#uhhh im not entirely sure how to tag things on this site pls have patience with me

[juiceb0x]

Trans Day of Remembrance.

I was in kindergarten. The girls and boys were playing in two separate groups. I strutted up to the boys, only to be told I couldn’t play with them because I was a girl. I sat down and started to play anyways. They were aghast. Before I knew it, they’d all left. At least I had all the toys to myself.

My hair was suffocatingly long. I wanted to cut it--I was always too hot, it was always in the way, people pulled on it for fun. My dad assured me that little girls were supposed to have long hair, and that I looked like a princess. It looked like a rat’s nest.

I first heard the words ‘lesbian’ and ‘gay’ in my friend’s backyard. Two girls were making fun of one another, using them like joking insults, the way they would say ‘stupid’. I didn’t know what they meant, so shyly, I asked. They told me it was when girls liked girls or boys liked boys. They said it was weird. I only knew to echo them. For years I didn’t even know what the LGBT+ community was, I just knew it was strange and alien--it was supposed to be.

    I heard stories from classmates about friends, acquaintances, girls who wanted to be boys or boys who wanted to be girls. We were all in unison; it was bizarre. Who would ever want that? It was just plain unnatural.

I didn’t know why I felt so nauseous when I started to develop curves. I would be pretty and mature. I’d break boys’ hearts. I’d grow up and have a handsome husband. So why did I hate looking in the mirror and seeing that my chest was no longer flat?

    I’d always been a quiet, sensible kid, especially in public, but I’d never felt more like throwing a tantrum then when I bought my first bra. It was at a Walmart, in Florida. There were two of them, that my mom picked out for me. Pink and white triangles that crushed my chest and wouldn’t stay in place, the straps cutting into my skin. I thought I wouldn’t mind them, if they kept my chest comfortably flat. But they didn’t.

    One of my neighbours dressed as a boy for Halloween. She won a prize in her class for her costume. I was incredibly jealous I didn’t think of that. I dismissed it as being envious of the attention she got, even though I really just wanted to dress as a boy.

    In seventh grade, people laughed and asked me, teasing, if I was a lesbian or something, because of the way I dressed, the way I acted. I laughed with them, too unsure to answer.

    In eighth grade, I thought I should’ve liked my clothes. I had nice enough clothes, didn’t I? They were expensive. So why did I hate the lacy bra that jutted off my torso, the tags scratching like cats’ claws; why did I feel so relieved when I got to go home and wear baggy pyjamas instead?

    I came out to my mom for the first time. It was terrifying, sitting her down and explaining things. She told me she knew I wasn’t straight ever since I was six. I didn’t get to tell my dad--he called from work a couple of days after I came out to my mom, solemnly telling me that he knew I’d discussed ‘something very personal’ with my mother. He didn’t know how to go about discussing it. I was in shock. I’d intended to tell him, but I didn’t realize how frightening being outed could be.

    I realized I wasn’t a girl somewhere along the line. I hated it. I hardly knew what being trans was, let alone how to cope with feeling that way. I finally got the courage to admit it to myself just after my depression was revealed to everyone, at the end of the school year. I thought I was nonbinary.

    I found solace in Rick Riordan’s books, and his character Alex Fierro, a genderfluid demigod. I’d been following Rick’s books for years, and seeing representation from him was mind-blowing. I thought I might be genderfluid, after that--I started presenting that way, but something still wasn’t right. I felt masculine most days, then wilted as I looked through my clothes. I resolved to presenting myself as feminine too many days. I knew I couldn’t pass, so why try?

    A boy texted me and asked me out on Valentine’s day. We’d been friends for months, and I had no feelings for him, but I panicked for another reason--he was straight. A straight boy was asking me to be his girlfriend. I never wanted to be anyone’s girlfriend. I turned him down as gently as I could. He found out, a few days later, that I was trans. We avoided each other for about a week after that.

    I wanted to cut my hair for months. I cut it to shoulder length, but I still hated it. I brought it up to my dad over and over, only to get shut down. I saved pictures of short haircuts on my phone. I finally announced I was going to get it cut short whilst on the way to getting it trimmed and dyed. My dad nearly got us in a car accident. He couldn’t fight when I discussed it with the stylist. I nearly cried when I saw myself in the mirror after it’d been done. I pranced out, prouder of myself than I’d ever been before.

    I found words to put to my feelings again, through one of my favourite Youtubers, MilesChronicles, formerly AmandasChronicles. I watched the video in which he came out, and the one where he elaborated on it. He felt connected to both being a boy and being nonbinary. I was ecstatic.

