Dying to get a taste of life.

sunset

Earlier I was out longboarding, just as usual, nothing different. Just lit a cigarette, had my music playing from my phone and pushed my feet off the ground repeatedly to gain speed.

What surrounded me was the same as it always is around this time of the year. Trees blossoming with pretty flowers, colours blended intogether, mosquitos quenching blood and the fresh sent of fall. I’ve seen the same things aorund me for the past 25 years of my life.

But something felt different, everything looked the same, but they felt different. Was it that I was longboarding a bit later than I usually do, or the the sunset fell later than it normally does, or were the wheels of my longboard slowing down?

Do you ever go somewhere you’ve been numerous times before, nothing physically has changed, but you feel change, like some sort of small aspect has changed your outloud on what you see?

I believe that’s what happened, I started appreciating what I saw in that moment. I saw tiny little aspects, I disected the different colours of the sunset, noticed where the mosquitos and other bugs laid to rest and how settle it made me feel in that moment.

It was as though, my worries, my past didn’t haunt me, but settled me and I felt it. I didn’t feel like dying was the answer, but living was.

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The song that I am listening to while writing this post:

 

When I was a few months old, I was placed in a foster home with a little boy and his parents, shortly afterwards, those parents had adopted me as their own child. My birth mother, not only was she young, was not able to take care of me aswel as my birth father.

I do not remember how old I was when I was told that I was adopted. I also don’t remember how I reacted on the spot, whether I actually understood what being adopted meant or if I just acted like I understood because as I grew older, maybe around 6 or 7 years old I remember being really angry.

I threw tantrums almost all the time over the littlest things and I remember asking people to call me by the name I was given at birth even though my name had been changed. I assume it was one of the many ways I used to cope with knowing that I had been adopted.

These parents, who are still my parents, who are the only people who actually were there for me through everything and are still here for me, still love me to this very day.

I’ve gone through some hard obstacles in my life, maybe not as ‘bad’ or as worse as some people’s struggles, but I’ve been delt with a very mix and matched sort of hand.

The reason as to why I am writing about being adopted is because even though I had a loving family and still do, I had always wondered what it would be like to meet my birth parents. See if I actually looked like someone instead of just having the same hair colour as one of my brothers, although I didn’t grow up with blood, I inherited similar traits as my adoptive parents. I knew that I didn’t need to know any of my blood relatives. I had met one blood sister who’m I went through phases of denying her as my sister and not. I always wanted a sister growing up, but I just didn’t like her for some reason.

I didn’t want to have to put my name on an adoptive registry just to find my birth mother so I just decided to stop looking. Until one day, I found a picture with my birth sister’s last name from when she was born. We looked our birht mother up on facebook and to both of our surprises, we found her.

I mean anyone can have a dopple ganger, I think that’s what they’re referred to as. So that woman could have been anyone, even now how can one be so sure that the family they get close to and believe are related to them, aren’t you know? The birth sister I knew for the majority of my life not only looked like our birth mother, but her other children looked like the both of us. One of my sisblings I had met actually could pass as my twin sometimes. It’s actually pretty neat.

Now that I’ve grown to know part of my birth family, the mystery of what happened to my birth father still lingers.

Another reason as to why I’m writing this, is because my Niece is getting adopted and as much as it’s going to hurt her mother, (the sister who looks like myself and I look like her), it’s going to hurt me as well. I remember the time I received a phone call about her being brought into this world. The first time I held her, I will never forget.

I haven’t been able to see her often due to many different obstacles, but I get to see her next week hopefully for the last time for the next while because she’s actually getting adopted and although it hurts to see her go, she really won’t be gone, just physically, but taken in by a loving family. She’s grown so much since the time she was brought into this mess of a world, that it amazes me and comforts me at the same time knowing that she’s being placed in th arms of people who will be able to give her everything she needs, on top of that extending the love she has been given by her blood relatives.

I hope to be able to hold a place in her heart and have her be reminded of a part I’ve played in her little life.

I love her so much.

Day 04 – 30 Day Transgender Challenge

How did your family take it when you came out? / If you are not out, why aren’t you?

I gradually came out, so it wasn’t as though I walked up to my parents and was like ” Mom, dad, I’m not female. You may think so, but I’m not. “. Infact, it was more so over the course of a few years prior to coming out. ” Mom, I think I want to take testosterone. ” I think I had said that at some point.

My parents don’t accept the fact that I believe that I’m not female. I understand, and I’d like to think that if I had children and I wasn’t Transgender, that I would support them either way.

I’m not out to some of my family members though. I told my older brother via text message one time and he took it better than I thought he would, but my younger brother constantly puts me down and tells me that I’m going to hell and pushes his religion on me.

I was adopted, so I have other brothers and sisters whom I had not grown up with and one of my younger sisters respects my pronouns as best as she can and my name. Sometimes there’s slip ups, especially because we’ve only known eachother for a year and a bit. But she’s come a long way.

As for my birth mother, she doesn’t really say much to me. We’re more aquaintances than anything else. I don’t consider her family really, only by blood, so I don’t really take her opinion to heart.

My cousins refuse to use my preferred pronouns and preferred name just as the family I grew up with. I still love them and I understand, it’s just not that easy.

 

 

I am me and that’s all I should be.

I did or said something that offended you and you tell me that I am not your brother but your sister and I’ll always be female, yet when we are getting along in general, you refer to me as your older brother with little or no hesitation?

I love you, you’re my little sister and I’ve only known you for over a year now. I never knew that I’d meet you and become so close to you. You’re one of my biggest supporters and allies and for that, I am greatly appreciative of.

I understand that I offend you at time, and do things to hurt you, but telling someone who doesn’t identify as the gender they were assigned with at birth that they will never be the gender that they not only identify as but actually are, is a really offensive punch to throw.

I’m not the gender I was assigned with, regardless, what does my gender identification have to do with fights that weren’t even revolved around gender or sexuality, or anything of the sort?