when my life was normal

I mentally pace back and forth over the words I’m about to text you not knowing whether it was too straight forward or too ambiguous for you. I hate sounding like i need you when i just want to enjoy this moment with you however long that last. I just put it out there so it’s not like reading a book waiting for the plot twist on when the best couple characters break up. You don’t want to wait another day wondering if I’m just trying to fuck or actually invest your life into merging with mines. You somehow get me to rewind back time to days where time never existed when I had my crush on my phone line. I did my life as normal but more focused on you. Girl you know how to give me those 90’s vibes. I just want to know where does this go because my mind is pacing and my heart is racing sometimes hands shaking over the fixated thought of meeting someone who actually wants to stay not just get laid. I just want to embrace your heart the way i would do your throat in my bed. Enough to let you know i’m there but let go at the last minute to give you some air. I don’t want to be in your face 24/7. I just want to know I have someone to return too. A life lowkey built by daily struggles and gains faced together because that’s all we want to have.

12:02 p.m.


Me: I’m feeling good today!

Brain: do you realise that you are probably gonna be alive when your favourite author/actor will die

Me: what

Brain: yeah, and also chances are you are also going to watch your OTP die.

Me: what NO

Brain: or maybe half of your OTP


Brain: or they could be forced to kill each other


Brain: Just imagine the possibilities!

Me: *uncontrollable sobbing*


My top 10 favorite Skater Family images in no particular order

because the official illustrations spoil us so much :’)

That moment when you promise yourself that...

you wont ship a Stork and a human and have another inter species ship in your list.  

But then you realise





SHIPS    IT    HARD !!

R E A L L Y      H A R D      !!!

I swear to God! I wasn’t planning on shipping this even though I have been a huge sucker for inter species ships bUT SERIOUSLY….THE ENTIRE MOVIE…..JUST WANTED TO MAKE YOU SHIP THEM NO MATTER WHAT. IT WAS JUST WEIRDLY BEAUTIFUL!!

BONUS! (Junior confessing-….ish scene)

Keep reading


Heyo. Edgy. But idc. Read tags pls



I feel like this team would collapse in itself if they didn’t have their tsukkomi team-mom  Captain Tsukinaka to keep them in line….

…either that or they purposely torture him to keep from being bored.

(  ̄▽ ̄ ;)


“Of course!! The triplets are my best friends in the whole world!! I love hanging out with each of them everyday. Whether we’re on an adventure or we’re just being normal kids, we always have each other’s back~!”

My ClexaCon 2017 Experience

(Before you read: I got pretty personal in this post. I could have beaten around the issue, but I have had a lot of people in the past message me that my story is a lot like theirs and if my honesty can help others that are struggling, it will be worth it.)

First off, I would like to extend my thanks and gratitude towards the people that made the convention happen. My experience is just one of hundreds of LGBTQ+ individuals that attended this convention, that is changed their life of for the better. As we all know there is a TON of stuff that has to happen bts, that we don’t know the full extent of, to make conventions happen. Like, I don’t even want to think about all the work it takes. I just want all of the people that had a part in making this convention happen, whether you were a staff member, panelist, guest, volunteer, etc. that your time, effort, and possibly sacrificing parts of your own con experience to make sure people like myself were able to enjoy it is so greatly appreciated. 

As someone who has been known in the fandom to analyzed things and can ramble on and on for days, it might be a surprise to you that I am left at a loss for words to write about the convention. I can’t find the words to encapsulate what it meant to me and the feelings I was experiencing –not to mention the complexity of those feelings. I have tried to write this so many times, but then draw a complete blank on how to describe it. 

If I had to describe what Clexacon was to me in one word it would be a sanctuary. It was a place where I felt safe and content. I felt hope and peacefulness spreading throughout my body each day I was there. The more I hung out with people, went to panels, or just observed everyone around me walking around the convention, the more and more I felt the weight of all the years of self-hate, repression, etc. lift from my body and a sense of clarity wash over me. I was legit feeling like Alex Danvers as each wave of repressed memory came to the surface and critically looking at my life. Going to the panels was also a big part of that process. I began to look more in-depth at the underlying reason of the severe self-hatred I felt for so many years, years of struggling with anxiety and depression, the eating disorders that almost cost me my life, the purposeful secluding myself from others, and the loneliness I felt even though I was in a room full of people came to the surface. I was trying to process all of these emotions at once and it was very scary. But, it was like a peaceful liberating panic? If that makes sense? It was finally confessing to myself everything that I knew for years, like completely confessing to myself…but then panicking about it. Because, it’s me and I’m a chronic overthinker. Lol. Each day I would get more and more courage to be myself, to push past all the years of internalized homophobia that made me feel worthless and ‘wrong’. 

Being surrounded by openly gay people that were authentically happy and full of pride for being part of the LGBTQ+ community was palpable in the air and you couldn’t help but feed off the energy. As someone who unfortunately doesn’t have this is my everyday life, I was trying to soak all of it in and store it in my memories to access it when I went back to my world of homophobic close-minded remarks. Clexacon was a place where I could be my true authentic self, or at least try to be. My authentic self with it came out to nerding about fictional characters, stories, etc. that I can’t talk to people about in my normal life. Also, my authentic self when it came to being part of this community.  

