out on it, but he doesn’t have any drive to actually do something to fix it. He is continuously toxic and I honestly have wondered if he is narcissistic.

There’s way more to unpack about my relationship with my dad, but I’m so numb to it all by now that I don’t even know what is normal and isn’t. I’m pretty sure it’s not normal for your dad to constantly be competing with your younger sister, but while he feels guilty about everything and is remorseful about missing time with us as children, he doesn’t seem to care about our interests much as adults either.

There’s other stuff like how he blares music in our ears while we’re trying to have a conversation but screams if you even whisper nearby him with the TV on (which, come on, I had to learn how to tune out noise when I was fucking eleven, so just act like I was expected to as an eleven year old child god I just wanna call him a fucking twat so bad right now). But I don’t have time for that stuff because my mom is hurdling toward my house as she speaks and I still need to clean it to make it look presentable and find a mask because I’m hella sick right now.

Also don’t know how to end this because it got derailed 100 times in the process.

#toxic #toxic parents #toxic family #toxic parenting #narcisism #narcissist #daddy issues

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1034

survey by tater-tots What is a fruit that you might eat in the morning? Hahahaha. That’s a pass for me; I can’t imagine regularly eating fruit at any set time of the day.

Do you enjoy any food combinations that others might consider to be weird? I like to eat fish with mayonnaise, which was always normal in our household but I realized was weird when I first saw the horrified expressions on my friends’ faces when they saw me use the combination. I like mayonnaise with a lot of other foods as well, which a lot of people generally find weird.

What is a green vegetable that you enjoy eating? Broccoli and asparagus.

Name something you might find in a salad. In my salad, you’ll always find tuna sashimi in it heh.

What is your favorite type of sandwich? Anything that’s like an Eggs Benedict or Monte Cristo.

Which condiment do you use the most often? Mayo, for sure. Banana ketchup too. I also like sriracha sauce but my dad hasn’t been buying a new bottle of it for a while.

Name a chocolate bar that you enjoy eating. It’s called Whittaker’s - just not sure what country it hails from; maybe Australia? - and I like their peanut butter variant. Google also told me it’s a New Zealander brand.

What is a meat that you do not eat - ever. Dog or cat.

Are you lactose intolerant, or have any other sort of food allergies? I’m mildly lactose intolerant but I ignore it because a lot of my favorite foods use dairy. Other than that, no food allergies.

What was the last food that you burnt your mouth on? Just plain rice, haha. I had been extremely hungry and I just wanted to dig in; but I ended up spitting it back out.

Which brand of soup do you eat? I don’t regularly have soup, much less buy canned brands of it.

What are some flavors of ice cream that your enjoy? Cookies and cream, mint chocolate, coffee, chocolate chip cookie dough, queso real.

What is the best type of cookie, in your opinion? I like keeping things classic when it comes to cookies, and I’ve always been perfectly happy with chocolate chip cookies :)

Would you rather have popcorn, pretzels, or chips as your salty snack? Chips. I dislike the other two as I only like the softer, doughy version of pretzels.

Have you thought about going on a diet & actually went through with it? No.

survey by pinkchocolate

When you woke up today, was there anything on your mind? Kinda. I felt sad and I was aware of it instantly, compared to most days where the sadness will take a while to build.

Who was the last person you interacted with for the first time? Literally speaking, maybe the barista at Starbucks who took my temperature at the entrance before I was let in the store. I interacted with her yesterday.

What colour was the wrapper of the last snack you ate? White. It’s more of a tiny bag than a wrapper, though.

Do you have a favourite mug to drink from? What does it look like? Yeah, I’ve since claimed my mom’s mug for myself. It’s a copper mug with the Starbucks label on it. It looks super minimalist which I appreciate.

What was the last thing you used, that came in a spray can? It was a Lysol spray.

What colour is your favourite bra? Don’t really have one.

Who was the last person you went to for advice about something? I think it was Andi. I’ve been going to them a lot for help, advice, extra sanity, etc. lately. If it hasn’t been for them I probably would’ve left a few months back.

Have you had a deep conversation with anyone lately? Yes. I finally met up with Gab yesterday to discuss a lot things, iron some stuff out, figure out where to go from here.

What was the last compliment you recall receiving from someone? I’m not sure, I haven’t been receiving any.

And the last compliment you gave to someone else? It was most likely a compliment for Andi on how helpful they’ve been to me.

What kind of bread did you eat most recently? Flatbread.

What was the last sound you heard, that you found pleasant? We were watching a mass livestream earlier and I was delighted when they played the closing song.

How many books do you think there are in your house? Take a rough guess. I would guess around 60, the overwhelming bulk of them mine.

Of all the books you own, which do you think has the most pages in it? It would definitely either be Gone with the Wind or Les Miserables, but I’m not sure which one is thicker.

^ And how many pages is that? I checked both of my copies and they’re soooo close – GWTW has 1,440 pages while Les Mis has 1,463.

What was the last film you saw at the cinema? What did you think of it? Knives Out. I went to the mall yesterday and the cinemas were still closed, so it’s not like I’d be able to watch new movies at theatres anyway. Anyway, I’ve been vocal about the movie enough times on my surveys but I didn’t enjoy it. Whodunnits were never my cup of tea, but Gab had wanted to see it and I didn’t want to make her watch the film alone.

In the last book you read, what was the main character's name? Haven’t been reading.

What was the last song you heard, that meant something to you? Lose by Niki.

How many people do you know whose name begins with Z? I can only recall one such person at the moment; it’s one of my mom’s aunts who also doubled as a principal sponsor for my mom and dad’s wedding.

What do you expect to be doing at this time tomorrow? Maybe doing my embroidery (my package finally arrived!!) or surveys or watching Start-Up, because tomorrow will be a holiday :)

survey by luckforlemmy

Did you start listening to more Michael Jackson after his death? I can remember that there was definitely a brief period after his death that I caught up with his discography and listened to MJ nearly everyday; I read up on him and his life as well. 11 year old me figured he must’ve been an interesting figure because of the big reception around his death, so I wanted to know the reasons behind it.

When was the last time that you played hide and seek? I can vividly remember the day when Nina and I played hide and seek when the house was newly-built and still devoid of furniture, back in maybe ‘07 or ‘08. I’m fairly certain that was the last time I played hide and seek.

Who was your first celebrity crush, if you can remember? It was a tie between Ashley Tisdale and Zac Efron, though the older I get the more I’ve been convinced that I ‘crushed’ on Zac only because I was surrounded by girls who went crazy over him in school. I’m pretty sure my first real celebrity crush was Ashley, hahaha.

Do you worry about money? Yeah, especially now. I can’t even enjoy my first paycheck because most of it’s gonna go to Christmas presents, but oh well; at least I can finally buy gifts for my loved ones who’ve always gotten me presents.

Have you ever had to beg for a second chance? Kind of, when I was trying to convince Gab to let our relationship have another shot four years ago. Beg is a strong word for what I actually did, though. It was more of me pitching the idea, not begging.

When was the last time that you sent an actual letter through the mail? I don’t think I even ever did that, not even when I was younger and snail mail was still kind of a thing.

Are you excited to return to school? There’s nothing to return to anymore. Unless I decided to take up a post-grad course in the future, I’m done with school.

Do you hate Internet abbreviations? It can just feel a bit jarring when they’re used excessively in a single sentence, but I honestly don’t mind it for the most part. It’s understandable especially now that most, if not all, of my interactions whether personal or for work happen online.

What was the last insult you gave out? I was never really the roasting type of person, not even towards my friends.

What'd you last look up on YouTube? Hahaha I looked up ‘skynwallz.’ I was looking for the episode of Rhett and Link’s vlogs where they painted the rooms of their offices in the color of their entire person – hair, eyes, and skin. They were joking about starting a new business for it called Skynwallz, so that’s what I looked up.

Are you texting someone really awesome right now? No, I prefer to be alone today.

Do you know when to be serious and when you shouldn't be? Er sure, it’s not that hard.

Do you think that you're funny? I like my sense of humor, yeah, but I know it’s not always going to translate to everybody’s tastes. For example, I’m still figuring out the dynamic in the team I was put in at work, so I can’t make the same jokes that I would normally say with my co-interns with whom I have a more comfortable relationship.

Have you ever sent a secret to Post Secret? I don’t know what this is, so no.

What movie do you really want to see in theatres right now? They aren’t showing anything at the moment. A movie I want to see badly, though, is Ammonite.

Have either of your parents shown affection for you today? My mom made breakfast for us, if it counts. She also gives each of her kids a kiss during the peace-giving portion at mass, so there’s that as well.

What's the last thing that you sang out loud? I watched Start Up before this survey and was humming to the song that was being played at the end of the episode. I couldn’t sing along to it because it was in Korean, but I knew the melody so I hummed.

Is there a word that you always misspell? Rhythm is one of my worst enemies for sure. I also have a love-hate relationship with accommodate.

What was the last thing that you bought that someone else benefited from? I met up with Gabie yesterday and bought her her favorite meal from Yabu to break the ice – menchi katsu with brown rice. I originally got mozzarella sticks for myself but when we got to talking, she mentioned her sisters at one point; I remembered how much I miss them, so I gave up my food and told her to just give my food to her sisters since I hadn’t touched it yet anyway.

Has someone ever made you a really great mix CD? Andi gave me one before she made the flight to New Zealand 10 years ago to permanently live there. I believe I still have it, but I’m just not sure where it currently is.

Have you ever been on Omegle.com? Yes, when I was a teenager and it was new.

Did you talk to someone cool there? Not really; most seem to exit our chat after we did the whole asl thing. I also avoided the webcam option because my anxiety for video calls has always been present.

What song reminds you of your best friend? Any song by The Maine.

Who was the last person to hit on you? Some creep on Facebook.

What's on the paper nearest you? It’s the guide for my embroidery kit. It tells me what stitches to do and the colors of thread to use for the different parts of the template I was provided with.

Do you have a set of lyrics that you really love? From Paramore’s Pool: “As if the first cut wasn’t deep enough, I dove in again ‘cause I’m not into giving up Could’ve gotten the same rush from any lover’s touch, But why get used to something new When no one breaks my heart like you” I scream those lyrics every time they come on. I know I often showed the good, shiny side of my relationship on these surveys; but it was very much toxic at a lot of points and those lyrics - and that song - served as a nest for me, something that told me someone understands how I sometimes felt about my own relationship.

Did you get an A in your last English class? I got a 1.25 instead of a perfect 1.00, but I think that’s still equivalent to an A so yes.

What did you last use scissors for? Cutting thread.

Did you ever secretly hate a friend of yours that thought you liked them? That makes me sound shitty lol, but yeah I’ve acted nicely to people I don’t particularly like.

What do you think of when I say "boat"? That episode of Friends where Joey bought himself a boat at an auction; and Canadian accents.

Would you ever get a tattoo sleeve? Nope. I planned on getting one as a teenager, but I grew out of that phase.

Do you know any really fake people? Yep. I think everyone’s got to be at some point.

What does the last blanket you used look like? It’s pink and has multi-colored polka dots on it.

Do you have appreciation for graffiti? Sure, especially if it’s for political purposes (that I agree with).

Why don't you drive? I do. I just have done it a lot less because I have had little need for driving and traveling to places throughout the pandemic.

Does it annoy you when your printer runs out of ink? I think we have the kind of printer that never runs out of ink, but I’m not exactly sure about the terminologies or how the technology works. I let my sister do the printing hahaha.

