Everytime I bring up the fact that I’m becoming more myself
You bat it away like a player up to bat
Everytime I try to tell you that
I’m uncomfortable with you identifying me for me
You act like I’m a burden. even though you say I’m not
I’m happier now, but it still stings.
So I made my new account.
I need to update my information and profile picture on it, but the URL is:
To my followers and anyone who comes across this.
I have had this blog for I believe 4 or 5 years now and when I first made it, I used my legal first name as my url and I want to get away from that.
I’d hate to lose my followers, but I want to make a new blog and move all of my writing over to it.
I will make another post with my new blog url when I make one.
Thank you to all of you who have stuck with me since the beginning and thank you to all of my new readers.
For those of you who have been following me on here you’d know that I’ve been on and off with not knowing whether I want to transition or not and for thos ewho don’t know, I have been struggling with my own mind regarding if transitioning is seen as a best fit for me or not.
I keep going back to the decision of taking testosterone and furthering my transition. For a really long time, I was just fine with simply getting just top surgery, but now I’ve decided that I’d like to go ahead and take the proper steps towards taking testosterone.
I booked an appointment with my doctor for next week to get some papers signed to get testosterone approved by the government.
Even if it isn’t approved and I have to pay for it, I’ll be happy either way. Although I’m not on testosterone yet, just the idea of it excites me more and more everytime I think about it. I know that taking testosterone and even getting top surgery won’t always be happy and a bowl of cherries, there will be ups and downs just like every other thing that goes on in my life. But this is what I’m taking into consideration and not just pushing the down sides away.
I’m sorry that my mental healt is such an inconvenience. But this isn’t any different. Maybe I could learn to not react as strongly as I do at all the “wrong: times, but I need you two, more than you know.
This isn’t just going to go away, simply just by sitting down and talking with people who already made it clear that they will never support me. That’s why I hate it when people tell me that family will come around, and maybe some people’s families do come around, and maybe I could be worse off, but this is already my version of “worse”.
It’s getting to the point where I’m realizing that most of me is just confining myself to other people’s perceptions. I get it it’s not something easy, it’s not something that can happen over night. But I’m just as confused as you are if not more.
I’m the person you raised, just altered. I’m your daughter who is now your son…. atleast in my eyes. I have support, but not by many family members and it hurts when I say that I’m going to have to cut out family and all you say is “do what you need to do”…. why can’t you just come around? Why can’t you just call me male. I’ve been mostly gender fluid mostly my entire life and now that I’m trying to actually be upfront and in the open about it, I’m being shut down.
People tell me to step into your shoes and try to see what it would be like to have a child who’s transgender or who is just simply being themselves. I’d like to think that even if I hadn’t gone through what I’ve gone through, that I’d try to understand what my child goes through. I’d like to think that I’d still love them with open arms and a steady heart.
Maybe you will come around, I’m just tired of feeling like I deserve this. Like I deserve to be told that I’m someone I’m not and just the thought of being introduced to people by the pronouns I grew up with, rather than my actual pronouns and name, actually hurts me more than the reality of it.
I love you, I probably always will. But sometimes Love simply isn’t enough. I’m tired of putting my mental health at risk. For anyone but myself.
Some days I’m okay being here
Stuck in this so called imprisonment of my own self inflicted emotional struggle
It could get easier, better even if only I stopped worrying, caring about what people think, who I’ll lose
Being myself has never been that easy, but not being myself needs to disappear disintegrate into something else
I sit here and I see others furthering, getting somewhere where I could have, should have, desire to have been earlier
Years ago, but I wasn’t am not, may not be ready for a short, long, devastatingly time consuming while
I will get there, to a place, destination similar, close to the one in my head, drawn out but not entirely followed
And I will look back and not erase, but tell myself that I was someone, a person
Just not the person I wish I had been born as, come into this world being referred to as, by.
– One day I will be enough for me // I wasn’t always a man, by I have been for a while.//
Mom, dad, it’s as though you have three sons instead of two and one daughter
Was what I said to my parents before I realized I was who I am today
Although I may have said it in a joking way, I was being serious
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll say it again to them
And maybe, just maybe, I can tell them that every time they say ” I love you…. but…” that the ” but ” only encourages me back into the closet I forgot existed besides the one I store my clothes in
So dark, so full of confusion and self hatred
They may be confused, but so am I at times
But they still have a child, just a slightly differently version
They didn’t lose a daughter, they just lost the label
They gained a son
I came across a post on Tumblr by a blog that encouraged it’s followers to write a story starting off with or to contain the sentence ” Of course I was hurt the entire time. I just didn’t say anything. “
So I decided to share mine with my followers and people in general on here.