Now, onto the convention itself. I was fortunate enough to make it to the Badge Pick Up party due to my flight getting in an hour early, and the wonderful appalachiansprung  for picking me up from the Las Vegas airport. I want to take a moment and sincerely thank her for offering to pick me up from the airport and making sure I felt safe. She knew I had massive anxiety about traveling and her compassion and willingness to help me really meant the world to me. She really helped start off my trip to Vegas on a positive note, and without her, I wouldn’t have made it to the Badge Pick Up party, which I actually really enjoyed. I was able to meet my friends I had been talking to online, been mutuals of, knew of, and meet new people. It was just so surreal actually being face-to-face with these people. These people that you are friends with, but society telling you they “aren’t friends” because you don’t physically hang out with each other and it is only online.  But these people actually know you better than people in your “everyday life”. For instance, the first person I met was my friend PJ. The weird thing was is that I was in the process of messaging her that I was at the party, and just as I was about to send it, I look to my right and she was standing there next to me, not aware that it was me next to her. I stopped typing and then said “hi” and it was the first of many “omg! You ARE real” feelings I had meeting people throughout the convention. I really REALLY enjoyed talking with the people who came up to me and said they were followers of my blog. Seriously, knowing that there are actual people behind URLS and seeing your faces and hearing your voices was incredible. When I asked the people I met to show me what their URL and icon was, I was able to recognize most of you and your support and kind words meant more to me than I can say.

The convention itself was better than I had expected. It was actually my first ever convention so I don’t really have anything to compare it too, but it was just so wonderful. The turnout was wayyyyy better than I expected. Seeing everyone in the main hall during the larger panels was just incredible, as well as seeing the floods of people roaming around the convention floor. We all know there were people trying to cast doubt on this convention and basically said it was “toxic” and were basically trying to get it canceled. Well, I’m so glad that this past weekend proved them SO SO wrong. It was so cool going up and down the vendor rows and seeing the spectacular artwork. I did only get one piece of artwork from the convention and it was Pappurrcat’s newest Lexa vs. Pauna drawing and she signed it for me (picture at bottom of post). I was not expecting to see @immochiball there! It was such a pleasant surprise to see her there! I really love her Lexacoon/Lionclarke artwork and it was great to show my appreciation for all her hardwork and it was funny that she knew exactly what piece of Lexacoon/LionClarke artwork I was fangirling about. It was so great to meet other talented people in our fandom I’m a fan or and friends of, or became friends of. People like @critter-of-habit , @foomatic , @commanderlexaofthegrounders , @decalexas , @lingeringlilies@shes-special , @rin-says , @damnlexa, @molliemashstash , @oh-i-got-dibs , and i’m forgetting so many people so I’m sorry if i forgot you! I met sooooo many new people that I just clicked with and they made the convention an even better experience. Many of them in this photo below (but many are missing):

I will never forget the people I was fortunate enough to meet, talk to, and/or hang out with. I loved walking around Vegas with people and exploring places. So, by the end of this convention I have come to realize so many things. Realize so many things about LGBTQ+ issues, the dire need for representation, and about myself. I realized that I’m not alone. Leaving Clexacon was so hard. I already posted that I had a breakdown on the last day after I headed back to my hotel room and had to say goodbye to the people i met. The people I wanted to spend more time, as they were helping me more and more each day with feelings that I do deserve happiness, that I’m not alone, that there is nothing wrong with me, that I have value. This weekend was life changing for me. Even though this post is now close to 1,500 words…I still have not been able to fully express the importance this convention had on me in this post. I’m just so grateful for the experience and the wonderful people I was so fortunate to meet and now call friends. 

I do have a few regrets…and one of them is not taking enough pictures. I was kinda mentally preoccupied (if you couldn’t tell reading this post. lol) and forgot. 

a very important neopets origin story

So my very first ever neopet was a green shoyru named midnight with a bunch of numbers after it and I loved her so much. I was like 8 and didn’t know that feeding your pet rotten food would make them sick so I gave her a rotten omelette and she got ugga ugga. Now this was like 2002 and the only way you could cure it was with Sporkle Syrup which costed MILLIONS of nps and I struggled to keep over 3,000. I was distraught, I couldn’t believe how irresponsible I was giving my pet rotten food and making her contract this horrible disease.

I was skipping meals and staying up way past my bedtime trying to find a way to right my wrongs and my parents were so fed up with it. One day a few weeks later, I logged on to start another long day of finding a way to fix my neopet, but when I checked quick ref she was suddenly cured and bloated. I had no explanation, but I was SO HAPPY and continued my life normally, going to bed when I was supposed to and eating regular meals.

Now idk if they were telling the truth or not, but my parents finally told me a couple years ago that they were so fed up with my behavior that they had to make a phone call to neopets hq and have them fix my dumb shoyru. Idk if that’s true or not, but I have literally no other explanation and that’s hilarious so I’m taking it



some phone doodles of my OC akane b/c I havent drawn her in a long time ;; so this was to practice drawing her hair again

A piece of you

Pairing: demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: A lot of angst

Word Count: about 2600

A/N: I write this for the #Bev’s Milestone Challenge, by this awesome girl >> @chaos-and-the-calm67. Writing this was fun, and I hope you will enjoy it!  Thank you for making me join!
My prompt is number 7: “I’m not making excuses. But I have my reasons, and there’s a difference. What else way I suppose to do when..”
I forgot to ask you a gif, so I chose two of them as I please (i hope you don’t mind).

“Dear Dean,

I know that what you read will make you feel bad, as if I betrayed you. And believe me, I also feel this while I’m writing this letter. You know, I’ve tried; I have been striving to be happy with you because I love you. But this life, hunting, risking death every day.. it’s not the life I want. I hate myself, I hate the fact that I can’t be strong enough, for you, for us, to be strong enough to live this strange and dangerous life with you. I hope you will understand me, and please, I know it’s difficult, but don’t look for me. It would be even harder than it’s now. You know that you will always be in my heart, and that with me, there will always be a piece of you.


