Prism

*TRIGGER WARNING: transphobia, self harm, suicidal ideation

I don't know how direct I want to be. Do I spell it all out from beginning to end? Chronologically, sparing no tiny detail? Or do I speak in abstract metaphors leaving everyone frustrated and confused? What’s the middle ground? Is there a middle ground? How do I...

A simple life, that’s all I wanted.
A quaint, but lovely house. The type of home that was delivered via train in the 1930s. A mix between craftsman and ranch, not quite enough to fully fit into either category, kind of like me... but with the most beautiful interior. Rich, dark woodwork, with pillars that divide the room where we relax and unwind, and the room we only use to play records or entertain guests during the holidays. A family unit... two parents, an energetic child with a warm, loving heart and two dogs that get overly excited when they hear you say W-A-L-K. It’s their favorite thing, a stroll through that calm neighborhood in small town, rural Illinois.
The image of a regular life.

But I feel lost...

I was seeking something within myself. Looking inward, I saw a vast, empty cavern, a bottomless void that would consume me soon if I didn’t do something about it. I needed to know what was down there.

I thought I buried you... I wanted you gone. I wanted to never EVER recognize you in me ever again... but here you are.

I started hunting for therapists.
I knew I needed to dig deeper. But that cave was incomprehensibly dark. I needed someone to shine a light.

You already know what’s hiding in the dark.
Shh... I can’t face that.

I picked a therapist that shared in my religion at the time, one that didn’t openly advertise as being an ally. In fact, I was wary of choosing someone that claimed to be an ally because I knew they would support me, encourage me, maybe even love me.

But what about this part of me?

I wanted the hate. I wanted the shame. Those feelings were normal to me, they felt comfortable. And it would be easier if someone told me I couldn’t, told me I was wrong, evil, sinful. Then I could keep that part buried and go on living my life.

That can’t be it… It’s something else, it’s gotta be... there’s something else wrong with me...
I hope.

I got tested (and diagnosed) for ADHD and Autism- I thought knowing how I was different from the masses would be the light I needed to expose the dark mystery within myself.

You know that’s not it.

When I started therapy, I told him I wanted to understand how my diagnoses made me... me. I wanted to understand myself more, I guess you could say I wanted to find myself.

I think he might already know...

My therapist turned out to be perfect for me, he was exactly who I needed at that time in my life. But there was one problem... I wanted someone to help guide me in my understanding of myself in a way that explained why I was this way but in a way that didn’t require me to completely change my life. I wanted him to either fix me, make me better, or give me an answer as to how I can feel this way without it being true... No such luck.

At one point he even asked me if I was hoping he’d do some sort of fucked up conversion therapy...

That’s a good question.
I do hate myself for being this way...

I tried to find reasons I could convince myself it wasn’t true.
I went to therapy for it.
I confessed for it.

I still fucking hate mysef...

Marks started to appear on my arms and legs... lines drawn from cold metal, subconsciously punishing myself for being this way while being in denial of the reality. I went to bed each night, hoping that would be it.

Maybe if I’m lucky, I just won’t wake up.

Things got dark...

...really dark...

I couldn’t take it anymore... I wanted a way out. Lying in bed I started thinking about options.

If I did do it... How would I?
What’s here in the house?

...

“So, when did it all start?”
“Childhood.”

I remember being around 4...

That’s when I was first corrected. Learning I was “wrong” about myself.

Aren’t you wrong though? I mean, that’s what everyone has told you.

So, I was 4, and 8, and 9... 12 too. I guess you could say I’ve always felt this way. Though some might say the “evil social media platforms” are what exposed me to it. And they might technically be right. I mean, the first time I saw anyone openly describing everything I felt was on YouTube. I didn’t understand the terms he was saying but I was amazed at how his voice painted a perfect picture of my experience. I needed to know more.

Maybe I’m not broken...

I lost the next hours, days, weeks typing all these new terms into google, devouring any content I could get my hands on.

I feel real. I feel seen.

I felt like I had community even though I didn’t know anyone behind the screen.

So... What are you going to do about it? Tell someone?

I could… But what if they... No. No, I’m not. I can’t be... If I am, I will lose everything. Everyone I love and that loves me.

But you are...

But I...   I...          My God, I’m stalling...

I told my therapist I think I might be trans...
Guess what… He was fine with it.

I told my spouse I think I might be trans...
He said that was his greatest fear.

Well, Fuck...

I didn’t want it to be true... I wanted things to be different. I sat on the couch in his office, not able to look my therapist in the eyes as tears streamed down my face. My chest heaved with sobs as I gasped for air. I hoped somehow, maybe, I could find solutions in the oxygen I consumed.

I don’t know what to do… 

My therapist told me he’d still love me if I wanted to be a man.
How dare you. Don’t tell me things that sound like make-believe.

My spouse told me the opposite.
Yeah… That sounds more like it.

My spouse played the game “boy or girl?” with androgynous strangers we saw in public...
My spouse made jokes about “tucking” to use the women’s room...
My spouse shared funny things he saw, like the truck that had a bumper sticker on it that said “I identify as a Prius.”
My spouse was transphobic.

And I’m trans...

My spouse didn’t love me—my spouse loved the version of me he created in his mind... and I honestly can’t blame him.

I am good at pretending; I even fool myself.

I walked away from him, exited the relationship I had been in for 13 years. I was a teenager when we got together, he watched me grow, and was by my side for nearly half my life. I lost my closest companion, and it affected me... deeply. My entire body ached, like someone reached in and ripped out the contents held within. I was an empty shell constructed with tissue paper and decades old scotch tape. Fragile. I knew I needed help, and I needed more than I was getting. Life demanded a refocus, and therapy became my full-time job.

I guess it’s time to heal…

With healing, came self-discovery. I eventually came out in group therapy. It felt like a safe way to test things out, a little sample spoon of queerness to see if I liked that flavor and could commit to a whole cone. There was excitement and celebration.

Rainbow sprinkles and a cherry on top. (gay)

One of the guys there said he was trans. He was extra excited for me... said he suspected when I walked into group, that I was like him.

Oh. I’m just talking about my sexuality...

I still couldn’t face it all at once.

It feels okay to be gay,
but trans...

Looking back, it’s incredible how hard I fought to deny my true self. But slowly, life unfolded and self-acceptance started trickling in. It took a long time, but eventually I got there...
Got to a place where I could accept who I am... Embrace who I am.

I thought I wanted you gone... but I can’t forget you, you hold my memories, you built my foundation, I wouldn’t be me, without you. And I’m forever grateful.

July 21st, 2023, I took my first dose of testosterone. Since then, I’ve been slowly noticing changes in myself; externally of course, but also internally. I feel more aligned with who I am, more at home in my body and I’m no longer filled with self-hate.

I actually feel really good about who I am.

You could even say I might love myself now…
I’m recognizing the person looking back at me in the mirror, something I never thought would happen, and I really like what I see. I don’t have to dissociate to get through my days, I can be present. I notice more small things in my life, and those little things fill me with immense joy. Even though I had to sacrifice almost everything I knew life to be, I’m glad I made the choice to be fully and completely me. Because now, the people I keep in my life love me...

All of me.