When the bullied became the bullier.
Of course I was hurt the whole time. I just didn’t say anything.
I had a hard time speaking up and using my voice. It was almost as though I hadn’t found a voice of my own that wasn’t shaky and half silent, half vocal.
They would taunt and tease me almost every single day.
You’re not feminine enough. Are you a boy or a girl? You write like a man. You’re in the wrong washroom, this is the girl’s.
Prior to being bullied regarding my gender identity, I had repeated grade 3 and that’s when it started. Before being called names and being made fun of, my biggest worry regarded getting home late after an after school activity and missing my favourite show on the television. I knew what bullying was, but I had never really been a victum of it before, or not to my awareness.
Can I do the same work as everyone else? I asked my grade 6 teacher. No you can’t.
No you can’t.
Shot down by one of the school’s teachers. Just because I had a hard time with the work that the majority of other students my own age had been given.
Up until a few weeks ago, I hadn’t realized that being told that I couldn’t do something that other people could do, actually became the root of a few major incidents in my life. The root cause of many issues.
For years, I let people step over me, trample on me as though I almost wasn’t there. Treated as though my very presence was minor instead of influential.
Finally out of nowhere, my voice was found and it was being heard, but not listened to. Muffled by the gossip that flooded the halls, drowned out underneath the sea of fake friends and victumizers.
It was then that I became the bullier.
I stopped allowing people to treat me like a broken piece of glass. Word escaped my mouth that I wouldn’t dared to have spilt out prior. I stopped feeling bad for what I had thrown at others. Eventually, the feeling of power flooded through my veins and not just through my head.
Mind games. Torment. Emotional torture.
Eventually that’s what I put everyone through who crossed my paths, who showed any interest in me. I barely trusted anyone, so testing people became second nature to me after a while because it was easier to let people have my wrath, than for me to trust them right off the bat and have it gone to waste.
Balance finding.
Although I’ve been hurt, and hurt others, I’m trying harder to find a balance between trusting and not being too vulnerable. So far, it’s becoming less difficult.
On Friday October 17th, I had a consultation with a new therapist because recently I’ve decided that I need help with my mental health in general because I’ve put it off for many years and I just keep thinking that quick fixes get me places.
Quick fixes in my experience, really are just quick. They aren’t fixes, but that term just seems to follow the work “quick” sometimes.
Whether it be alcohol, antidepressants or even both of those mixed together. Longboarding, writing, singing, taking walks only soothes the soul so much when you’re burying the things that need to be worked on, pushed through.
For me, I’ve been struggling with dysphoria, with staying at jobs even through the hard times and just other things that have seem to have grown.
At first, I wasn’t sure how my appointment was going to go, because I get really nervous with Psychiatrists and Therapists, professionals in a whole. I got there early, which I wasn’t sure was going to happen seeing as I had to take two transit busses and then a subway to get there and so I waited for a bit.
While I was in the appointment, I felt so free… I’m used to telling complete strangers almost my entire life in stories and poems and whatever, but with therapists, it’s a hit and miss type situation for me. I either hide many details of my life, or I spill almost way too much. This time, I spilt enough information to help me feel great about it.
One minute I want therapy, the next I don’t, but this time I have a great feeling that I’m going to finally allow myself to get the help that I need. I realize that I may never end up being okay without therapy, but I’ll never know unless I try.
When I was a little boy, I was a girl who enjoyed the presence of dinky cars and ninja turtles pizza shooting toys
Hanging around girls is where you could usually find me getting excited liberated by the thought of people seeing me how I felt inside and wondering how I got mixed among the company of the opposite sex
It wasn’t until my hips widened and my given labels made me feel dysphoric before I realized what Dysphoric meant that I came to the realization that I was not the stamp that was implanted upon my very being nor did I really fit under one category of personality but too fluid to even have one word to be the definition of
Embraeyceing 