I never liked the frills and dresses
Or the bows and flowers in my hair
And even when I protested
They painted my walls pink,
When I asked for blue.
They gave me mountains of dolls and toys to play with, but the dolls ended up-
Becoming Cowboys and fire fighters.
I was never allowed to wear sweatshirts or shorts. All my clothes had to be “girly”
I was never allowed to cut my hair.
Even though I begged.
When I was alone, I dressed up in my baggiest jeans, shirt, put my hair up in a cap and stuffed a pair of socks in my underwear.
I never had any brothers or close cousins or a father. So I had never seen a penis in my life. But standing there in the mirror with that sock in between my legs, it just felt right.
I was on top of the world, until I was caught- and punished for dressing as a boy in secret.
When I was 7 I wanted to have a sleepover with my only friend who was male. I wasn’t allowed and was punished for asking, even though I didn’t understand why.
As a kid I spent a lot of time at the beach. I used to surf. Before puberty hit I had a hard time wondering why I couldn’t take my shirt off like the boys, but I always wore a wetsuit, because most guys did as well.
But then I noticed the older girls wearing less and less. And it became an expectation that eventually that would be me. I was horrified.
My step sister gave me a book that teaches pre teens about sex. Because no one wanted to explain it to me, so I read the book. But the pages that I always focused on we’re the parts about the male body. I would sit there staring at them for hours, reading and re-reading wishing that I would go through their puberty.
I remember being dragged to the store literally dragged to buy my first “training bra” that was literally a small piece of white cloth. And I refused to wear it after.
I was taught to say a prayer every night before I went to bed, and every night I prayed I would wake up a boy in the morning. I dreamed of what it would be like at 10 years old to wake up with a penis just for one day.
When I was 11 I had my first crush on a girl. I became infatuated with her. She said she was “bisexual.” At first I acted disgusted, but then, I started getting close with her, holding hands, and holding her and never letting go. I craved her touch.
And then she said- “I would date you, if only you were a boy.” So she went with someone else.
As a rebound I “dated” any boy who liked me. I never truly liked them, but I went with them to cover up the pain.
At 14 I met another girl, only, she was straight. And more and more I became jealous of all the boys who could have her, when I could not. She was aware of my feelings, and made my life a living hell. She crushed me and left me with no room to breathe.
I started to cut and self harm in every way I could. I kept a journal of a story of a boy who could win her over. Just a normal boy who was born male who ended up with her. But that was just a fantasy.
Holding the knife to my arm was my reality knowing that she would never love me.
And then a bisexual girl said she liked me. She watched me in the locker room and her eyes never left me. I was broken and alone.
So I took up her offer and I spent the night with her at 14.
I did things with her that men do with women.
I had heard what this was called.
Then through broken promises she told me she had a boyfriend.
He threatened to kill me.
My mother was mental.
My step father was abusive.
The girl I loved hated me.
And now this guy wanted to kill me, so maybe I should die. So I tried.
At 15 I met a boy who was bisexual.
He was the first and last boy I will ever share those experiences with.
He and I shared a secret one day, that I wanted to be a boy and he wanted to be a girl.
At a party, he told our friends his secret that I thought was just between us. I thought it was special.
He had the courage, and they dressed him up in a wig and in a dress.
And I cried.
Because I was not strong enough to admit and accept that I was really a boy inside.
There is so much more, but for now, I must close this chapter.
— My mind.