wheresmyidentity

[wheresmyidentity]

I don’t know where to begin. I was going to use this space to talk and vent and maybe someone out there will get it or understand or maybe not. Maybe it’s just for me. But the whole theme is my gender and identity.

I was always told, from a young age, I was pretty. They used to joke and say I would get all the boys and I could get men to do anything. Probably too young that was said to me. I’ve always been open about liking girls. I never tried to hide it and I never felt ashamed. Honestly, liking girls was never a crisis or worry of mine - how funny. I mean, sure, I did when I fucked a girl for the first time and had a break down in my closet (of all places). But not really because I liked girls, but because I cheated on my boyfriend. So being Gay or Queer or Bi or Pan or whatever identity for my sexuality I prefer wasn’t a big deal. I watched girl on girl shit probably way too young too. Never straight shit.

But it’s when I met my first nonbinary/trans person that my world screeched to a halt. They were so gloriously - and funny enough I met them on here. They went by the name Cecil and I was in awe with how they carried themselves. They used They/He pronouns and despite being strict in this, they dressed and appeared feminine. Dresses, florals, pinks, pastel gothic almost. Lipstick and beautiful makeup. It hadn’t really clicked in my brain until then about gender and identity. Like someone could be a he and present like a “girl.”

When I was in the fifth grade we learned about periods. I went home in tears and locked myself in my room. I screamed “I don’t want to be a girl!” My nana found it hilarious but it is my first clear memory of feeling uncomfortable in my skin. I had pulled at my skin and sobbed on the floor, begging god to fix it. I remember bra shopping for the first time and being horrified and embarrassed.

By middle school, my body had already become sexualized. I never liked two piece swimsuits but was pushed to wear bikinis to show off my “perfect” body. Ones that squished my growing boobs together. When going out my hair had to be curled or straightened perfectly. I learned in sixth grade how to do the perfect eyeliner and how to apply makeup. I perfected it by eighth grade. In sixth grade, I made the volleyball team and we would be changing in the locker room. Nana took me to buy Victoria secret bras and thongs. I was 12. Push up bras with lace, frills, underwear that said things like “bite me” and “naughty.” I went to a Halloween party and by age 12-13 we all wore the “sexy” costumes in hopes of getting boys attentions.

I was taught to be a sex symbol and pleasing to look at and hyper femme from my earliest teen years.

I look back though and I was pushed to do “boyish” things like sports and hated them. How could I possibly ever question my gender. I’m not hypermasculine. I was never interested in anything that falls under “boy”. I don’t care for cars or working out or sports or beer or dinosaurs. I thought boys were annoying but at the same time I was put here for them to enjoy. That was my strength. My power.

I hide. Feminine is what I know. Girls are strong and wonderful and I want so bad to fit in that. I look up to women, not men. Men are stupid and shallow and gullible. And yes, women are who hurt me, never really men. But it’s not like I blame them or hate them. I can hide behind the makeup that makes me beautiful. I can hide behind pretty clothing. I never can explain it properly and I’m hoping I can soon. One day. This is just the background info.