Reader’s Pov:
The phone rings suddenly, making me wake up. The light from the cell blinds my eyes at first, but when I read the name of the person is calling me on the screen, I feel a strange bitten in the stomach.
Sam Winchester.
The last time I heard that last name was about ten years ago; after I decided to leave Sam.. and Dean, writing that letter..
I never turned back. I never regret what I did. I would have wanted personally to say to Dean that I had decided to leave, but I would never have done it, and he wouldn’t let me go so easily.
I’m not making excuses. But I have my reasons, and there’s a difference. What else way I suppose to do when I found out to be pregnant? How could I grow my son in that dangerous world, made of monsters, vampires, and other horrible creatures? I have always dreamed a normal life, even when a werewolf killed my brother; My parents had been dead for a long time, and we were just me and him. When my brother died, and I was alone, Dean and Sam welcomed me to their home. But I knew my life wasn’t as a hunter; but I accepted it. I was in love with Dean, and I was ready to sacrifice myself; but my son.. I couldn’t even sacrifice him.
My thoughts vanish when I hear the phone ring again; I hesitated, but then I decide to respond.
“Thanks to God, Y/n. Are you okay?”
“Sam? What happened?”
Not a ‘how are you’, or ‘how long we do not see’. There is no anger in his voice, as if I had never gone away, as if the last time he and I we met was yesterday. I get up from the bed, and wearing a nightgown, I leave my room, and I head to the kitchen, still the phone near my ear.
“Y/n, I don’t have much time, as soon as I can tell you everything if you want to know. But now you have to run away. Dean.. is a demon.”
I froze; the glass of water I have in my hands almost falls from my hands. Dean is a demon. I don’t know whether to be upset about hearing Dean’s name after all these years, or hearing from his brother that he has become a demon. I would like to ask Sam what happened, what such a serious event led Dean to become something he hunted.
“Y/n, do you hear me?”
Sam’s voice reminds me of reality; as he said, there is not much time; I pass my hand through my hair, imagining what Sam is going to tell me.
“Y/n, you have to get away. Now. Dean has managed to find you. And he’s coming to you.”

It spent half an hour since I received a call from Sam; the first thing I did was go to my son’s room. I shake him, and slowly he wakes up; my son turns to me, and wrinkling his eyes, he frowns, wondering why I woke him up.
“You have to do something very important to me. Now you get out of bed, and hide you in the wardrobe. When I tell you, you go out. I’ll explain it later. Did you understand?”
My son nods energetically, and coming down from the bed, he approaches to his wardrobe, and enters. I close the doors, and then I go to my room. In a hurry and fury, I lean down to the bed, and I take my suitcase, always hiding there; I open it, and approaching my wardrobe, I take some clothes, and put them in a suitcase.
As I go back and forth in the room, I remember the small strongbox hidden behind a picture beside my window; I approach, and insert the code to open it. An audible click! it makes me realize that the strongbox is open. But I didn’t have time to open it completely, that suddenly, I jump: someone has just knocked on the door.
I make my way slowly to the front door, and I froze: after ten long years, I listen again the Dean’s voice.
“Y/n! It’s me, Dean!”
I feel the legs that start to shake as I approach the knob of the front door. I think maybe it’s better not to open, hoping he goes away, thinking that there is nobody in the house, but the fact that there is only one door to divide me from the hunter..
With a trembling hand, I take a deep breath, and with a snap, I open the door. The first thing I notice is the light of the moon reflecting on Dean’s face; it highlights his carved face, his full lips, and especially his green eyes.
Even though at this moment I know he’s the enemy, it’s difficult to see him after so long, and don’t hold him to me, to embrace him.
“Y/n. How long.. You haven’t changed at all..” Dean says, while licking his lips, he goes on to look at my whole body, from the bottom up. I blush, and I remember wearing just one nightgown. I stuck in the garment, while Dean, without even asking permission, goes into the house. Hesitant, I close the door behind me, and put my arms on my chest, watching Dean’s slightest movement.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
The hunter turns to me, and with a smirk, he approaches me threateningly; with a long step, Dean takes my wrist in his hand, and pushes me toward him, slamming against his chest; instinctively, I stand with my hands against him, and I look up, meeting his eyes.
“Don’t you miss me?”
His deep voice makes me shudder; and to think that many years ago, he turned my head, and I had butterflies in my stomach when he approached me. Right now I’m just scared, not for myself, but for my son.
I don’t answer Dean’s question; instead, I try to push him away with my hands, and move him away from me. He understands my intentions, and slowly I see the smile disappear on his face, which becomes ever more serious and angry. His free hand suddenly clutches my throat, and in a few seconds, my back touches the cold counter-marble at the center of the kitchen. Dean’s gaze doesn’t detach from mine, while I feel the fear of invading my body more and more. For the first time, after so long, I’m afraid. For the first time in my life, I’m afraid of Dean Winchester.
“Dean, leave me.”
Dean doesn’t answer me, and approaches his body more and more to mine. I try to look down, but his hand still tight around my wrist, moving close to my face, and Dean forces me to look at him.
“Let me guess. Sam called you.”
I try with all my strength to remove the hunter from me, but it’s useless; he’s too strong. Silently, I begin to pray; 'Please, Sam, come soon’; 'Please God, protect my son.’
“I missed you so much..”
If I didn’t know that Dean is a demon, I would almost believe in his words. The hunter caresses my cheek, and slowly approaches his lips to mine; he doesn’t pressure, and I remain motionless at his touch. After a few seconds, I think right now he’s more vulnerable; with my hands, I try to push him away again, and this time I can. Dean, taken aback, back off and staggers; finally, I have the opportunity to run away, and that’s what I do. I start running to my room, where the strongbox, with the gun inside, is still open; suddenly, I feel a hand on my neck, and I feel my hair pulled behind. I slap my back against Dean’s chest as I feel his hot breath on my naked skin.
“Leave me!” I scream toward him, while with my hands I try to scratch his hands to hurt him. I hear him smile, but then something happens: Dean loosens his grip on my hair. I look in front of me, and my eyes widened; in front of me and Dean, there’s my son. With my gun in my hand. My eyes meet that of the baby, and I beg him to run away, but he doesn’t have the slightest intention.
“Leave my mommy.”
My baby’s little hands tremble around the gun as he points to Dean. The hunter pushes my body against the wall, and I fall to the ground; slowly, Dean is approaching my son, and in the meantime I look around to look for anything to hit the hunter, and move him away from the baby.
“And you are..?”
As my beat of my heart accelerates more and more, my gaze falls into my son’s room, and the baseball bat he uses to play with his friends. In a moment, I launch on the baseball bat, Dean is too focused on the baby to see my move.
It all happens in a matter of seconds: the noise of the baseball bat that hits Dean’s back is rumbling between the walls of the corridor. The hunter falls unconscious on the ground, and without thinking twice, I run to my son.
“What are you doing here? I told you to stay hidden!” I say raising my voice as I take the gun out of his hands. My son and I come into my room, and I close the key door. I see my son looking down, but his eyes are full of tears. Immediately I feel guilty about screaming at him, and approaching his little body to me, I hold him tight against me.
“Sorry honey. Sorry if I yelled.”
He nods only; we remain in that position for a few seconds, then I’ll walk him away from me, and look at him in the eye.
“Now you go to hide. And this time, don’t go out. You understood me? Any noise you will hear, stay hidden. If you feel screaming, stay hidden. Are we clear?”
“Yes, mommy.”
“Now you go. Mom has a job to do.”