Have you ever drank anything from a thermos? Yes, mostly water and coffee.

When was the last time you played in the snow? Never.

Do you know any ignorant people? Sure, mostly Gen X-ers and Boomers.

What is the coolest name you've ever heard? Thylane.

What did you last argue with someone about? Relationship stuff. It wasn’t a full-blown argument, but when Gab and I talked yesterday it was natural for us to disagree on a few points.

Is there anyone that you dislike for no real reason? Hmm, I don’t think so. If I feel that strongly about someone, I usually have a reason otherwise it wouldn’t be fair to them.

Have you had a good day? It was okay; it was nice. I got to do my embroidery hoop art thing, got to watch a couple episodes of Start Up, played with Cooper, and now I’m doing these surveys and am planning to continue my embroidery later. It’s nice to feel productive about non-work things :)

Are you going to have a good night? I hope.

#survey #surveys #multiple surveys – chop em up if you wish

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beebsaroni · 5 years ago

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I don’t remember my life?

I always knew I had a horrible memory; forgetting entire trips my family would take only a couple years after they happened, but always thought it was just part of growing up. While doing research today, I even read a couple people say that memory is worse during childhood and this could be a possible reason.

But, today, when driving through my hometown, my little sister asked my mom what the store was at our local 7/11 before it was a 7/11. To which my mom told her, but I realized that I didn’t remember that 7/11 ever being anything but a 7/11. And my sister is 11, while I’m 19.

Now, remembering the specific corner store near my neighborhood isn’t really an important detail, but I just realized how much my little sister could recall and how much I couldn’t. I took a little memory survey today and it asked how I picture memories from 3-4 weeks ago. I had to look at my calendar to even try and come up with any sort of events that happened in that time period and realized, while I could think what sorts of things I were doing then, I couldn’t remember anything specific.

Then again, these weren’t important events; nothing really exciting is happening in isolation, but thinking further back to just a year ago when my family went on a month long trip to Europe... I can’t remember anything. I know what we did on that trip, maybe even recall a few flashes of what the scenery was at certain times, but... no memories. Nothing that plays out, no specific objects, no recollection of what my family looked like at those times, just general close-ups of their faces if I try or maybe the memory of a physical picture that we took and I looked at later, but even that is sketchy at best.

I can remember things more vividly if they happened the past few days, but still... nothing that really plays out. It’s more of I can see a picture of my boyfriend in front of me on the couch and I can see the environment around us. I can hear his voice or laugh without words of what we were talking about. Maybe I can see movement but that’s really because I’ve seen it so many times, it’s like a fact. It doesn’t feel like something specific I’m recalling.

That being said, I have no problem with school and recalling facts. Honestly, it feels like my memory functions more as recalling facts (like, what a place looked like and how my boyfriend or roommate moves and what clothes they’re likely wearing) than it does thinking about an event that happened and replaying a scene in my head or even an entire picture of what I saw through my own eyes. The picture is so cut off or blurred. All I can see are certainties like an environment I’m so used to being in.

I also wanted to mention my recall with faces. I’ve had difficulty in the past being able to recall faces; like I could recognize them once I saw them, but even a month after started dating my boyfriend, I couldn’t quite picture what his face looked like, often substituting with someone else who looked similar. And this has happened a lot in my life.

Anyway, that’s the end of my rant. I just wanted to know if there were other people like me. Also, maybe I’m wrong about how memory works? I’ve gotten the vibe that it’s like replaying a scene in your head and you can just remember what you saw with your eyes. I’ve never had that. I can hardly recall what I saw through my eyes minutes ago.

Let me know if you’ve had similar experiences to me. I’ve been reading articles today about memory loss but none of it really fits. It’s not like there are chunks of time that were uneventful and I can’t remember it. I can’t recall ANYTHING. I just know the facts of what happened.

#long post #memory #memory recall #memory loss #memory problems #text post #text #update #5.5.20 #diary #online diary #web diary #journal #online journal #web journal #entry

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deliadexaerisofficialuniver-blog · 6 years ago

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I was reading the Wikipedia article about transgender people and it talks about what it refers to as "early onset dysphoria," and "late onset dysphoria," like, okay... if you experience dysphoria that started later in life, or you came to terms with your identity, or had a change in identity later in life, that's valid, but reading the descriptions in the article, I can't help but feel like they might suffer a bit from a lack of trans input...

The way they read, it acts like trans women who experience dysphoria and feminine identity and gender early in life are all shouting about it and trying to cut our dicks off in the shower/tub, and trying on our mom's clothes and begging for dresses at the age of 3, and like, no..

I have experienced dysphoria as long as I can remember. I didn't ever try to cut my penis off back then, but I was intent on hiding it, wishing it would go away. My parents thought this was weird and tried to encourage me to be "proud" of it. I thought this was weird When I found out my mom didn't have one, I wanted it gone even more. I could no longer rationalize it away as awkward, and weird feeling, but necessary for peeing. When I asked what had happened to hers, my parents said "Girls don't have those." This broke my tiny heart, because according to them, it meant I was a boy, which was the last thing I ever wanted to be. I hated boys. I thought they were gross, mean, and all around horrible. When my parents made me socialize and spend time with little boys my age, I hated it. I wanted to be away from them, back home where I could cloister myself in my room. At the time, I felt like my older half-brother was just the worst. When my older half-sisters got to take time away from their mom to come visit, it was the best. They didn't feel like bullies. They treated me like a little person.

When I started school, I immediately ingratiated myself with the other girls, and distanced myself socially from boy-world as much as possible. Most of my friends were other girls, and I avoided socializing with the boys like the plague. To me, they seemed gross, mostly dim, and like bullies. There were a few boys in the gifted program with me who seemed different, but they were the exception rather than the rule. Basically, I saw the majority of boys as less like me in every way, and the other girls as more like me, and much more pleasant and safe feeling to be around. It's my understanding that a lot of other girls feel this way too, so I guess this makes sense. And for the record, yeah, I absolutely wished I could've asked my parents for clothes and jewelry like the other girls wore. I was jealous as all get-out. I wanted belly-shirts, jelly shoes, skirts,chunky bracelets and necklaces... I just knew better than to ask...

Going to the Sanrio store at the mall with my sisters when they visited was like a dream. I wanted everything cute and girly in the store, but the only thing that felt gender-neutrally safe enough to ask for was a foam lizard on a walking wire with pink sunglasses. Going shopping anywhere was still torture. I remember vividly, seeing the girls' clothes, feeling this aching inside, wanting to ask for any of it, all of it, for skirts, jelly shoes, bracelets, necklaces, Lisa Frank backpacks... I just knew I couldn't. I knew that if I did ask, I'd be punished, or that at the very least publicly reprimanded and made to feel like there was something wrong with me, because boys didn't get to wear those clothes, or get those accessories, no matter whether I *felt* like a boy or not. All the same, I wanted it all, inside, I *needed* it all. I felt *ANXIETY* inside. I could feel my heart *POUNDING* in my chest, at my silence, *BEGGING* me to break my silence and ask before it was too late and we passed it by to go to the checkout. My whole body felt weak, wibbly, staticy... but I knew better. I just *KNEW* better so I never did. I managed to ask for one notebook with rainbow-space dolphins on it. That was about all I felt safe asking for. I don't remember if it was Lisa Frank or not, but it made me happy.

Anyway, growing up, my parents never really heard me voice my dysphoria, aside from a simple nod of my head when they asked me if I was "ashamed" of my penis in response to the way I always covered it whenever I was naked, and rushed to put on underwear. I remember crying about it once when they basically detained me from my usual rush to cover myself in the fabric, seemingly trying to figure out what was "wrong" with me, why I was so averse to my bottom-half being naked after bathing when they were both naked But aside from that, they got none of the "typical" "signs" that cis people seem to think are somehow just *UNIVERSAL* to a trans youth. I didn't try on *either* of my parents clothes when I was little. To this day, I still don't get that whole concept. I guess maybe I just saw myself as my own person and less like I was destined to grow into a copy of one of them or the other.

Growing up, I didn't really know much about trans people existing, I didn't know there was a word for it. I remember hearing a joke about a "Sex Change" once in some movie or TV show, and because it was treated as a joke, I didn't think it referred to anything *real* I remember watching a Crocodile Dundee movie, I don't remember which one, and seeing a scene which depicted the main character as heroic for sexually assaulting a trans woman in a bar, grabbing her painfully by the testicles until she collapsed... This only reinforced the idea that people with my kind of body weren't allowed to wear dresses. As the movie put it, she wasn't a "real" woman, she was "really a man," and her genitals served as proof, again, reinforcing to 5 year-old me that I wasn't "allowed" to be a girl. I found story-writing, art, video games, and eventually role-playing Dungeons and Dragons with my friends in high-school as my only outlets for the girl I was, who felt trapped inside a cage of a body I hated, not only for feeling wrong, but for denying me my identity.

I was lucky again to be surrounded by other female friends. When I was about to start 4th grade, my parents decided to move, so I changed schools, and when we did, I was forced to socialize with boys and make male friends. Looking back, it makes me wonder if my guidance counselors had said anything about my chosen feminine socialization, essentially if they had "found me out," for almost exclusively making friends and socializing with other girls. I don't know if that was the case or not, but they were intent on pushing me into friendships with the boys in the neighborhood we were moving into. It didn't work though. A girl moved in next door, and she became my closest friend. I guess my parents left me alone about it because they, and all the kids on the bus figured we were dating, and yeah, I thought she was cute, but there was no return interest. We were just friends, and I loved it that way.

We started hanging out playing this game with all my dinosaur toys where we would give them all names and complex personalities and characters and life stories, and basically role-play out their lives as though they were in some soap opera/reality show. I guess it was kind of like the way a lot of girls play with dolls, we just used dinosaur toys. It was kind of my idea at first, but she got really into it with me and we'd play like this basically every day after school until we got more interested in video games. Even then, we still split time with the dinosaur toys, and I don't think we ever really stopped until late in middle school.

Middle school was a weird time for me. I had started to feel like a social reject/outcast in 4th and 5th grade, but Middle School just got worse. I got these bar-framed glasses that didn't really help matters either. The other kids had started bullying me for my feminine mannerisms, the way I walked, talked, cocked my hips out standing and leaning, used my hands when I talked, carried them in front of me, etc. back in fourth grade, but it just got worse in middle school. Everyone assumed I was a gay boy, and they treated me with that violence. Often it was social, sometimes it got physical, until at a point, I'd had enough, and decided to beat the crap out of one of my bullies to say enough was enough. Everyone said I fought like a girl because I attacked with my legs, but I really didn't care. People compared me to a girl all the time, and I guess it was supposed to bother me, but it never did. Nothing in me wanted to be masculine, or saw femininity as a negative.

