thelesbianlifestyle.com

When I was born, my mother celebrated the birth of her little girl. She dressed me in pink dresses and put bows in my hair, just like most moms would have done.

I had a pretty normal childhood. I had a sister who I was incredibly close with. We shared a room, we played together, we were pretty much best friends. We were 2 years apart and people always asked if we were twins. I was an adorable little girl with long, beautiful blonde hair. From a young age, I was a tom boy. I loved playing outside and wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Around the age of 12-13, my sister started wanting to be girly. She wanted to pluck her eyebrows, pick out cute outfits and wear makeup. I never reached that phase. I refused to do anything that would make me appear more girly. Even having to buy my first bra was absolute torture. Back then, I didn’t fully understand the reasoning. I just knew that I felt absolutely miserable when I was put in these situations . I was made to wear a dress for my mother’s wedding and it was awful. A lot of girls looking forward to their period starting; they’re becoming women. When mine started, I hid it from my mother. I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to believe it was happening. I definitely didn’t want to celebrate the fact that I was becoming a woman. My mom would call me names like, “silly girl” and it made me cringe; but I had no idea why. I never vocalized it, or had the vocabulary to express it, but I wasn’t a girl.

As I grew older, things just got worse. Around the age of 13, I entered a horrible depression. I didn’t want to socialize, I didn’t want to be seen and I didn’t want anyone to get to know me. It all makes sense looking back on it, but back then I had no idea what was wrong with me. I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I began cutting myself around the age of 13. For a while, I managed to keep it hidden or make some lame excuse. I don’t know if my mom was ignorant on the matter or just didn’t want to accept the fact that I had a problem. One night, I cut myself too deep and was rushed to the ER and checked into the mental hospital. This began a chain of me going in and out of the hospital for the next 8 years. The doctors continued to tell me that I suffered from depression, but nothing further. I don’t blame them, though, how were they to know?

Around the age of 21, I was still depressed but I was trying to get my life together. Attempting to be more social and ease my depression, I looked up LGBT meetings and support groups (I was identifying as lesbian) in my area. I ended up finding a youth group (16-23) that looked like it might be fun. I went there and met this wonderful young couple. The first time we met, I wondered why they were there because they were a straight couple and this was an LGBT get-together. I later found out that the man was transgender. He had been born female. That night, I rushed home and straight to YouTube. I searched for hours and hours, each video I found lead me to another one. I found transgender documentaries, Video Logs, FAQs and much, much more. As cliche as it sounds — life suddenly made sense. I was a boy. I could be a boy. It was possible and life was going to be okay.

For a few months, I spent every free hour watching hundreds and hundreds of videos on YouTube about transgenderism and FTM (female-to-male) people. I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing. After I decided that I had gathered every bit of information I could possibly want/need, I decided it was time. I was going to tell my mom that I am transgender. I was going to finally let her know that I am her son and not her daughter. True to my fashion, I wrote her a long letter. I wanted to make sure that I got out all the details and wouldn’t be interrupted. It was definitely one of the scariest things I’ve ever done in my life. Thoughts kept racing through my mind — “Am I going to be disowned?” “Will she still love me?” She read the letter and told me, as she always has, that she loves me no matter what. She’s been extremely supportive of me through this entire journey and I can’t thank her enough.

In April of 2009, I started seeing a therapist and was immediately diagnosed with Gender Identity Disorder. She said it was clear that I knew who I was, knew what I wanted and knew about all of the possible hardships that I may encounter if I choose to transition to male. I saw her a few times and she ended up writing me a letter that would allow me to get testosterone prescribed to me. Being transgender, female-to-male, this would basically allow me to enter a male puberty. I’d get a lower voice, facial hair, change in bone structure and an overall more masculine appearance. I started the hormone replacement therapy in July of 2009.

It is now June of 2010 and I have never been happier. The depression is nearly gone and I am finally able to begin to show the true me. I have lots of friends who love and support me.

Now that I’ve gotten that far, I have one major step left that will allow me to live free. Every morning, I have to squeeze into a chest binder. There are so many reasons why I dislike having to do this. Not only is it discouraging and upseting, it’s painful and can even make it hard to breathe. I worry every day how my chest is looking or who might notice something. I can’t wear a t-shirt. I can’t wear a tank top. I can’t go swimming. Just because I was born in the wrong body, there are so many things that I can’t do and can’t experience.

It’s been my dream in life just to stand shirtless on a beach or feel the rain on my bare chest. To wake up, throw in a tshirt and go, without having to spend 10 minutes squeezing into an uncomfortable binder.

…..to finally feel comfortable in my own skin, for the first time in my entire life.