When Dean wakes up, I’m sitting on one of the armchairs that are in the living room. He’s sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, and at the center of a devil’s trap; all these years without hunting doesn’t mean that I have forgotten how to fight a demon. Around Dean’s body there are chains, and the wrists are tied with strings. Dean raises his head slowly, and his eyes roam the room, stunned. When the hunter sees me, his eyes are transformed: his beautiful green eyes disappear, completely black. To see Dean in this state.. I don’t feel anything.
“But look at her. The happy mommy. You know, I was wrong: you’ve changed.”
My eyes meet his, and I stay silent. Now what I can try for the man who is in front of me is just indifference.
“What a beautiful child you have. Do you know at least what the father is? Nah.. how many men you’ve been fucked after leaving me?”
His words trigger something in me: anger.
“You.” I say as I slowly rise from the chair. I approach him, but not too much to make him a few false steps. Dean frowned, as if he didn’t understand what I meant.
“You are the father. Do you remember Dean? So long ago, I fucked you.”
My words leave the hunter speechless; did he not think that my son was his son right away? He thinks I went with other men?
“I-I-” he tries to say something, but he can’t make a complete sentence. I still take a few steps toward him, and I support my hands on his arms, my face a few inches from his.
“Soon, your brother will be here. And he will take you away from me, and my son. And then I’ll leave, and you will not see us again. Remember this when Sam will bring you back. I hate you. The only good thing that happened to you is my son. But you.. you’ve always been a plug in your side.”
Dean swallows, and at first he’s shocked by my words; but that’s the truth. I don’t want him in my son’s life, everything would change. So he must think I hate him so much that he will never see him again, so he will not look for me.
Dean seems not to fall down listening to my words, but I understand him, in the end, he is a demon now. But my words are for human Dean. Because when Sam brings him back, and he will, the hunter will remember everything. And he will try to see me and my son, but remembering my words, he will not.

Dean’s Pov:
One week.

Two weeks.

Three weeks.

It’s been nearly a month since Sam managed with his blood transfusions to take me back. My days of demon.. I remember them very clearly. And I also remember her, Y/n. And my son. I’ve always wondered why she was gone without any real reason. And now, after nearly ten years, I finally know the truth. I have a child. We have a son. But she doesn’t want me to know him; and how can I blame her? I did see after so many years, and I was a demon, and I tried to hurt both her and our son. How can I pretend she wants to see me? I look at my phone’s screen with her phone number at the top of the contact list. Call her, or not call her? I close my eyes and think back to her words.

“Soon, your brother will be here. And he will take you away from me, and my son. And then I’ll leave, and you will not see us again. Remember this when Sam will bring you back. I hate you. The only good thing that happened to you is my son. But you.. you’ve always been a plug in your side.”

How do I call her, if she said she hate me? She doesn’t want to hear anymore about me. But how can I continue to live pretending not to know that I have a son? My life is difficult, and I would never allow my son to be in danger..
I look at my phone screen again, and then I press the button to start the call. If she still has my number, she will know that I am. And if she answers, it means I may still have a little hope. And if she doesn’t answer..





If you want to be tagged in my oneshots, just ask!
Feedback is always appreciated.

Forever Tag:

Supernatural Tag:

Dean Tag:

anonymous asked:

You said in a comment on your book that Cinderella Boy was based on your story. Can you tell me what you mean? Like did that stuff happen to you or did you mean a romantic story?

*cue the music from Princess Bride*

Alright kids, settle in…Let Anti-Kris (what my niece calls me) tell you a story…It’s a story of love, of adventure, of personal discovery…It might be long, but I hope it will be worth it.

I’ve known for much of my life that I was not “normal”. When I was a little girl, I hated when people called me a girl, and little boys on the playground often like to say “You are a girl”, to exclude or to discuss, either way. Any time someone said it to me, I felt a kind of rage. When I was five, I told my my mother I never wanted to wear a dress again, and when she tried to put me in one for picture day, I threw such a tantrum that she had to buy me off with ice cream. She never made me wear a dress again.

I had my first crush in first grade, and it was on a girl named Tara. I thought Tara was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She had these turquoise eyes and this soft curly hair in a bob. She had freckles. Freckles for fuck’s sake. And she was tiny and sweet and she smiled at me in an amazing way, and held my hand when we went on Girl Scout trips. In our innocence we did not know what it was, just that it felt wonderful and huge and completely incomprehensible. She told me “I wish you were a boy, so I could kiss you.” And all I remember thinking is, “Why does that matter?” I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach, because if she needed me to be a boy, it meant I’d never get to kiss her.