When I got to high school, I sort of made my own crowd with a few of the other nerds, two guys I'd known in elementary and middle school, with the addition of one of their older brothers I met, and 3 other nerdy girls, two of whom were goth like me, and we formed a D&D group. I was especially close for a time with one of them who rode my bus, and when we were turning 16 (her birthday was the day before mine), she convinced her parents to let us have a slumber party. We went to see Underworld, and came back to her place, where we hung out and listened to goth rock, burned incense, I got to try some of her hemp chapstick, and in the morning she asked if she could put me in some of her clothes and makeup. Hanging out at school, she and a few of my other friends would remark in a non-bullying, more neutral way on how they felt like I was "such a girl," and I'd just reply that I felt like a "Lesbian trapped in a boy's body." It was something I'd heard one of my older half-brothers say jokingly to his friends once, but I meant it sincerely. When she'd finished dressing me, putting me in makeup, and straightening my hair (something my parents wouldn't let me do), she showed me to myself in the mirror, and said "This is how I see you on the inside." I felt a way I had never felt before in my life. Looking at myself in the mirror, I felt beautiful. I didn't hate what I saw and wish I was different. It felt right, I felt at home. I wanted to stay in that dress and that makeup forever. I told her she was right. She started taking pictures though, and I couldn't deal with that. I cried and asked her to delete them, which she did. She was upset by this, and looking back I wish I hadn't, but I was afraid. Her parents caught us and disciplined her, saying it was inappropriate, and acting like they thought that being dressed up this way was why I was upset. The real reason was I was afraid of being bullied at school, punished by my parents, even kicked out of school.

I still didn't know trans people were a thing, anything at all about transitioning. At school I drew myself as a girl when one of my friends had drawn herself as a boy, and called it a "gender-bend." I made no secret to my friend that I wished that girl I drew was me.

When we played D&D, I started with a male character, a halfling druid, but when he suffered an untimely fate, I switched to two new characters, a female halfling rogue named Sarah, and an Elven witch named Delia, and I never went back. Delia had actually been written up, drawn, and played in a solo campaign before the death of my druid, but as time went on, she became my main in preference to Sarah, though they inhabited two separate campaigns, and really became an outlet for self-expression. I was goth, and obsessed with the paranormal, so was she, I wanted to be sensual, so she was a very sensual woman. I enjoyed swordplay, so she was a fencer. I loved dance, and wanted to dance, she was a dancer. If I'd been assigned female at birth, I wanted to grow to be a sex symbol, like Britney Spears, so she was. She was even a part time dabbler in music. Arguably she had more character and personality than any other character I ever played at the table. I loved playing the campaign she was in. When we did, I jumped up from the table. I threw on an accent. I threw on her personality, and walked around and basically played her actions in role-playing situations, and even in combat, when she did something really cool. My gaming group decided she was a "self-insert character" the Player's Handbook 2 for D&D 4E described as a character meant to represent a fantasized and idealized version of the self, and... she was. True, a lot of her is fantasy, I can't step into the Feywild to hop across a battlefield, or summon undead spirits or turn into a wraith, but for all intents and purposes, she was meant to be the woman I would be in a world where all that was real. She even carried my airheaded lack of common sense, my love of reptiles, books, getting drinks and having a good time, she was more of a rule-breaker, a rebel, and an all around "Bad-girl" than I would've ever believed I'd become in life, but eventually I did. My Dungeons and Dragons Group stayed together through college, and that was the place where I was most comfortable showing myself, even in this limited way, but still not knowing trans people existed, or anything about them until college when I got to go to a gay bar.

One of my friends brought me to Emerald City in Pensacola to see a drag show, and told me that she wanted to do drag king performances, and that I should try out drag performance as a place to unleash my "inner woman," or as she put it my inner Tarja Turunen. I always envied @Tarja. I wished and dreamt of a life where I could be a singer for Nightwish or some other similar woman-fronted hardcore fantasy metal project. So I agreed. I was so excited.

We weren't quite ready to perform ourselves, but the next show we went to, my friends asked if I wanted to dress up and I was thrilled. I borrowed some of my gf's clothes, which she was super-excited about (She had a thing for trans girls), did my makeup and we went. We had been talking about what my drag persona's name should be and my friend suggested that I use "Delia," the same name as my D&D character. She said it was obvious that character was basically me, and it was fitting, so that was my name for the night. I had the time of my life. I felt beautiful, I felt sexy, I felt free. It was a crowded show followed by a dance party. Lesbians were hitting on me, I felt like I could dance and move on the floor the way I wanted without being judged... I felt alive.

When we started doing shows, it felt like a night of the week to get out of my skin, and be myself. I wasn't a traditional queen, I didn't do camp makeup, or wear the outfits they wore, sometimes I even wore pants... I dressed goth, the way I wanted. I did my makeup in goth style, other queens called me "fish," said they thought I was "a real girl," when I did my first routines, tried to teach me the "right" way to do things, suggested I do some Cher instead of Nightwish and Within Temptation. I didn't care. I did things my way. I rocked goth metal, and Dresden Dolls pieces as Harley Quinn. I used it as my stage to either be myself and live my fantasy of being a metal vocal goddess, or portray my favorite characters. To myself, I wasn't a queen. I was me.

I remember one night in my early days I felt I was looking particularly bomb, looking in the mirror saying "Hello You," A hello to myself. I felt like a blossoming woman, opening up like a flower to my little Thursday night life. I still didn't really know what trans people were though. There was a bigender AMAB person working at the bar who had gone through some transitioning procedures, but we didn't really ask her about herself. I felt like it was private, and just used she/her pronouns for her, having been taught it was a sign of respect to do so for the other queens, and to expect other people to do so for me.

Eventually when my coworkers at the mall, and their friends working in the food court found out about my performances, they introduced me to a trans woman named "Debbie" who worked in the food court, and explained that she was born assigned male. The way they described her transition was a bit transphobic. "She used to be a man but then she got her penis turned inside out and now she's a woman." It set the stage for creating an fear of genital reconstructive surgery that would plague me for 6 years.

They didn't say anything about hormone replacement therapy or other procedures, and she never brought it up when we met. I felt it was impolite to ask about her business, and just treated her like any other woman. She gave me makeup, said "hi" when I saw her at the mall, but we didn't interact much outside of that. She called herself my "drag mom." I never learned anything about being trans from her, but she was the first trans person I ever met and knew was trans.

As time went on, I met another trans person named Sammy. She was a friend of a friend, they'd met at University, and I found out a little bit more about being trans. She had no plans on surgery, didn't talk about HRT, or anything like that. She gave me some old wigs. I learned about social transition from her, and my friend suggested that maybe a social transition might be right for me. I gave it some thought, started occasionally going out in public presenting as female. The first time was exciting and scary... It wasn't something I continued very much outside of going to night classes at Pensacola State before drag shows. I was afraid people would think I was weird. In addition my girlfriend at the time started expressing a desire to incorporate feminine presentation into our sex life, and it made me incredibly uncomfortable, and drove me away from female presentation. I didn't know what to call it at the time, but it was dysphoria triggering. Dressing up the way she wanted me to for sex, stuffed bra and everything would just remind me of how much I wasn't a "real" girl, and how much I wished I had been born a cis woman. At the time, I spent a lot of time talking to my friend about my feelings, and she suggested transitioning, but I remarked to her that I was sure it wouldn't feel real. Again I still had no knowledge of HRT, complete misconceptions of surgery... I told her that the only way I thought I would ever be happy would be if I could wave a magic wand or kill myself and be reborn as a "real" girl. (I didn't know the word "cis" at the time. I considered the two trans women I knew as women and respected them as such, but I felt like the only way I could be happy was if I'd been born cis. I wouldn't learn the realities of transition and hormones and surgery for another 6 years.

Eventually the drag shows at EC lost popularity though, and eventually stopped altogether. I lost my outlet, and felt like a chapter of my life had closed. Eventually the drag shows at EC lost popularity though, and eventually stopped altogether. I lost my outlet, and felt like a chapter of my life had closed. My girlfriend and I had broken up shortly before the shows stopped, and I started seeing a new person, who eventually came out as non-binary, but identified outwardly as a cis woman at the time.

We had actually first met through my nextdoor neighbor right before high school started. We went to a football game together in high school, flirted a bit here and there, they'd gone off to a career in adult film and dance after graduating and had just come back home. Eventually, when I came out, they were very supportive, but at the time we started dating, they wanted to "man" me up. When they brought me home to her parents, they said "Are you sure that's not a girl," and they set to work altering my wardrobe. They pushed me to be more masculine in behavior, treated my feminine behaviors less like they were part of my femininity, and were instead something I needed to "outgrow." Wanting to please them, I started trying to put on a mask of masculinity, but I never felt like it stuck, never felt like it was anything but a transparent act. Eventually they left me for a super macho marine, and I spent many nights crying myself to sleep. I couldn't figure out what to do. I told them I could be more masculine for them, that I'd do all sorts of things to make myself more manly, beef up, whatever it took, all the while hating the very idea more than anything. I just wanted them back. At the same time, I cried myself to sleep thinking that maybe I should just "get a sex change" as I put it, but bemoaning the idea of walking around, feeling like a freak, with a boob job and a sensationless inside-out penis that looked nothing like a vulva/vagina. I thought I'd still smell "like a man," my boobs would look fake, my "vagina" would just be a sensationless hole, I felt like bottom surgery was just for people who wanted penis-owners to be able to have sex with them. I didn't think my vagina would be "mine." None of this was true, but it was what I'd been taught about trans people, and it left me in despair. In addition, dating them had been such an intense psychological experience for me, specifically with regard to my transness. I saw in them everything that was the woman I wished I was. They were bold, sexy, shameless. They were a dancer. They had this dominating power and presence when they walked in a room. They knew what they wanted in life, and they got it. At the same time, they were a free spirit, they went where their whims and the wind took them. They dreamed big and lived big. I wanted to be them, so much, on every level, I felt like I had begun to just live through them, wishing I was them, and being apart, it was like I had lost my sense of self. Being with them was like I had found myself, living in another person, being away from them, too scared to be the woman I was inside, the woman I wanted to be, the woman I saw personified in them in so many ways, I was broken, and I almost killed myself.

Instead of transitioning, I turned back to dating to see if I could found what I lost in another person, and it began an incredibly unhealthy relationship I eventually married into. While we were together, I wanted her to be me for me, I wanted to mold her into the woman I wished I was. I wanted to live vicariously through her. It's something I'm incredibly ashamed and not at all proud of. While we were together, before we got married, I became re-acquainted with a friend I'd had in elementary school gifted who had come out as a transgender woman and was planning her own transition. Other friends of hers had seen or heard about my drag performances while that was a thing, and referred them to me for tips on clothing and makeup, but I honestly had a lot more to learn from her.

Other friends of hers had seen or heard about my drag performances while that was a thing, and referred them to me for tips on clothing and makeup, but I honestly had a lot more to learn from her. Even though she hadn't started HRT, she was the first person to teach me that hormone replacement therapy was a thing, and direct me to websites where I could learn more about HRT, and vaginoplasty, and even see my first actual photos of actual vaginoplasty results. It was life changing. For years, all that had held me back were fears rooted in ignorance and misinformation spread by a transphobic society. Those results I saw weren't just a penis turned inside-out. That surgery was more than a science, it was an art-form. got to read up on vaginoplasty and learn that it was carried out with care, and attention to detail, that my parts were the same basic building blocks, built into a different shape, and that my vulva and vagina would feel, look, and function normally. I learned that nerves were preserved and sensation was there, aesthetics were there, that I'd have a clitoral glans, labia, external sensation, internal sensation, muscular control, and even some wetness from hormones. I learned that hormone replacement would help me grow natural breasts, and change the distribution of my facial and body fat, and even change the way my body smelled. I went to my (then) fiancee, and was so excited to share all this news. She'd been respectful of my friend's pronouns and very friendly with them, and I thought she'd be supportive of me too. She wasn't.

She told me she'd "signed up for a man," and to "shove it back in the closet or else." I'll never forget those words. We got married a little over a year later, but a few months in, when I came out as bigender her family got violent and things started falling apart. She grew distant and cold, snappish whenever she came home to find me presenting as female, it was obvious she was displeased and wanted me to know it. I told her there'd be more days like this coming, and before long she wanted a divorce.

