Being transgender

Time flies by when you're not drowning in depression. I guess this article is as much for me as for anyone needing to read it. It's just one of those nights when I'm reminded how painfully lonely I can be sometimes. Lonely, but not depressed.

Let's rewind to the begining. There's not much I remember of early childhood other than the beatings. It might have been the first tooth I lost, it might have not been, but my father definetly best out his fair share of teeth when I was a small child. I remember being small and looking on at the world, how other children were allowed to explore, play and test their limits. I was greatly jealous of them, since all I lived in was fear.

If I messed up, I was either scolded for hours, yelled at, beaten or just a combination of the three. My mother only watched this happen. I used to think she was a victim too, and maybe she was. But as time went on I noticed she was never beaten, she never seemed to be at odds with my father. It would seem that two narcissists had found eachother. It wasn't long before she beat me too.

Fucking fear, constantly. And the worst part is that they convinced me I deserved it. I longed for their affection. I did everything I could just to hear them say that they loved me, or for them to hug me.

It wasn't long before I started retreating from them in my teenage years. Sometimes I would walk through our door and be punched in the gut, and yelled at for being late. I was late because school was only open until 5. If I could have, I would have stayed longer.

Friends have always been hard for me. I always felt like I needed to show of? To boast or to be the center of attention. I got into fights with them, I yelled at them and I used them. I think, now that I'm older, that I was trying to cope somehow.

When I was 18 I started uni. What a lovely time of self discovery. I actually saw my first therapist then. Wasn't long before I ran away from home to live with my first girlfriend. Took maybe 10 days and I was back home, confessing to my parents that I was bi. I thought that maybe they would love me like I love them. That unconditional type of love. I was very hopeful that day.

It ended in blood and tears.

I moved in with my girlfriend permanently, and it lasted a while. She taught me so much about actually being alive and not afraid all the time. But that ended too.

Being cheated on fucking hurts. Being cheated on 3 times in a row hurts even more. I tried to learn to live with myself. But there was always something gnawing at me. For as long as I could remember, I had had this knot in my chest, this pressure. Every day I awoke to anxiety and dread.

Why was it so hard to love me? What had I done to not deserve love?

And that's just how life was.

And that's how I eventually wound up in the hospital. Several times. Existing had been painful for long enough. I don't know if I can adequately describe what a total lack of apathy towards your own well being feels like, but it's somewhere between the constant crying and clutching at your chest in panic.

3 years ago I began seeing a new therapist and counselors. My eyes were hollow and my soul decayed. So many talks. So many nights spent googling, talking with others like me online and fucking scrolling Reddit until my fingers bled.

Gender dysphoria.

Huh. What a silly little term. Sure I was traumatised by my upbringing but this was new and familiar at the same time. After all, what normal boy dreams of waking up as a girl every night? What normal boy feels envious of every girl he meets? What normal boy can't look himself in the mirror due to his features?

Turns out, it's not a boy at all.

I began my hormone replacement therapy 6 months ago. After a few weeks my depression and anxiety lifted. Gone. It's as if they had been abducted in the night. Laughing. Oh my god how had I forgotten this feeling? Laughing from my soul. Crying not out of depression but from emotions. Beeing able to see myself in the mirror again. Seeing her. Appearing before me more clearly for each month that passed.

I still have PTSD from my parents. I still have trouble forming connections with others due to self hate. I sometimes still feel lonely and sad. I still sometimes cry myself to sleep.

But these past six months have seen me come alive again. I have made some new friends, they invite me over for wine and karaoke a few times. I've been on dates with men that towered over me and I've tried so many new things. Food is wonderful again. I even ate paprika and liked it.

When I curl my hair and see myself in the mirror I'm glad I'm there. I'm glad the broken boy can finally rest. I'm glad I'm alive, even if it's hard some days. I'm glad I get to be Effie.