A few weeks later she left the troop and told me her mother didn’t want us to be friends anymore. Several years later, in sixth grade, I was on a volleyball team, and we traveled to a game nearby. I saw Tara with some of her friends and nearly died. I smiled and waved to her. She gave me a dirty look and walked away. I never knew why. I have my ideas. They all feature social conditioning by her mother…

I was picked on a lot as a kid. I read a lot of books, really mature books. I read “Johnathan Livingston Seagull” when I was four. Crack it open some time. See what that shit is about. I read “Interview with the Vampire” at six. Didn’t really like it, because I found the Christian ideology forced and unnecessary to the narrative. Read all the Sherlock Holmes books by 8. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I felt caged, because whenever I’d try to tell the kids around me that it was fine to be gay, or straight, or whatever I was, any time I made a case for those who were different based on my reading, they would make fun of me for my evidence. Books and knowledge were evil, and I was evil for knowing things they didn’t. For having reached conclusions that did not make sense to them, for identifying as something I couldn’t quite name, I was tormented. If I tried to be masculine, I was beaten up by boys. When I tried to be feminine I was teased to the point of tears by the girls. One of my neighbors, who was popular, came to my house one day with her sister and asked me if I wanted to go on a bike ride. I said yes, because…friends! They helped me cross a plank bridge over a canal. Then they left me there, with my training wheels stuck in the dirt. I had to throw my bike into the canal, wade into it, drag the bike across, and up the soft landslide on the other side. When I came home, I was covered in mud and disgusting muck from the top of my head to the bottom of my bare feet (my shoes stuck in the canal and I couldn’t pull the bike up the other side, So I took them off, thinking any moment, I could die.) and my mother flew into a rage. She walked to the neighbor’s house and confronted the parents. Demanded to know why they had done such a mean and dangerous thing. I never found out the answer. When my mother came back she said she didn’t want to repeat the filth they had said. I intimated it had something to do with me as a person, and so knew that there must be something very wrong with me.

I didn’t talk about myself with anyone after that.

When I was ten, we were involved in a major traffic accident. A drunk woman in a Volkswagen was exiting a parking lot, turning left, while fastening her seat belt. She misjudged her turn, jumped the center divider, and slammed into us head on. My sister wasn’t wearing a seat belt. She flew into the dash. The entire front end of our van was flattened, and the slug bug was like one of those cars you see in semi pileups. As our car rolled past, I looked out the window and saw the entire front of it had been ripped away. The driver was on the opposite side of her car, covered from head to toe in blood. I don’t remember much except screaming “She’s dead! We killed her!” My sister was so badly hurt that my mother had to accompany her in the ambulance. I couldn’t fit. My mother left me in the garden department at Walmart, our car smoking in front of the door. The staff took me inside, sat me at one of the patio furniture displays, gave me some gum. A man came up to me and saw I was shaking. He took off his flannel shirt (this was during the beginning of “Grunge”) and gave it to me to wear. I just remember thinking, “This shirt is soft. I’m very cold. I like this man.” And he sat with me until my mother’s boyfriend could escape work and come pick me up.

That flannel became like a good luck charm for me.

The insurance settlement was for $12,000. It was enough to put a down payment on a house in the city, rather than our farm out in the country. When I found out we were moving from that shitty place, with all its shitty religious white asshole fuckwads, I was so happy, I thought I would die. I told my mother I didn’t want to be “that kid” anymore. I was going to be the kid I wanted to be. I don’t think she knew what I meant, but i told her. I bought baggy jeans, workman’s boots, more flannel shirts. I bought long sleeves and a sports bra and felt amazing. I went to the new school, which had an honors program, unlike my old school, and I told myself I was going to stand my ground and declare myself. I wasn’t sure what I would declare, but god damnit, I was me, and I wasn’t going to be anything but me.

Luckily, what I was, fit nicely into the new group. On the very first day, I made friends. People asked me questions. I told them about my life up to that point, about being picked on, about being mocked, but nothing about how I felt about me. After I finished talking, the two boys I was sitting with said, “You need to meet Ben. You’d like Ben. He’s not here today.”

“Is he sick?”

“No, he skips days to go to college.”

“Yeah, he’s like a genius or something.”

And I thought………. “I have good luck with intelligent people. The smarter they are, the easier they accept me. Maybe I do need to know this kid.”

He appeared two days later. I met him in art class, because it turned out I was at his table. When I met him, it was like the first time I had ever found a boy attractive. Not in the “Ohhhhh damn he’s hawt” way that other people seem to feel, but in the “Wow, he is really smart, and his personality is kicking, and omg he has something behind his eyes that I love.” It was the first time I met someone I felt like I could talk to, not because he was a genius or anything, but because he was smart enough in the right ways.

We dated for a week after knowing each other for a few months, but he dumped me because he “didn’t like my friends” which to me was really weird, because we had all the same friends. But I’ll get back to that.

He vanished a few weeks after dumping me and never came back. One of our friends said he’d gone to college full time. I was really disappointed. Felt like I had been abandoned or missed out on something amazing. But oh well, that’s life.

I was reasonably popular in Junior High, and High school was even better. I had the AP classes and the NJROTC and I was in a bunch of clubs. I had a group of friends and a niche and things to do that allowed me to sort of be in the middle in a way that worked, even if I didn’t tell everyone what I was. But it wasn’t all fun and games.

My mom was married to a conservative minister who is an amazing guy, but at the time was not so down with “alternative lifestyles”, so I was still hostage in my own house. I wasn’t on speaking terms with my biological dad, and had lots of tough feelings with regards to that. And in freshman year, just as I got the lay of the land and found my place…I got sick and lost my eyesight. I’m not going to talk about that here, because I have in a previous post, but it is important to mention, and you’ll see why soon.