The up side is that I was free to explore myself more, and I very quickly fore-went the idea of being bigender, as it just wasn't me. There are tons of valid bigender people, but no part of me wanted to continue living as a man. I came out as a transgender woman shortly thereafter once I had decided that I wanted to transition socially, and medically with HRT and GRS. That started it's own rough road, but just coming out and making the decision to transition gave me such a sense of wholeness. I guess you could say I'd known who I was for a long time, really on some level my whole life, but I'd been ignoring it, running from it, trying to compromise it, and at the age of 26 I finally accepted myself. To my closest friends, it came as no surprise. "About time," "Took you long enough," They were happy for me and supportive. For some people in my life, denial was the chosen route of coping. For some, who hadn't known me on as deep a level, somehow even for my own mother, the easiest route was to deny it, write it off as something I was doing to please the new partner I started seeing after my ex-wife, act like it was out of the blue, couldn't be true. I feel like that's similar to the experiences of a lot of trans women who come out in life, whether they experience "late onset dysphoria," or whether they simply didn't have the knowledge that trans people existed, the words to use, didn't feel safe expressing...

For me, my dysphoria was there as long as I could remember, I knew I didn't want to be a boy, my body felt foreign, especially my penis. Any idea of becoming traditionally "masculine" hit me with a sense of dread. I just imagined that all boys must want to be girls. Maybe I just had early onset dysphoria, and didn't have the knowledge to identify what my feelings were, the words to express it...

I know I didn't feel safe even once I found some level of expression in High School, even before I knew what transitioning was, outside of confiding in my closest friends. When kids bullied me thinking I was a gay boy, I couldn't stand it. When they just called me out for being feminine/girly, I never really cared. I didn't see it as a negative. I saw it as me. I saw nothing to be ashamed of, but for them it was a cause for violence. To a lot of cis people from the outside though, especially people who don't know me as well, I feel like it would be easy to look at how I came out later on in my 20's and mistake me for experiencing "late-onset" dysphoria. Really I don't like the term...

I don't like the term, or the way it's defined, or talked about. I feel like it erases experiences of dysphoria that many trans people have experienced for a lifetime and simply not had the language to express. When the Wikipedia article on transgender people talks about "Late-Onset" dysphoria, it makes note to say that trans women who come out in their adult life may be more likely to associate sexual feelings with presenting in women's clothing... And I feel like that needs to be addressed, because a lot of women's clothing that you find in adult life is *DESIGNED* *SPECIFICALLY* to sexualize women's bodies, and frankly I find nothing wrong with a woman who's trans feeling sexy in sexy clothes.

And I feel like that needs to be addressed, because a lot of women's clothing that you find in adult life is *DESIGNED* *SPECIFICALLY* to sexualize women's bodies, and frankly I find nothing wrong with a woman who's trans feeling sexy in sexy clothes. Plenty of cis women feel sexy in clothing that are designed to look sexy, and I find nothing wrong with either of these things. There's nothing wrong with being confident, or a woman feeling like she can own her sexuality and be sexy.

Women are the only gender who literally have clothing designed and marketed at us specifically FOR SEX. Let me say that again: We literally have entire sections of clothing at the store designed JUST for sex. At the same time, women's clothing in general, especially for young adults is made specifically to evoke sexuality. It accents curves, fits tight in all the "right" places. It shows off assets. It's covered in symbols of sexuality and romance. And this is also the culture young women are brought into. To look at ourselves, and the clothing rack, and ask "How can I make myself sexy?" "How can I make a mate want me?" "What accents my tits? My ass? My legs?" When you grow into that slowly, I feel like it's a bit less of a shock, but when you just get thrown into that world of skinny jeans and push-up bras and plunging necklines, stockings, fishnets, leg-shaving, and adorning accessories, where even the baggy sweatpants are fuzzy and say "Juicy" on the ass... It's pretty easy to see where one can have a bit of a shocking "Damn, I feel sexy like all the time" reaction, especially before HRT, and you know what, there's nothing wrong with that...

It's perfectly acceptable for a woman to feel sexy in her own skin, and if she's wearing clothing she feels confident and sexy in, then fuck, it's even perfectly normal for her to feel arousal with that confidence... The problem is that society is too quick to demonize women's sexuality, discourage us from *owning* feeling sexy, or enjoying it. Unless it serves a man's pleasure, our sexuality is taboo. We are allowed to be sexy as eye candy, but if a woman *feels* sexy, that's too much. If a woman looks in the mirror and feels confident, or aroused, that's too threatening for a patriarchal society to deal with, but it's a perfectly normal female experience. Straight women get it, lesbians get it, cis women get it, trans women get it. "early onset," or "late onset" has nothing to do with it, but if someone is just finally delving into that world of sexy clothes as a young adult, or even an adult, It's an adjustment. On top of that, women who are trans who come out later in life may not necessarily know the taboos. They didn't grow up in a world of sexual repression the same way that other women have, where sexuality is shamed and shackled from the moment of puberty.

Frankly I feel like we shouldn't care. I feel like no woman should care. I feel like we should all feel free to rebel against the taboos and be as sexual on our own terms as we want.

Another bigger problem, however, and where I severely take issue with the way a likely cis author has chosen to talk about this as though it were in any way abnormal is that society *LOVES* to hypersexualize trans people, specifically trans women, and make it *weird.* And I really feel like all of this stems from the fact that cis people *DO* in fact see us as sexually attractive, which is perfectly normal and acceptable, but can't deal with it on the basis of ingrained transphobia, and have to blow it out of proportion.

That's why trans porn is one of the highest ranking search categories, that's why trans women all over the internet have our inboxes *FLOODED* with men sending dick pics and going on and on about how much they want to "worship a girl-cock." That's why even cis women end up thinking it's okay to just sexually harass trans women out the wazoo with "best of both worlds," bullshit. The truth is that cis people, even when they won't admit it, can't get enough of us and the sexual fascination they experience over the idea of a woman with a penis, or a man with a vagina, and from this side, let me tell you, it gets fucking old. The problem is that because of institutionalized transphobia, even though cis people *DO* find trans people sexually attractive, publicly, y'all aren't *ALLOWED* to. It's taboo, it breaks social conventions, it shakes the idea of cisheteronormativity to its core, and like many sexual taboos, this leads to fetishization, whether closeted or open, and hypersexualization of trans people whether we want it or not. So that when y'all choose to talk about us, or write about us, the focus is on anything and everything sexual y'all can find, and often, in order to maintain a transphobic status quo, to try to make it weird. Literally the way the article reads seems to say between the lines: "Trans women who come out later in life sexualize themselves and women's clothing and experience a fetish and that's weird." It seems *INTENTIONALLY* skewed to portray the sudden but normal adjustment to feeling sexy in clothing specifically designed by a society that sexualizes women to accent everything sexy about us that it can as something *BIZZARE* and *SEXUALLY DEVIANT*

It's normal to feel sexy in clothing designed to sexualize your body. All women experience this to some extent. It's just less of a sudden shock when you've had an adjustment period, and not something that's talked about all the time when it's normal. Basically, it seems like it's trying to portray this so called "Late-Onset" Dysphoria as being synonymous with a cross-dressing fetish, and that's just not okay, not at all.

Trans women who feel sexy in clothing designed to evoke a woman's sexuality aren't experiencing a cross-dressing fetish. They are experiencing a normal part of presenting as female in a society that sexualizes women and designs our clothes to evoke that.

The article also notes that so called "Late-Onset" Dysphoria experiencing trans women are more likely to identify as lesbians... OH BOY. Seems like they are legit *TRYING* to feed into the autogynephelia myth here...

First off, PLENTY of trans women experience attraction to other women, regardless of when our dysphoria started, or when we chose to recognize it as such. I have experienced dysphoria my whole life, and yet I also like women, and my experiences are far from abnormal. *MANY* trans women with early onset dysphoria are lesbians or otherwise sapphic. The problem is that our society is homophobic, and literally associates liking men as a trait of femininity, and liking women as a trait of masculinity, which is wrong. Orientation has no bearing on gender, or vice versa.

Because of this, a trans woman who likes men is more likely to be recognized as trans early on by her parents, friends, and family members, because liking men is one of those things that society looks at and says "OH! You like men! That's a WOMAN thing!" And this is a load of homophobic bullshit. Many men like men, many women like women. Not to sound trite, but we're here, we're queer, and trans or cis, we'd appreciate it if you'd hurry the fuck up and finally get fucking used to it. Conversely a trans woman who likes other women won't have her orientation flagged as a "reason" she should be looked at as more female, so it's easier to escape recognition by her family and friends.

Upon coming out, family and friends may even respond with confusion: "Wait, you like women? So why would you 'want' to *BE* one?" again, a load of homopohobic and transphobic bullshit. Cis gay men aren't gay because they want to be women, otherwise they'd be straight trans women. Lesbian women aren't gay because they want to be men, otherwise they'd be straight trans men. These are two totally different things. Trans people are sick of it, cis queer people are sick of it, and it's about time society stopped conflating who you like with what your gender is. Liking women isn't an inherently male trait. Liking men isn't an inherently feminine trait. Who you like isn't gendered.

Anyway, PLENTY of trans women who have known dysphoria and identified as women since an early age, whether internally or externally like women. So do many who come out later in life. Acting like it's some special artifact of "Late-Onset" dysphoria is erasive, transphobic, and when coupled with bullshit making it seem weird that a trans woman who comes out later in life feels sexy in sexy clothes, it's problematic as fuck. It seems hand-tailored to split trans women into two groups: The *REAL* trans women who wear our mommies' clothes and try to chop off our penises and demand dresses when we are 3 years old, and the *fake* sexual deviant "trans women" who come out later in life.

The reality is that *ALL* trans women are valid, some of us are lesbians, bi, or pan, and *ALL* women have a right to feel sexually empowered when we put on an outfit we feel we look bomb AF in. So, yeah. This "Late-Onset" Dysphoria bullshit is exactly that, bullshit. Not saying that some trans women don't start experiencing and recognizing our identities later in life, so not saying that late-onset dysphoria isn't real, some trans women don't experience dysphoria at all, and that's all valid. What I *AM* saying is that the way the Wikipedia article on trans women has been written (probably by a cis "expert") is dubious at best, ignorant, and transphobic at worst, and furthermore that the only people who have any right *AT ALL* to be *TALKING* or *WRITING* about late onset dysphoria are *SHOCK*: Trans people who experienced it and embrace that concept/narrative. You may notice that I put the "expert" in "cis expert" in quotes earlier. This is because there is no such thing as a "cis expert" on trans people. We are the only experts. Every trans person has more experience with transness than any cis person ever could.

We live trans lives, we experience them from day one. *WE* are the experts. *WE* are the ones who should be in charge of our narratives, and *WE* are the ones who should be deciding whether our dysphoria was "Early-Onset" or "Late-Onset," or even experienced at all.

For trans women who experienced dysphoria later on in life, came out later on in life, for those of you for whom it took years to come to terms with your gender, you need to know you are valid. You're allowed to be who you are and love who you want. There's no time that's too late to know yourself, to come out, to start your transition, and you are allowed to feel sexy in whatever clothing you want, and should be free to do so without cis people acting like it's a fetish. You deserve to know that it's normal to feel sexy in clothes that your body rocks, and that you're no different from any other woman, "early-onset" dysphoric trans women, cis women, or trans women who experience no dysphoria, and just know their identity as women.