    I snapped at friends more than once because they kept referring to me as ‘she’. They introduced me to people as a girl. When I tried to bring it up, they played the victim. No matter how hard I seemed to try, people saw me as a girl. I was open, loud, and frankly obnoxious about it. I nearly flipped a desk when someone was mocking me, calling me ‘miss’. I snarled at him, telling him for the thousandth time that I was trans. He told me I was still a girl. I told him I hoped I never saw him again. He moved a few months later. I didn’t realize how just awful his ‘friendship’ made me feel until he was gone and I could breathe again.

    A debate sparked around me at lunch after I accused someone of being transphobic. “You can’t just call people transphobic,” said one girl. Another friend was playing Social Justice Warrior again. I just felt sick. I begged Casper to leave with me, to hide in the washroom with me. I thought I might cry. I couldn’t cry. I told Casper I didn’t feel safe. I took off into the hall, Casper assuring me the situation would be handled. I paced, gasping for breath. When I finally went back to the group, a friend gave me a hug. I got a few irritated or sympathetic looks before class started again. Honestly, going back to quietly working was a relief.

    I came out to my mom for the second time on the 14th of June, 2017, the day of pride month dedicated to trans boys. I had just taken my first exam for the year, English, and walked from the school to a fast food place with a friend. I told her what day it was when she came to pick me up, and tried to explain how I felt. She told me surgery was expensive. She didn’t get the message, so when I got home, I came out a third time, texting her and explaining everything. She was talking to me a few days later, going on and on about how happy she was when she found out she was having a girl. How all she ever wanted was a girl. I left the room not long after that.

    A friend texted me ‘OH NO LGBT RIGHTS WENT TOO FAR’ when he found out about a Canadian law recently passed essentially preventing harassment of trans people. I argued with him for far too long, trembling and on the verge of tears by the time I ended it. He tried to keep up the conversation, saying it was a good discussion and we should continue it sometime. It was only after I told him I’d hated it that he realized I was even upset. He said he ‘forgot it was personal to me’. I didn’t talk to him for over two weeks.

    I bought my first masculine clothes at the mall with a former friend of mine. Two button-downs with short sleeves, one navy with sailboats and anchors patterned across it and the other a plain blue-grey colour. The lady at the cashier laughed and joked with us, telling me to keep being me. She didn’t even mention that I was buying male clothes. I walked out of the store with a huge grin on my face.

    I went to my local pride parade over the summer, with the trans flag painted on my face. My mom called me by my birth name for the entire time she was there--thankfully, she left early on. I knew I didn’t pass as male, but people were kind to me anyways. One man told me I looked fabulous and complimented my bow tie. I talked to a nonbinary kid for hours, and stayed with them when my friends left me. They’re still one of the sweetest people in my life, and I couldn’t have been happier that I met them and was in a fully-accepting environment, even just for a few hours.

    I was writing my Christmas list. I addressed it to Santa, at my little sister’s request. It was incredibly frustrating, not being able to ask for what I really wanted--a binder, men’s clothing, cologne, to get my name changed. I left it for another day.

    A ‘friend’ of mine has been increasingly transphobic these past few weeks. It started as jokes, but at this point, he’s obsessed with my identity and tearing into me for it. That, combined with other factors, had me question my identity, want to go back in the closet, and push me to the point of breaking down. To think--it was the same friend who had asked me on a date so sweetly, who I had felt so guilty about turning down. I finally snapped. I told him I was tired of his obsession with my identity. I told him I didn’t give a damn about what he thought. I told him to back off and to shut up. I told him I was tired of him thinking this was okay. He apologized over the weekend, and even if it was a self-pitying apology, it was a start. I went into school today with the intention of talking things out. I cracked a few jokes and tried to get his attention. He made it clear he wasn’t going to talk to me.

    Today, he used the word ‘tranny’. He was sarcastic and degrading about me being a man. He had no idea it was trans day of remembrance.

    It’s funny, I only found out about it a few hours ago myself, but being trans has been on my mind. It’s been confusing, and hard, and has made me a target--and it’ll continue to be that way. I can’t even use a public washroom without getting dirty or confused looks. But I’m not going to be afraid anymore. I’m tired of ‘friends’ treating me like a joke, like a burden. I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I don’t have everything figured out, but I know, from here on out I’m doing what makes me happy. My identity is nobody’s business but my own. I stand with my trans family and all our supporters, and today, I hope that everyone knows we won’t be silenced. We’ve still got a long, long way to go, and hard battles to fight. We’ll still hear slurs, we’ll still hear about trans tragedies, we’ll still have to put up with all the little things that come with being trans. But we are worth the fight.

Today we remember, we mourn those we’ve lost, and we fight with everything we’ve got for those to come.