When I was 16, I went to a Renaissance fair in my town; it’s kind of a big deal there. I remember wondering if I’d see Ben. I was looking for him, because he was so much a fan of it. I had had a few boyfriends and secret girlfriends since he and I met, but I just didn’t really click with them. I was dating a really amazing boy named Billy, who was really smart, but I still didn’t feel myself with him. Not completely. And we’d been together in a comfortable way for almost two years. Then there was Ben, standing in front of me.

He said, “Hi Kris!”

And I said…”Ben?” Because remember…I’m blind and can’t really see him anymore. Plus he was taller. We talked for a bit. I was kind of stunned I’d actually bumped into him.

Two days later, I got a phone call. It was Ben.

“How did you get my phone number?”

“I never forgot it.”

We talked and talked. I told him about my eyes and how sick I had been. I told him about the problems I was having at home - not about how caged I felt, because I had never told Ben about my sexuality or identity. I still didn’t even have words for that and was deeply ashamed of it. Instead, I framed it all as religious oppression of my personality or my atheism or whatever. I broke up with my boyfriend and we started dating. I’m not gonna lie, it was not great. Ben was a genius, he was dynamic and charismatic, and forceful and arrogant, and a complete jerk when he wanted to be. He wasn’t very grounded, and there was something weird about the way we interacted; I couldn’t quite explain it, but it seemed like he constantly misunderstood me. I’d make an offhand comment about something and suddenly, he’d go silent. I felt like maybe he was seeing my secret. I got defensive. We started bickering, and we broke up.

Then he dated my best friend.

So…I was kind of annoyed. But really, I still thought it had a lot to do with me. I knew I hadn’t been completely honest with him. I hadn’t told him about how I felt inside because I was sure it was bad, or weird. I was pretty sure that if he knew I didn’t feel like I was a girl, he’d mock me or something and I couldn’t handle it. I just couldn’t take that from someone I thought of as kind of a kindred spirit. I knew he wouldn’t love me. How could he? I didn’t love me very much.

I didn’t date anyone else for the rest of high school. I told myself that when I could get out of my house (a not so great environment) I would again become the person I wanted to be and stand my ground, and it would only get better.

I feel like I need to talk a little bit about my home life. I want to make it clear that I get along fine with all my parents now, as they’ve learned and evolved because of the honesty we’ve embraced with each other, but it’s important. My biological dad was a cop and he was also very abusive in a specific way. I was terrified of him. He was the one always saying things about how “Ladies don’t climb trees” but at the same time, he’d always wanted a son, and so I was taught to shoot and climb. It was very contradictory and it scared me. He was also angry all the time and believed in physical punishment. My step dad was a very serious minister. At the time he had some very constrained beliefs about sexuality. Very negative prejudices that he wasn’t shy about vocalizing. He was kind to gay people, but there was definite disgust there and the certainty that gayness was a sin and could be corrected. When I was getting ready to fill out college applications, we were talking about it, and he said “You’re going to go to college and come home with a hole in your face.” He meant a nose piercing, because I’d always wanted one and he forbid it. I said “Oh yeah, dad, I’m gonna dye my hair blue and become a lesbian.” It was ironic, because actually those were my first plans - to dye my hair blue and join the Queer Student Union. He stopped in his tracks and looked me in the face. I will never forget his voice when he said, “If you did that, I’d be very disappointed in you.”

How could I tell him that I’d already had girlfriends? How could I be honest with him or trust him after that?

One night we got a phone call close to 9pm, which was our hard line for phone calls from friends. It was a boy I knew. He wanted to talk to me and said it was an emergency. He was crying. I took the phone into my room. He told me he wanted to kill himself. He didn’t know what he was going to do. His mother was a devout catholic and he knew she would hate him forever. I asked why. I mean why would your own mother hate you? But I could imagine…because well…if my mom knew about me, she’d probably hate me. He changed the subject. Said he wanted to ask me questions. He gave me like, this survey. What would you do if a friend of yours was a, or b or c…or gay? I told him I didn’t care. He told me he was gay.

He wanted to kill himself because he was gay and he thought his mother would hate him. The person who made him. The person who brought him into this world, just as he is. He wanted to die, because she wouldn’t love him.

I was like…..wow. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to let him know that he wasn’t alone. I broke my code. I told him some of my secrets, about some of the girls I knew, how I didn’t feel quite right. I told him anything I could think of so that I wouldn’t be hanging up on his life. My mom stuck her head in and told me to get off the phone. I told her it was an emergency. She asked what could possibly be so important. I told her my friend (I didn’t give his name) was telling me he wanted to kill himself because he is gay. I thought it would shut her up. She stared at me.

“Tell him you’re very sorry, but you don’t condone his lifestyle and hang up.”

No. No I will not hang up. No I will not. NO.

No I will not let you tell me that you hate me because of what I am.

There wasn’t anywhere for people like us to go. Our high school gay club had very strict instructions. We weren’t allowed many of the other privileges. We couldn’t have trips. We couldn’t have school resources because we were on the same level as the “Pray around the flag pole” people. And yes…our administration banned gay couples from junior prom. Namely my friend who was a lesbian. Senior prom they were told they weren’t allowed to dance together or take pictures together. It was a tiny kerfuffle, because no one gave a shit. The only kids who cared were people like me, and in those days, it wasn’t the talking point it is now. There wasn’t as much awareness. Queer was still a slur.

There was a boy who was out, a couple years older than me. His name was David. He was a Junior when I was a freshman. He was treated so badly…people calling him names, people spreading all sorts of rumors about him - that he was a gay prostitute, that he was on drugs, that he had AIDS. It was horrifying. I hated it. I hated hiding and feeling unsafe. I really couldn’t take it.

One day, in a home ec class, of all places, I was being sort of sexually harassed by an older kid, someone who was popular and a jock. I told him I was not interested, and I would rather date a woman. He was so surprised that he looked like he was going to vomit. And from there on out I was harassed in a different way - asked all kinds of questions about what I liked about girls, what I would do with them, if I minded being called a “Taco muncher”.