For cis people... Seriously, cut this bullshit out and stop acting like trans people are weirdly hypersexual or sexual deviants just because y'all want to hypersexualize us out of your own insecurities with finding us attractive. And stop acting like you know what is and isn't "normal" for trans people, or how we experience and express dysphoria. If anything a lot of what y'all term "Late-Onset" Dysphoria is more likely stories like mine... Stories of trans women who knew dysphoria early, but had no language for it, who knew we weren't boys, but also knew that we weren't allowed to be girls, who knew on account of y'all's transphobia that there were *CONSEQUENCES* to asking for the clothes we wanted... consequences for announcing that we were girls, that we felt like we were girls, that we were uncomfortable in our bodies and wished they were different...

Literally, I'm willing to bet that 90% of the time that a trans person comes out later in life, it's literally cis people's fault for creating an environment of hostility and violence towards trans people who do come out. If any repression comes with that, it's similarly also y'all's fault. If you want to fix it, then change trans-focused media to hire trans actors to depict trans people, and trans writers to write our characters and stories. Change the education system to teach about trans people in schools at an early age so that even if we don't learn at home, or have parents who want to prevent us from knowing ourselves, we can learn that we are valid, and be able to acknowledge that and communicate it early.

Seriously, you don't have to make us sexual. It can be as simple as "Some people who are labeled as boys at birth feel like girls and are really girls. Some people who are labeled as girls at birth feel like boys and are really boys." Very G-rated. and even better, throw in "Some people don't feel like either of those labels fits, and might be nonbinary, or not have a gender at all and be agender." "Some people feel like where they fit changes from time to time and are genderfluid." Actually talk about the word "gender" and what it is and means instead of copping out saying "it's a polite way to say sex," when sex and gender are two separate constructs. Let trans people be the ones who tell *Y'ALL* what our experiences are like instead of trying to guess from the other side of the fence based on what your existing transphobic institutions have spoon fed to you to make us seem "weird" and wrong.

Basically, if you're not trans, and you feel like going and typing on a public resource what you feel like we are and aren't, and how you want to define our narratives that you don't experience, kindly shut up, and let us speak for ourselves. We aren't yours to categorize and define, we categorize and define ourselves. It's kind of the essence of being trans. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

#delia melody #trans #transgender #trans woman #dysphoria

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gwidener · 6 years ago

Text

Sometimes, reality happens

There was a conversation I had with my father-in-law years ago where he couldn’t believe I hadn’t spoken to my own father in years. It was just beyond him that we could get to a point where we didn’t care to contact each other. He was completely stunned when I explained I may not even know when my father dies.

It turns out, I would. I got a message late last Thursday night that he had passed away from complications with cancer and its treatment. I did not know how I felt about it then and to be honest I still don’t, but I’m spending some time trying to work through that. Sitting and writing all this out is part of it. Some people say don’t speak ill of the dead; I don’t think it does anyone favors to pretend people like my father were great people.

What do I know? I know I didn’t love him. I know that I resented that he continued to draw breath after my mother died. I know that he let me down continuously from an extremely young age. I know that he was racist and as this came more and more into view, our arguments got more intense until we finally stopped talking at all. I know that he was an alcoholic. I know that he was a Green Beret in the Vietnam War and so, for a time, he was probably very good at murder. I know that I have a lot of complicated feelings about the country that sent him to a pointless war and that probably let him down when he came back from doing what he was asked. I know that when I was a kid, he would pop up when he felt like it, and this made my mom sad.

I have very few photos of him, but one of them is from a trip my mom and I were on with him that I only remember in flashes. The parts I remember of it are the only totally good memories I have of him and it is really telling that they are just moments, that I can’t recall any substance, just driving through the forest and picking up a newspaper from outside our door at one of the hotels we were at. There are a couple other small memories; being in the back of a truck during a small parade in my hometown. Dropping in on him in his workplace (though in retrospect I think this was because my mom knew he would probably be there.) Seeing him outside the old VA hospital (for those of you downriver, it once stood on the land at Outer Drive & Southfield, where the shops at the bottom of the hill are.)

I can tell you vividly the first time I felt really disappointed by him was; it surprised my mom that this was the case, but it wasn’t when he would change plans or not show up when he had said he would, because frankly I already didn’t expect him to, even really young. My mom was at work (my mom was always at work) and I was digging through boxes in the basement; I found a savings account booklet starting a little bit before I was born. You could see little deposits building it up for some time…and then it starts draining. And draining. All the way down to nothing. I asked my mom about it later; they had been planning to save for their hopes for me to eventually attend college. Instead, this paid for drinking binges and keeping us above water after we had left.

There was a huge gap where we didn’t see him, didn’t hear from him, and this was pretty decent. My mother remarried (and THAT guy turned out to be an absolutely awful human being, but I’m not even trying to go down that well right now) and eventually we moved in with his family in a house the next city over. More years pass and eventually, somehow, my mother and my half-sister end up in contact again; it turns out that she owns a small deli nearby, and that my father spends time there. I start spending time there.

At first, and for a while, stuff is okay. Not great, not awful, but okay. I get a little older and start the tiniest of jobs there, just sweeping and mopping the store up 3 days a week. Our conversations get more pointed, and more heel-digging. This is right around the time I start really paying attention to what we are reading in school, and what is going on when we are talking about US and world historical events; this is important in my development as a person as it makes me question the conservative conspiracist syndicated radio show I’ve been listening to. Probably not coincidentally, it’s also around the time I started listening to punk. So when I am having a conversation with my father and he is seriously trying to argue that the Civil War wasn’t about slavery, I’m an early teenager (somewhere around 14-16?) and I’m already not going to entertain that. I might not have been able to win most of the physical fights I was in as a kid, but I absolutely could argue my ass off.

The small amounts of headway we had started to make, where I could tolerate him, eventually evaporated. His own prejudice brought it out more often in conversations with my half-sister, which brought her from someone I respected as a person who managed to run her own business and then devote a ton of time to her passions to someone I felt very conflicted about when she would throw around the n-word. Eventually, I got into other things in high school and didn’t have time to hang around the deli as much, but out of obligation I would still poke my head in, even for a little bit after graduation. My wife never met my father, but she did hear him trying to yell at me from the background of a phone conversation once when I was there, really early in our relationship.

I actually want to dig into that more. There are certain times when people are going to be more apt to bury hatchets and reconcile. Weddings. New babies. Funerals. Stuff like that. We had not talked for years, but at the time I still at least had my sister from the deli on Facebook. Our other sister had moved down south years before, and she and her family (and our father) all followed together later on. (Down there, she developed her passion for doll-making into a business of its own while raising her kids, something I still respect about her despite everything else.) So I use that connection to get addresses like a decade later when Meg and I are finally getting married. I didn’t have my hopes up, but it made my mom happy that I at least invited my dad and my sisters on that side.

We don’t hear anything back.

So that’s fine, as I take it; eventually my sister sends a facebook message with some half-ass excuse about how she’s going to be in the area just before or just after and so can’t make another trip and at the time I swallow it down. But not even a card from my father or my other sister. Literally nothing. And I really want to continue to play it off like this didn’t hurt, but it did, because I was dumb enough to let it. So this would be the very last time that would be a possibility.

So life goes on until my mother starts getting very ill a couple short years ago. My sister and her husband begin contacting me on FB; they want to get together next time they’re in the area, they want to talk with me, they hope my mom is well. But you never did until all this started happening? How does that work? My mom needed me more than at any other point, and that is clear, and this is just someone trying to seize on that, wedge themselves in, under the guise of providing comfort to me; but I already surrounded myself with people who actually can help me all the time, not just when it is convenient. Through this all, I might add, still nothing from my father. My mom, who still loved him even when she knew she had to leave him for both our sakes, who tried her very best to still see the best in him even as he let her down time and again, and who would still occasionally ask if I had talked to him, was leaving this world in a very painful process to watch and it wasn’t like my phone number had ever changed. But nothing.

All this and I can still only say I don’t even know how I feel. Relief, a little, maybe? I’m not glad to say he is gone - for all the arguments, he never raised a hand to me that I can recall, and if he ever did to my mother nobody has ever told me of it. He was clever, if impressionable. He did all that his country asked, and I’m sure he did and saw unspeakable evil in the process. I’m sure that this was a contributor to him developing his own demons from the bottle, but it doesn’t excuse it. So it’s tough because there was a lot there, and yet I’m still somehow not of the opinion that he was always a totally irredeemable person, just that it was not worth the time and effort of my own life that I could put into other mutually supportive relationships instead. I’m sure it makes my sisters sad to lose him, and I feel for them, but not enough to want to talk about it. It didn’t feel genuine when it pulled my sister out of the woodwork when my mom died and it wouldn’t be genuine for me to contact them now all the same, because I don’t share their feelings. I do know that. I don’t think there was anything big left unsaid between us, but the hardest thing to wrap my head around is that I truly can’t ever know.

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piouspromise · 6 years ago

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Musiea had promised Escher she’d try to be in a better mood today, but so far, she’s not doing well. She’s taking her time going through the supermarket near Escher’s place, hoping it’ll give her the chance to think of something cheerier. But she can’t stop thinking about the conversation she had with him last night, about the kids in their section of the group home...the section devoted to kids with recurring behavioral problems, most of whom would likely stay there until legal adulthood, when they’d be kicked out of the system and to the curb...

At the time, many of them had been frightening to her. She was so young, she didn’t know any better...but she’s learned, and looking back, those kids must have gone through horrible situations to end up that way. They needed to be shown love, not fear...

She keeps dwelling on it, and it’s not helping. What she needs to do now is examine the bakery to see if they have raspberry Swiss roll cakes, and if they’ll be up to Escher’s impeccably high-

She’s too focused that she doesn’t see another person walking toward her to dodge them in time. They clearly aren’t looking either, and the collision startles them both.

Musiea isn’t carrying anything yet, but unfortunately for the man she walks into, he’s got an entire armful of canned goods that end up all over the floor. Both involved parties spring into action, apologizing to the other once they’ve gotten over the surprise, and cooperating to pick up the items on the floor.

“It’s fine,” he says, once Musiea has apologized. “That’s what I get...I thought if I got a cart, I’d end up grabbing a lot of extra stuff. Really, I just need to learn to resist temptation...” He laughs somewhat awkwardly, and Musiea does too, for a moment...and then she gets a good look at him.

He’s about her age, of average height and built athletically, with ash blond hair that includes one sprig that seems to be sticking up in a way that blatantly goes against what the rest of it is doing. That’s...strange. But why does it seem so oddly familiar?

It dawns on her before she’s prepared for the emotions the realization carries. She knows him...or rather, she saw him just about every day for several years of her life. She had mentioned him the night before in her conversation with Escher. A boy who nobody ever spoke to, almost like they were afraid of him, even though he’d never spoken to anyone else that she’d ever seen. His expression always seemed like he was numb, but she could tell there was something dark and painful in those eyes of his.

He always looked so joyless, so to see him smile and laugh, even if it’s with some awkwardness and reluctance...at a time like this, the emotions are too much. Her eyes well up with tears and eventually, they spill over.

He notices, and he panics. “Whoa, h-hey, no need to get upset...nothing even broke, see?”

She shakes her head. “N-No, that’s not it! I just...!” She has to stop to catch her breath. “I...I remember you! I saw you all the time, and you looked so sad, b-but...I don’t even know your name...!! I’m so sorry...!”