Yeah, I fucking minded, but how could I tell him that? If being a “taco muncher” made me a good anomaly rather than a bad one…if it made me amusing instead of the subject of disgusting slander like the bullshit David endured…I didn’t have a choice. I had to take it.

But I couldn’t take it. One day I nearly knifed this kid. I just exploded at him. I told him that if he made one more fucking comment about my sexuality, I was going to cut off his pecker. I told him I wasn’t a joke. Who I am is not a clown that exists for his amusement. I am not a fucking taco muncher. I like girls, I like guys, I like whatever the fuck I like. I’m not a girl, I’m not a boy. I’m me.

I think I really made an impression. He apologized and never made fun of me or asked me another question.

Anyway, I went to college. I got a hole in my face. I dyed my hair blue. I dated a girl. I joined the Queer Student Union. I did gay things. I went to gay parties. I dressed in black. I listened to loud music. I rebelled in all the best ways, taking care of myself and being responsible, because rebellion wasn’t about doing everything the opposite of the way my parents raised me…it was about being myself for the first time.

Ben and I had another go of it my sophomore year. It was even weirder than the first time, because I felt so awkward trying to be the person I was at college around this kid who’d known my since i was 11. I didn’t know how to talk to him. He told me that whole breaking up with my in Junior High because he “didn’t like my friends” thing was bullshit. He told me that all the times we’d had awkward moments as kids were because he was just trying really hard to figure me out and that he didn’t feel like his upbringing had prepared him to meet me or understand me. He told me he left junior high because of me. That somehow I’d made it clear to him that he needed to stop wasting his time, and just go for it.

That was flattering, but what “it” was, didn’t quite make sense to me.

It didn’t work. I was still too scared. He seemed to like me with an intensity I could not quite deal with because..what if he found out? What if while we were making out I told him I didn’t want to be submissive? What if i told him I like girls? What then?

I went abroad. Living in England, I made a friend named Jaime. She was so fucking cool, like a queer ally of the most laid back sort. On Valentines day, Jaime, my friend Nick, and I were the only ones without dates. We got hella drunk and sat in my dorm room talking about shit. I was so messed up I finally just let fly. I told both of them all the things I’d been wanting to tell someone, that I’d come to think about myself. I talked about all the new things I was hearing people say, like “transgender” “gender fluid”, all that stuff. And then I brought up Ben.

“I never told him. It was the best and most honest relationship I’ve ever had, with the coolest person and like the most potential, and I never fucking told him about this shit. I just let it fail.”

Jaime was sitting on my floor and staring up at me. “Why the fuck?”

“I was too scared! Like what if he hated me? What if he said it was gross?”

“Do you think it’s gross?”

“No. I think it’s me.”

“You said he likes you. So why wouldn’t he like that too?”

“I don’t know Jaime! We grew up in a shitty town and he was a weird kid and I felt like nothing between us made any fucking sense.”

“But you like him?”

“I like……what he promised to be.”

“Don’t you want to know what that ended up being?”

Nick was a quiet kid, a total cis/hetero male, but in the best possible way: kind, friendly, gentle, and just a fun dude to hang with. Never made me or Jaime uncomfortable.

He made a face. “Can I just say…I’ve been listening to all this, and I don’t get anything of what you feel, but that’s fine. You’re you. And I think whatever makes you you is awesome, even if I can’t even imagine ever feeling that way. Like I love girls. I get why other people like girls. They’re fucking fit. So whatever. And if you’re not a girl, or a boy, or whatever…that’s really complicated, and seems like it would be really hard for you, but I’m your friend, and I’d want you to be safe and stuff. What I mean is, if he likes you and you’re his friend, he would feel the same. I mean, maybe he doesn’t love you for it, but that’s fine. If you don’t fit you don’t fit.”

Jamie nodded. “But you can’t judge him till you give him a chance. If you like him enough to try being with him again, then you need to tell him and see what kind of person he is.”

They worked on me for hours. Finally, I made a decision. I wrote a blog post…yeah, blogs existed back then, for about three years, anyway. I wrote out an entire confession of who I am in my gender identity (we didn’t have those words then) and my sexuality. I posted it and I sent a link for it to Ben.

He called me the next day.

I asked him if he read the post and if that was why he was calling. He said yes. He told me to go to the book store, and to buy a book called Imajica, by Clive Barker. He told me to read it and to look for Gentle and Pie’oh’pah. So I did. And I read the book. And I called him back.

Pie’oh’pah is a genderless being, an alien. I can’t really talk about them at all, because it spoils the plot, but Gentle is a main character, a man’s man sort, who ends up becoming completely entwined with Pie’oh’pah. Their romance is the core of the book.

Ben told me that if I was Pie’oh’pah, then he didn’t care. If I wanted to become a man, or stay a female, or whatever, he didn’t care. We wracked up hundreds in phone bills because the free calling stuff didn’t really exist back then. But the main takeaway was this comment:

“If we got married…and you became a man…We could have the marriage license embedded in a ceramic sword…and cut off the heads of the conservative assholes who get in our way.”

Yeah…I like this guy. And it’s a double win, because we happen to be genetically compatible in the creation of children. He’s got the boy bits. I have the girl bits. We made a baby. She’s fucking rad.

But there’s more. When this conversation happened, I was a Junior in college. Ben was already into his doctorate. In genetics. Because he wanted to fix my eyes. And hey…that’s how it had to be done. So he changed his focus. Without telling me. Without me even knowing.

See, he was as scared of me as I was of him. He was just terrified of me, because I was to him, what he was to me - that one person who gets it, and who might see the truth and that is fucking scary - so he ran away. 