He looks confused for a moment, but recognition flashes across his features. “I knew those teary eyes looked familiar...you’re Aida, aren’t you? You got placed there because you kept trying to escape to find your brothers. You’re the one Escher spent so much time with...”

Musiea rubs at her eyes. “Great...I’m being remembered because I was as much of a crybaby back then as I am now...” She laughs. “But I’m surprised you remember any of that! It was so long ago, and I wasn’t there for very long...”

“When you never talk, you listen,” he says. “When you’re never noticed, you blend in with your surroundings and people carry on conversations right in front of you. Plus, Escher raised so much hell after you left. It was kind of hard not to know about!”

Musiea frowns. “I’m so sorry you were treated so badly, there, um...”

He smiles. “Darwin. And don’t be. It was hard, but it’s a part of who I am...and it got me to where I am now. But what I’m more curious to know is whether or not Escher ever found you again.”

Both former residents of the group home end up putting their shopping on hold to sit down at the little cafe within the store for a cup of tea and some conversation. It’s strange how the two of them never once spoke, but Musiea is able to tell him about her life. He listens intently, letting her speak and only reacting silently. He waits until she’s finished before he says a word.

“God, that’s...I’m so sorry...” His features darken, and she sees a shadow of who he was back in the orphanage. “But it’s amazing that you were able to get out of it...escaping a cult isn’t something many people can do. And saving all those kids, too...how many are there?”

“Twenty in all,” she replies simply. His eyes widen and he almost chokes on his tea. “I know it sounds like a lot, but they’re good kids, and Escher helps! Though he’s under the weather right now, so the main focus is on getting him well again.”

“Wow...” he says. “You’ve managed to do so much. It’s a life story people would read...and it would probably get the Hollywood treatment too!”

Musiea laughs. “Oh, please! But if they do...they’d better cast someone really pretty to play me. And someone slightly taller...” She sighs. “Escher could play himself, though. He’s good-looking enough to be a movie star...”

“See? There’s even the love story element. I smell an Oscar nom right there.”

“Just the nomination?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, enough about me. It seems like you’re doing well, especially compared to how you used to be. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Well, I was kind of a scrawny little runt back then,” Darwin says. “I’ve gotten a little bigger and stronger in the meantime.”

“And...I’ve seen you smile, and laugh...” Musiea says. “That was why I broke down crying earlier. I had actually been talking with Escher last night, wondering whether or not some of the kids in that place ended up okay like we did. You...were mentioned...”

“Then...you’ll be glad to know I’m doing fine,” he says. “I mean, some days are rough, but...I’ve got people to support me too. I get through...” He smiles. “Guess it’s my turn, then...”

“Only if you want to talk about it,” Musiea assures him.

“It’s fine. Though it’s not quite as interesting as yours...” He sighs. “Not too long after you left, I started leaving the property to take walks. I figured as long as I was going to be alone, I might as well be truly by myself...not alone amid a crowd. But I kept going by this one playground, and seeing kids there who looked...happy. I remembered that my mom used to take me there when she was still healthy enough to get out of bed...that I had some happier memories of the place.

“I used to just walk by, but I eventually got to the point where I would sit on a bench and watch. There were these two kids there, a brother and sister, and I used to always see them. One day, the little girl came up and asked if I wanted to play too. She said she had only ever seen me by myself, and she asked if I ever got lonely. I told her the truth: ‘I’m used to it.’”

“That’s...a really sad truth,” Musiea says softly.

“It is, but I’d never thought about it that way...she burst into tears, and I was shocked. She told me she’d never heard anything so sad.” He sighs, though there’s a smile on his face. “I still remember it so vividly, even now...those silvery eyes, all red and puffy from very real tears. She didn’t even know me, but her heart was breaking for me...”

Musiea smiles as well. “She’s still someone important to you, isn’t she?”

“All that and more,” he admits, pink immediately dusting his cheeks. “I love Marie more than I knew I ever could love anyone. And she waited for me to sort through everything...she’s beautiful, smart as can be, talented...she could have anyone, but she helped me sort through my baggage and my past...”

“She sounds wonderful,” Musiea says.

“She is,” Darwin says. “And the work she’s already doing...she finished her undergrad program early, but even as a grad student, she’s already learned so much in this lab, they’re working on curing all sorts of-“ He pauses. “Sorry, I could talk about the things she does all day...”

“It’s all right!” Musiea tells him with a laugh. “It sounds like important research!”

“Yeah, and I’ll admit that I have to ask her to slow down and explain things to me a lot of the time...it’s amazing she even knows how.” He sighs. “Anyway...she’s been through a lot herself. Her older brother, Orlando, was kind of a rock for us both. When I was about ten, their mom and dad became foster parents to me, so I got out of the group home. It seemed like it was going to be fine...but then, they...were killed in a really horrible accident four years later...”

“I’m so sorry,” Musiea says quietly.

“It was a shock to everyone...Orlando spent a few days in his room, but he knew he had to rally. He...did a lot of growing up in a really short amount of time. And Marie was so devastated she could barely get out of bed for a couple of months...she tried going back to school but was placed on medical leave indefinitely because she could barely get through the day without breaking down...”

“It’s a horrible thing, losing one’s parents...” Musiea says, looking down into her cup. “Something you wouldn’t wish on anyone...”

“I kept thinking of how hard it was losing my mom,” Darwin says. “My dad passing on sometime after her, well...it’s complicated. But I remember thinking how it wasn’t fair that such good people like their mom and dad didn’t deserve to be robbed of their lives, and how good people like Orlando and Marie didn’t deserve to feel the kind of pain that comes from the loss of one’s parents...”

“But you get through it,” Musiea says. “They did...just like you and I did, and Escher...and the kids I look after now...”

“That’s right,” he says. “It’s hard, but...as long as you’ve got even just one person to help you through it...you’ll be okay.” He looks sad again for a moment. “People like us...maybe we just got lucky, to be at a point where we can talk about these things as parts of our pasts. I don’t know what became of the others in that home, but...I’d like to think that maybe things are better for them now. But I’m glad to know that out of all the kids there, two of them besides me are doing well now.”

Musiea looks up at him with a smile. “And I’ll have to settle for the one, I guess. Really though, I’m glad our paths crossed, Darwin. I feel better than I did before.”

“Well, good. You deserve it, Musiea. You’ve been through a lot, and you’ve done a lot. You’re going to keep doing a lot.” He stands up. “But, that’ll have to be for another time. I’ve got to get the stuff I need for dinner tonight.”

Musiea stands up as well. “And I need to get together a care package for Escher!”

“Right. Well, take care of yourself, too.”

“You do the same. Oh, and Darwin?”

“Hm?”

She smiles. “You really might want to think about using a cart this time.”

He laughs. “Duly noted.”

#I LIKED WRITING THIS EVEN IF FEELS OKAY #modern verse got that much more interesting #welcome to the orphanage for protags i guess #verse: modern au #1685thrite #nominator1685

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lucylucid111 · 2 years ago

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What do you do when you need to start over in life again? living in an environment that has been so toxic for years, I started to normalize it so I didn't lose my sanity.

It all started when I was born, I was born into a world of alcoholism, domestic violence, drug abuse, child abuse, (physical, sexual & phycological) My parents were trying for a boy but they kept popping girls out. They stopped after the fourth child, my Mom got her tubes tied to make it official. I remember when my Mom left my dad I was 6, I remember one day we were living in a 2 bedroom house in baldwin park, then all the sudden my mom got me and all my sisters in her car frantically, we drove down the street to my Grandma Helen's house.

I always had a love/ hate relationship with my father it was very traumatizing. I did love my dad but he also scared the shit out of me especially when he was drinking. My father had a very violent and troubled side to him, but when he would sober up I guess he felt guilt cause he would always try to make up with material objects like new toys or a trip to the liquor store to buy me and my sisters candy. When my parents got a divorce they went about it in such a traumatizing way, I remember it so vividly because it was the first time I experienced my heart being broken.

We had been staying at my Grandmas house for a few days, I didn't know what was going on. I had missed our home and my room I shared with my sisters. I remember my Mom gathering me and all my sisters in the kitchen at my Grandmas and she told us that our dad was gonna come by to see us. it had been days since I seen him so I remember missing the good parts of my dad, he got there and we all went outside to the front yard. That's when my Mom told us "me and your dad are getting a divorce, who do you want to live with me? or your dad?" I was in shock, I seen my dad break down sobbing saying " my mija's, I can't live without you" it was one of the hardest decisions of my life but of course we all chose our Mother.

That same night shortly after our father left, my Mom was packing up our bags in her car, I remember her telling us lets go. We drove for hours, there was a lot going on to process, I was missing my dad. I ended up crying myself to sleep, I was woken up to the voice of my Mom saying "wake up were here" I asked Mom "where are we?" she replied "san jose" I had never been so far from our home in baldwin park. I remember walking up to a two story house with a huge yard, I seen a lot of women and kids inside the home. My mom was talking to one of the ladies for awhile and filling out paperwork. Back then I had no idea where I was but I later found out that it was a shelter for women who experienced domestic violence.

(to be continued)

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candi-is-dandi · 3 years ago

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My Mom Part 2

Welcome back. So my mom was living with her now boyfriend Tim, it’s 1995. They are both heavily addicted to meth and my mom is a severe hoarder. I’m 5 my sister JC is 3 and it is not good living conditions. From what I’ve been told my moms friends and family came over multiple times to help clean the trailer to make it livable for 2 young children with no success. Every time they came to clean my mom would fuck it up again within a month or 2 and we would be living in filth. My moms trailer was absolutely horrible from what I remember. There was random stuff piled to the ceiling in every room of the house. There was only 2 bedrooms 1 of them was where JC and I slept which had our bunkbed and all of our stuff and the other was filled with dirty clothes and garbage piled to the ceiling. All the memories I have from that place are horrible. I remember when JC and I had chicken pox and we were both super itchy and uncomfortable and one day JC was crying a bunch because along with the terrible rash you get from chicken pox you also get a fever and you just don’t feel good. Well Tim apparently just couldn’t handle JC crying so he came into our room, picked her up and threw her against the wall. I remember that so vividly and I don’t remember my mom doing anything at all to stop him or comfort JC or me after so we just comforted each other. I also remember the door to our bedroom was broken off the hinges and anytime Tim was annoyed with us which was a lot he would lean the door up against the opening and put stuff in front of it so we couldn’t get out. My grandma has told me stories too from that time period. She said that she showed up there one time in the winter and my mom didn’t know where JC was and my grandma asked her the last time she saw her and she said it was when she had gone to the store hours ago and my grandma ended up finding JC strapped into her car seat in the car and it was below freezing temperatures. My grandma showed up 1 time and JC was tied to a chair because she had apparently gotten into my mom and Tim’s meth and they tied her up to try and control her because she was bouncing off the walls. My grandma taught me how to use the phone to call her incase we were in danger and I would try and escape our bedroom as often as I could and call her to come get us out of there. I remember one time there was a tornado warning and the trailer was swaying because it was so winding, branches were breaking and hitting the roof and for a 5 and 3 year old that’s terrifying. I remember begging my mom to go to the neighbors house because they had a basement and she said “It’s alright honey, if we die at least we’ll die together”. These are only the things I actually remember but I know there was much more trauma that happened that I blocked out. When I was 6 we finally got taken away from my mom because I must have told one of my teachers that we were being abused and when CPS investigated they found out that not only were we living in hoarding conditions and being physically abused but JC had been severely molested to the point that her hymen had been broken. JC and I ended up getting split up for a while because I went to my grandma on my dads side the one who taught me how to use the phone and JC went with my grandma on my moms side the strict religious one. My mom didn’t seem to care at all because she ended up marrying Tim and giving up her rights to us and eventually my dad got full custody of both of us and dumped us at his moms house, but I’ll save that part of the story for later.

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awifehangingon · 3 years ago

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Chapter 1

My brother was born on November 27th. I was nine years old. His mother was nineteen when she found out she was pregnant and told my dad that she wanted to move away from the town that we were living in. My dad transferred to a different location that was in a smaller town. I knew that I was going to have a younger sibling, but I still didn’t forgive my parents for having my younger sister. I was trying to ignore the newest addition. My grandmother picked me up when my brother’s mom went into labor. I got to spend time with them and when I heard that my new brother was born, I asked them to pull over so I can pick flowers for her. We went to the house and I remember vividly looking at my brother with my other siblings. We stood over his white bassinette and we looked at his little squished face. We didn’t have much experience with babies. We kept telling each other to poke the baby to make sure he was ok. I remember my sister asking was we’re going to name him. My brother told us that our dad already named him Steven. My sister and I felt that we should have a say. We also told my brother that he can’t be named Steven, because we already knew a Steven. Because thems the rules when you’re a child. While we were talking the baby pinched his face and started crying. We all ran away from the bassinette.

Steven was always smiling or crying. I decided when he was old enough to crawl, that he was my favorite. He would crawl to where I was sitting or into my room. He was a pudgy baby. When I think of how he was when he was a baby, he was like my son. Both pudgy, happy, and always climbing on stuff. I would carry him all over the place. I didn’t know that his parents were always fighting and arguing. His mom told my dad that she was suffocating in such a small town and needed somewhere bigger to live. If she didn’t get it, then she would go back to Arizona and take Steven with her.

My father was married to my mom when they found out she was pregnant with my older brother. This was in the senior year of high school. My mom was shunned by her family and everyone, except my grandfather and my dad. They had their struggles when my brother was born. I was born two years later. By that time they were more stable. But like most high school pregnancies and weddings, it was not filled with happy marital bliss. Depending on which relative you ask, you’ll get the story on which of my parents cheated. Knowing both of them now, I have a pretty good idea. My sister was the result of a birth control not working. They divorced when I was five and my sister was two months old.

This was not an easy break, horrible things were done to my sister. It was the reason that my dad received full custody of three kids in New Mexico. Child Protective Services wanted to take my sister away while she was at a hospital. My dad and his parents and siblings took several car seats into the hospital without most people knowing. My dad had a restraining order against my mom and her new boyfriend. They each took a baby blanket and covered the car seats and each person bolted from the hospital with a car seat. Police officers chased the vehicles that went separate directions.

One vehicle made it to the reservation, it was my aunt with my sister. Back then, state or county police were not allowed on the reservation. Only federal agencies were allowed, but no one trusted them and wouldn’t cooperate with them.

When my little brother’s mother was demanding to move, my sister was four years old. My dad just barely started letting my mom visit us again. I know he was worried that he could lose his son if she left. So, he quit his job (because it was a reservation only job) and we moved to a larger town. My dad moved to the same town that my aunt lived in. He got her a house with a big back yard, a tree, and a playground. But he needed a job to afford the things she wanted. I don’t know if it was that she didn’t want to get a job, or my dad was being old fashioned and didn’t want her to get a job. Whichever way it was, she stayed at home. My dad took a job or two in the next city. I know she wanted him to come home every day he worked, so he drove two and a half hours to get here and two and a half to get back. I use to hear them arguing about him getting a hotel for the week and how it would save money. She said no.

Steven was about a year old when we lived in this town. He was adorable. He went from crawling to running everywhere. Because my aunt lived in the town, we got to visit her and my cousins a lot. I remembered them as not having much in common with us. The younger cousin was my brother’s age, the older was in high school. My younger cousin was obsessed with the Backstreet Boys or N*Sync, one of them. She had Barbie dolls and posters all over the place. Her sister was into metal and wore black. She also had long dark nails and got to wear make-up. I use to think she was so cool.

We would visit their house and my aunt would take us to the play grounds near and we would run and play with Steven. After running and playing, my aunt would make us sandwiches and give us snacks. As a chubby child, I really enjoyed that part. To this day, my aunt’s house still smells like cookies.

We had a regular schedule with our mom at this point. We lived in this town for two years. Steven was talking his babbly baby talk. He annoyed his mom my calling her “Cinda” just like we did. When my mom would visit to pick us up for a break or holiday, Steven would run out with us and yell “mom, mom!” He would see my mom there and turn around and run back to the house yelling for Cinda. I knew that Cinda and my mom didn’t like each other. Later I found out that Cinda wanted to be married, but my dad told her he won’t get married again until my mom changes her name back to her maiden name. And my mom was petty like that, but now she says it’s just too much of a hassle.

Every time we came back, Steven would run to me and I always gave him some contraband candy or snack. For at least a week after we got back, he would be by our sides. When it the summer of the year that he would turn three, my dad told us that we would be moving again. My grandpa had a house built in the small village where he was born and him and his wife were going to move there. This left the lot where he was living open. My grandpa’s dream was to have his kids happy with their own house. My dad is the youngest of five kids. He was the only one that wanted to move back to his small town. So my grandpa and him got a trailer that was being moved onto the lot.

We moved that summer so that we could all start school in the fall. I was excited to start school again. Steven was excited, he was going to share a room with my brother. He got a new toddler bed and enjoyed all the sand around the area. We would walk with him down to the convenience store and get snacks. There was a small flea market area that was between the stores and our home. Sometimes, my dad or Cinda would give us money to get sno-cones or food to bring back. My grandma lived in that town and I got to see her a lot, which was great. She was my grandma on my mother’s side, but she never treated Steven any different. She would pick us up and take us into town for pizza or McDonald’s. Everywhere we went with my dad, people would recognize him and stop him for a conversation.

It wasn’t long before Cinda didn’t like everyone knowing my dad, or worse asking about my mom. It was early in the school year. She said she was going to visit her mom in Arizona. She had my grandpa watch us and she left with Steven. This was a little after my grandpa lost his wife, Annie. My dad was still working in the city. He rushed back and I heard him yelling and my grandpa talking to him.

My dad left for a week or so to go find Steven. He wasn’t able to. That was the first time I’ve ever seen my dad cry.

#grief journal #depression #story

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tyler-games-hard · 7 years ago

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Buckle up for a life story!

I’m not sure how much I’ve talked about this, but here’s how I figured out I was gay and what christian school taught me and how its okay to be gay!

Trigger warnings: Suicide, self harm, derogatory terms

This school was hard core Christian. It was run out of a church, small town based, very much so had that bible thumping redneck agenda going on. Most of the kids going to this school also went to church there and their parents worked for the school, church, or both, and EVERYONE knew each other and who they were and where they stood on the totem pole. If your parents worked for the school or church and you went to church there, you were automatically higher on the pole, and sad for me, being an outsider, parents didn’t work for the school or go to church there, I was smack bottom. Between the totem pole and the typical private school cliques, it was social hell for poor me. I was a California avocado swimming in a pool of southern sweet tea sat atop a mountain of bibles, with no end in sight.

So as a 10 year old 4th grader, moving from a Californian private school that was relatively laid back to a southern private school with strict uniforms and even taught Latin, it was a huge culture shock. At this same time I was also beginning puberty, and that’s about the time you start discovering which gender you prefer, if any at all and let me tell you that first year of being questioned which boy I liked when I really was starting to take a liking to the girls, was weird. I felt ashamed of it, but at the same time not. The stuff I was taught growing up that I should get married to a man and give him kids and be a home maker was telling me it was wrong, but something deep inside was telling me no, this is right, you don’t need to marry a man, you don’t like men (to be found out later I’m actually a bit more flexible lol), and it was deeply confusing. I saw my fellow classmates and saw them all expressing interest in the opposite sex, and I really was just hiding the fact that I took a preference to the girls by saying I really didn’t care. To be noted, though, I had been struggling with my gender identity since I was very young, before I even started kindergarten, so whether at the time I was straight or gay, it was changing most definitely.

Around this same year, 4th grade, I was introduced to an instant messaging app called Palringo after I got an iPod touch for Christmas. A quick overview of this app, at the time I got in to it, all you needed was an email, and you could have an account, and you could join whatever group you wanted. The age restrictions at the time were technically 13+, but hey look at me, rebellious 10 year old. I ended up joining a group for teens and lied, saying I was 16, using a fake picture and everything. I posed as this very girly girl in my online persona, I was somewhat flirtatious, “dated” a mod from the group (dating being we had each others usernames in our profiles with hearts) and learned way too much, way too soon. I was 10 years old and the people in this group thought I was 16 because I lied and were telling me about sex, anatomy of both sexes, and teaching me slang and phrases one would find in urban dictionary.

I became obsessed with this app. It took over my life. I didn’t really talk to people at school anymore, I didn’t talk to my one friend on my block, and basically my last couple years of elementary school disappeared on this app where I learned about sex, sexuality, gender, and drama. By the time I was 11, I had become pretty solid in the fact that I didn’t like boys, but pretended I did at school. Instead I was open about liking girls on Palringo, since people didn’t judge me there. I eventually found a group of people who I consider to be my high school friends. When I met them, I came clean about my lie with another lie, just not as far fetched. I told them I was 13 instead of 16, yet in reality I was still just 11 or 12. And I got along well with these people. I even met my current girlfriend during this time in these groups. But my real life in person social life was dead. I connected with no one, I became severely depressed, and by the time I was 13 or 14, I was self harming.

My depression came on about the time I was 12 or 13. I was t this Christian school that I didn’t belong in, I couldn’t be myself there, and my social life was dead between that and palringo taking over my life. I was also dealing with gender identity issues and being scared to talk about it with anyone. I certainly couldn’t talk to my parents about it, I had attempted to tell them about liking girls and being gay and they told me I was going to hell and took all my electronics and went through my private possessions. I couldn’t talk to anyone at school about it because that place was the same way, Christian and frowned on it. It’s not like I can change who I’m attracted to. So again I turned to palringo, which was fine communication wise, it just lacked that physical aspect. I couldn’t hear them say the words, or I couldn’t feel them hug me, and I really thrive off human touch in all forms, romantic, platonic, etc.

I quickly spiraled into being suicidal at the age of 14, already been self harming for about 8 months, at that point. I still have horrible scars from it that I’ll probably have forever. I had been seriously dating my girlfriend (who I’m still with!!) for a year by the time I was 15. It was long distance and text based, sometimes we could talk on the phone but had to make sure our parents didn’t find out, so that was very limited. She has talked me out of suicide a few times now, but the most notable time was the very first time. After living in Alabama and going to this Christian school, my dad’s job moved back to California, so we picked up and moved again. I was about 15 I believe, or 14 about to be 15, and we moved in the last third of my 8th grade year. My parents, for financial reasons, decided to put me in public school for the last third of 8th grade. I had never attended public school at this point. I’d only ever attended private Christian schools. Oh man did this public school almost kill me. I experienced outright bullying like never before. I’d experienced it before but it was always subtle and underhanded. At this public school, it was very direct. I was called fag, fatty, fat lesbian, and more of those in other variations, along with bullying in the form of the popular girls wouldn’t let me change in the bathroom because they didn’t like the fact I wouldn’t change in front of them. They would harass me and physically push me around. And of course I didn’t fight back, I was taught my whole life to turn the other cheek.