It hasn’t all been perfect. We’re both very big people and we both have ambition. We still bicker, but we do it differently. We know each other. All those things we have been through, we know. He doesn’t confine me. He let’s me dress how I want. He thinks I’m sexy when I feel sexy. I think his brain is hot.

What is the point of all of this?

Love is not one thing in one form, like a heart-shaped cookie. It is a super faceted and amazing thing, and it changes depending upon the light that hits it, or how it’s framed. Love is having someone who knows you completely and is totally down with that. They don’t confine you. They want you to be the best you. They want you to succeed however you feel is a healthy success. They’re not competing with you. They’re pushing you to keep moving. Sex is just a thing that happens if you want it to, but it has to make you feel comfortable and strong. Romance is that amazing feeling when you know that person with you wants you to be there, wants to know what you’re thinking, always, and cares about what you care about, because you care about it. There are so many things my husband loves that I don’t really seek out on my own, but I enjoy them through him, and I’m better for it.

Find that.

Sometimes you get lucky, but luck is just a door opening. You have to have the self-awareness, the fortitude, and the ownership to walk through that door. If that door opens…walk through. And if you part ways, part ways. It isn’t a waste of your time. It teaches you who you are. It helps you find something slightly better for you, the next time around. And if you meet someone special, who sticks in your craw and won’t be budged, don’t let that go. Figure it out. Solve the puzzle. The puzzle of you, the puzzle of them. The puzzle of the two of you as a unit.

On the surface, Ben and I look like your typical young cis couple. I’m a girl, he’s a boy. We have a daughter. I mean, I have weird hair as a general rule, but meh…But Ben loves fashion and perfume. He loves shoes and art. He has discerning taste. He listens to the poppiest pop music you have ever heard. He does all the cooking. Me? I have power tools and big boots and I wear a leather jacket. I cuss, I shit-talk. I drink beer and whiskey and he drinks white wine (and yes it makes me fucking angry when my waiter brings me the wine and him the beer). I teach my daughter how to climb trees. He buys her pretty dresses. He reads every word I write and cries like a baby. I edit all his grants and tell him to speak up for himself. He knows what my eyes are doing instinctively and doesn’t need to be asked to read me a menu. I know about the things that enrage him and hold his hand when he’s furious.

You can have that. You can find that. No matter who you are or what form that takes. It will hurt. Everything hurts. If it hurts, it means you care about it, and if you care about it, it’s worth doing. Be strong. Stand your ground. Be you. The person who will love you will love you, not that thing you pretend to be.

That is what Cinderella Boy was meant to be. Me celebrating that. And yes, Carter is Ben, or who Ben would have been if he’d gone to High School. He’s a Kirk. I’m a Picard. Well… I’m like a Picard-Sisco hybrid.

It’s never simple.

I’m transgender, and I need you to read this

I feel always out of place because everything is cis-centered and lineal and I’m trans, like a circle.

This is probably the most accurate fact about myself I’ve ever written. I always feel out of place with my body, until I’m home and alone. I feel like I should define as only one gender. And I’m not. I’m non-binary.

There’s a sad fact about it: I only think about my genders when I’m so bad I doubt everything about myself and I feel like I’m not worth it. I have the feeling everything around me is cis-orientated. And I feel attacked and lonely, I can’t help it. Even if people think it isn’t, I feel it like that, and I can’t change it.

I know I’m not alone. This year I started following @cosmicphenomenon in Instagram. She/he is bigender and is transitioning or has already transitioned to the point he/she wanted. And I need to feel like that, accepted. Even if I’m not going to be. I have never been, except by my closest friends.

I’ve been bullied, raped, insulted, ignored, dismissed, not taken into account. I have suffered, and I have the right to say it. I’ve never given myself the right to accept it. Never. I’ve always helped everyone. When I’ve wanted to, feeled liked I wanted to, and even without any reason, just because it was ‘what everyone liked’. I obligated myself to smile and say 'you’re incredible’ when I felt empty. I meant those words, but if I had nothing to give, they were empty too and it didn’t make me feel better.

What I feel now is thankful. And held and cared and cradled in the arms of all of you who support me. And I’m crying.

All the things I’m saying in this post come from my heart, because my genders are my essence. I’m my genders. I’m sitting in my sofa, discovering who I am.

I usually tend to ignore my own doubts about my genders. I tell myself “your studies, family, friends and depression are more important than your gender. That is completely secondary”. And I say that without realizing that one of the reasons why I have so many thoughts in my head and I’m depressed and I feel out of place with almost everyone, even if they support me, is because I’m suppressing who I am. I don’t let me be myself. I put in the “things I can’t /will never solve” box, at the bottom of my mind. And I can’t do that with something so basic. I can’t pretend anymore that I can carry on with my life as if everything were normal when I’m not even trying to solve my questions.

Sometimes, when I don’t feel anything, just numb, I threaten or actually self-harm my wrists because I want to feel something, even if it isn’t pain. Well, I don’t want to feel the want to cut myself anymore. I want to love myself. I want to feel I am enough. I want to feel that my personality is great, that I am special, without thinking immediately “you’re such a weirdo and you can’t help it”.

I want to walk through the streets feeling beautiful, telling the people I meet “I’m Celia”, and it being enough. No scrutinizing gazes, no subtle glares, not having people look at me trying to figure out my sex. Not feeling like I don’t belong to this world, not feeling I’m not enough, that I don’t deserve love.

I want to find a partner, but I want to love myself first. I want to be able to smile and laugh with them freely. I want to allow myself to love them, with their flaws and perfection.

I just want to be able to say to my own reflection, and to everyone “Hi, I’m Celia. I’m going to be my own way. I’m gonna live freely for the first time in my life”.

If you have read this far, you’re an important part of me. From now on I’m going to be Celia. Just Celia. As Happy as I deserve to be.

Love, hugs, kisses, sunflowers, unicorns and rainbows.