That small span of 3 months, I almost put a bullet in my head. I couldn’t talk to my parents, they disapproved of the fact that I was gay, they didn’t like the people I hung out with because they were also gay, I wouldn’t have gotten sympathy or help from them. I knew where my dad kept the guns. We were in a small apartment that my dad’s company was providing us and my dad stored his guns in the closet in his room. I planned it for a week. Grocery day, I would come home from school while my mom and sister were still out, I’d grab the hand gun, load it with one bullet, and stash it under my bed, which I did. It sat under my bed for 3 days. Every night, I sat in bed thinking about pulling it out and finally ending it. For all I knew, high school would just be another 4 years of this bullying. One night, I was sitting in bed after a particularly bad day. They bullying had been extra bad and I was beyond reasoning. I finally pulled that gun out. I was talking to my girlfriend, Jali, and telling her my goodbyes. I told her goodbye and was talking to her, trying to calm my storm and get the balls to just end it. She had nothing but soothing words for me. Somehow she knew I was serious, despite me not actually telling her what I was doing or about to do. I remember putting the gun in my mouth, loaded and cocked, all I had to do was flex that index finger, and I would be gone. Jali had sent me a message saying “I will miss you. You have been nothing but a light in my life and I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Please don’t do this.” I remember it vividly. I can see the screen in my head to this day as if I’m reading it all over again. I put the gun away. Unloaded it and stashed it back under my bed. And I cried. I cried so hard my eyes hurt for days. I bottled so much up and hid so much from everyone in an attempt to be the person my parents want me to be and to be strong for all my friends and for Jali that I was being broken from the inside out. I forever thank her for keeping me alive that night and the other couple times I was close to ending it. She kept me around to finally meet her beautiful self and finally find peace and acceptance.

This was a tough post to write, and it didn’t even really scratch to surface of the things I experienced in middle school and high school. Christian school showed me that even in extreme peer pressure to be like everyone else and in strict guidelines of who to be, you can still pull through and be your own light and be yourself. The internet and Palringo have shown me things my parents haven’t even talked to me about yet. I’m 20 years old and my parents still have not had a sex talk with me. I learned it from the internet and my internet friends. They taught me it’s okay to be me and who I am and that I am my own person, not something to please my parents.

Don’t fall down the same hole I did. Talk about your feelings. Be happy, be yourself, and don’t let anyone tell you who to be, from your parents to your friends to your partner, you’re the only person to tell yourself who you are

#gay #trans #ftm #lgbt #christianity #christian school #internet #palringo

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literaryfaeriecorner · 4 years ago

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02/21/2021: Promotions, Old Friends, and Yellow School Buses

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February 21st, 2021

somehow i received a promotion at work last Friday even though i am literally probably one of the LEAST motivated people teaching at that school... fuck. so... now, instead of just being a regular-schmegular teacher, i am now the '6th grade head social studies teacher' which means that i have to run planning meetings for the social studies team, attend morning meetings discussing whole-grade growth and failings, and solutions for how we're going to get the kids to... not suck. uuuuuuggggghhhhhh!!! and this is for the rest of the year and the next!!!!

apparently, i am the 'perfect person' for this position because all of my classes have consistently performed better than the rest... but between you, me, and the entire internet, that speaks more to the abilities of my students than my own personal abilities as a teacher. i don't believe i'm a sucky teacher or anything but the fact remains that between work, grad school, delusional lovesick-related episodes, mental illness, and other varying distractions, i am not Doing The Best I Can. in fact, i'm literally in survival mode 95% of the time. the other 5% of the time, i'm in manic-as-fuck mode. so... do i really DESERVE this promotion? who even fucking knows? i like to believe, however, that i'll eventually figure out how to bullshit this new responsibility as well and no one will be the wiser. i mean, if this promotion came with a financial boost as well, i'd be more inclined to not fuck it up but, like... i'm doing more work for the same weak ass pay... i'm not as motivated with kind words and encouragement than i would be with a solid boost to my pay grade. anyway... whatever.

i was on tumblr the other day (i am fasting from all social media sites during the day for Lent but tumblr doesn't count because i literally just reblog five or six posts into the void, look at sad literature quotes, and log out just to do it all over again the next day... i am not addicted to tumblr as i am to twitter, instagram, pinterest, and linkedin... yes, linkedin. my quest to escape my job has led me down a very weird and addictive path) and i came across this post by user beetlejuices:

"isn't it all about old friends? like everything? all of it?"

and it is. i think so. i really do.

one of the things i've been conscious of in my early adulthood is that i am still chasing after the friendships i had in middle school. i wrote about this two Lents ago too. there is a memory that i remember so vividly in middle school and it reminds me constantly about how i felt so loved and appreciated and like the world couldn't go on without me if i somehow left or disappeared or went away. i think about it all the time. that is how freeing and loving and whole it is. just a simple memory of being three hours late to school (after a huge, blown out argument between parents who should've divorced years ago) and being startled by a flood of texts that starting pouring in at 7 that morning.

ashley: YOOOO where r u? they snagged all the donuts from the corner store!

alysha: you missed the bus this morning?

ashley: i bought donuts off eman 4 u... say im the best :D

kiera: U MISSED CRYSTAL'S FAT HEAD ASS SLIP DOWN THE STEPS LMAOOO

kiera: u're always here early u good?

alysha: are you coming 2 school today?

ashley: are u ok?

Christyl: don't forget we have a test in math!! where are you?

kiera: babe?

ashley: are you ok? why is ur phone off?

alysha: i just talked to ashley are u ok?

Christyl: where r u?

kiera: i just talked to ashley r u ok?

kiera: none of ur sisters r here either... u ok?

ashley: i'll call again @ lunch

alysha: pls be safe

Christyl: i'll tell the teacher you're sick and maybe you can take it tomorrow

Christyl: are you ok?

and even more messages that were sent during and inbetween classes... i thought it was a bit too late (and too time consuming) to respond to them all individually so after being signed into school three hours late, i decided to wait for all my friends at our table in the cafeteria to surprise them before explaining my mess of a morning. i was nervous because i thought they would be mad at me for some reason. but as soon as they saw me, ashley, alysha, kiera, and christyl, they came barreling towards me screaming my name. it was an entire scene. people looking at them crazy and then raising their eyebrows at me, not seeing what the big deal was. i probably looked the same exact way that i did the day before. unspectacular, bookish, awkward. they couldn't see what the big deal was. it embarrassed me but it thrilled me at the same time.

they nearly knocked me to the floor pushing each other to get to me first trying to steal the first hug. in the end, i stretched my arms out as far as i could and they all fell into them. we probably looked a mess. a tangle of brown legs, arms, frizzy hair, loose braids, and scuffed dress shoes. i remember feeling so loved and wanted. i felt bigger and grander than i was. i had stopped the world for five entire minutes and i didn't do anything. i was just existing.

i don't really talk to any of the girls anymore. i follow them on social media and i wish them happy birthday every year and we're all on each other's close friends list on insta... so i still know a few, if not all, of their secrets... but we'll probably never be as close as we were in middle school. and that's ok. i still love them as much as i did when they tackled me in the lunch room that day. i still root and cheer for them like we still spend every night after school on the phone for hours talking shit and planning presidential campaigns and gossiping about boys. i will never forget that day in the lunchroom. ever. and, like i said, it has only occurred to me now, as a young adult, that i've been chasing that kind of friendship and sisterhood since it happened.

i like to treat all my friendships as mini-romances. i remember a tweet that said, "friendships ARE romance," and i agree. i think i'm in love with all of my close friends, if not all of my friends. it's embarrassing (just a bit) but i have probably fallen in love with all of my friends at least once or twice. this is especially true for my group of college friends (at this point, they are really family). i have been in love, at least once, with all eight of them throughout our four years. i don't actually find this embarrassing like i said earlier. what's embarrassing is that this information might embarrass other people which, in turn, would thoroughly embarrass me. but the fact itself doesn't embarrass me. that is how i am. i fall in love and out of love at breakneck speeds. i think it's important to be a little bit in love with your friends.

i really enjoyed being in undergrad and planning literal dates between all eight or nine of us. and we would call it that. "what are we doing for our date next weekend?" "so who's going on the date tomorrow?" "are we cancelling the date or does the weather not matter?" (the weather always mattered.) my favorite college date was valentine's day senior year. we all went to korean-style karaoke and ordered so much food and drink we could barely stand to sing. we were all sat around the tv singing horribly to mariah carey or beyonce or rapping to nicki minaj verses. we took so many bad pictures and tone deaf videos and we kept leaning or hugging or holding each other's hands. that's another thing i love about my college family. most of us are touchy-feely people. i am a touchy-feely person. i'm southern and my mom is ridiculously gooey so one of my love languages, inevitably, is touch. i, usually, reign it in A LOT unless i have a partner but in college, i somehow discovered a whole group of people who loved to kiss each other on the cheek and hold hands and lean on other people, and lock arms. i felt at home. really.

maybe it's not only about old friends, though. maybe it's about feeling at home.

there was another post on tumblr and i think about it a lot. it's a screenshot of a tweet from twitter user @HumbleCore.

"HUGE NEWS: finally found my best friend from middle school on FB. We've both been looking for each other for over a decade. I told her I think about her whenever I play any boardgame or drive by a church. She told me she uses my name as her password at work. A perfect reunion."

when i read that the other night, i cried. i don't know why. it was heavy and ridiculous and i was worried my roommates would hear me. i don't know why i cried. at all. and even typing it out like that made me want to cry again. the feeling is not as strong or as overwhelming as it was the first time but it's still there.

i think about a best friend i had in first grade. even before i thought of ashley as my best friend (i have known Middle School Ashley since the first grade. i thought we were destined to be best friends forever and ever and ever, which is what i wrote in her middle school yearbook). his name was Malik. or Malique. my memory fails me. but anyway, i loved him like crazy. we didn't do anything without the other. we shared lunch together, we HAD to be partners on every field trip, i cried when Ms. Sanchez moved my seat from his in an effort to stop us from disrupting her lessons and i hated her for an entire week. (a very long time from a first-grade perspective.) even now, i think about him whenever i go to petting zoos or farms and when i ride on yellow school buses with my students.

Malik/Malique was my first kiss. we were hiding from Ms. Sanchez and the other chaperones so we could pet the goats one last time. while we were hiding behind a barn, he kissed me. "for good luck," he said. and then we sprinted across the farm to get back to the goats. and we pet them again before Ms. Sanchez found us and ordered us back on the big yellow school bus where we held hands for the entire hour-long ride back to school.

it's very silly to think now but in high school when i was trying to determine whether i loved my first boyfriend or not i remember thinking, "well, does he make me feel like Malik/Malique?" it's silly but sweet. at fourteen, still comparing the way he made me feel behind a barn at 5 years old to how another boy, years and years later, made me feel. it is silly but i think it's sweet.

i don't actually have any interest in finding Malik/Malique or knowing for certain what he does or how he's doing because i seriously doubt i had such an impact on his life, but i hope he's well and alive and happy because that's what i always naturally hope for when i pass petting zoos or farms or see bright yellow school buses.

so, yes. i think everything, us, our relationships, the entire world, is about old friends. all of it. every last bit of it.

i have a whole-grade data analysis, 300 pages of reading, and two mini-papers for classes to finish before tonight so i'm going to get going... i just wanted to write about old friends first.

#on love #on friendship #on teaching #on community #stream of conscious #crushes

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