I have found my people!

Hey. It's been a while since my last post. I apologize for that, but with the new semester starting up I've been a bit busy, getting supplies and stuff. But I'm here now! So let's get to it.

As you know from my last blog post, I am a genderqueer/gender-fluid person. I still have to work through what label feels best for me, but on the whole it can be agreed that I am not a girl...most of the time. And those feelings of being in some way wrong have isolated me for what I now realize is a large portion of my life. Of course, my friends are all supportive, and my family trying their best to understand what it means.

But no matter how hard they try or how much they want to understand, they can't. Not my friends, not my family, hell, not even Analyssa. They can't understand because this is something they will never have to go through. They will never have to be afraid of going to their preferred restroom. They will never have to experience people intentionally referring to them by the wrong gender. They won't have to worry about being safe when binding or fearing that their parents will hide their binders (which is a legitimate fear, my mother does my laundry and she's had the hardest time coming to terms with my gender.) They will sympathize, but they will not understand. Not like someone in the trans community can.

I count myself blessed to be at a university that has a trans group. They call themselves the Gender Diverse Aggies, and they are a group dedicated to raising awareness of trans issues and offering support to anyone who falls under the trans flag. I first became aware of this group last semester, but their meetings were every week at 9 in the morning, and I just couldn't find the will to get up that early since my classes were in the afternoon. So, I went to a few meetings here and there before stopping altogether. As such I met only 3 individuals who were trans.

That changed today.

There was a GDA meeting at 4:00, and I went because it was in the afternoon and I wanted to be a part of the group again. Lo and behold, there were 8 people at the meeting today. It may not seem like a lot, but for me it was. They were all so nice and friendly, and I felt welcomed. It felt like a place I could call home. These people, they understand me. They know the pain, the confusion, the hate, and lived to see a brighter day. It's so inspiring, and it filled me with hope because these were potential friends that would understand my struggles and support me through them. These people can become my safe place when life gets to be too much.

And maybe I'm placing too much faith into them. After all, it's not group therapy. They don't meet to hash out personal issues. But maybe I can find real friends there, people who will understand when I complain about my binder being itchy and hard to get off. Maybe I'll find people who will agree with my desire for gender neutral bathrooms. Maybe I'll find people who will know my fear of coming out.

 Maybe I won't feel so alone anymore.

I have hope.

Lets talk

So, today I thought I would write about something that affects me daily: dysphoria.

As a trans* person, I often find that I experience dysphoria in regards to my chest, my period, and my voice. I may not be a trans-man, but I do fall under the trans flag because I do not feel female often enough to own the label "woman" despite being assigned female at birth. I'm still in the process of figuring out what exactly I am, but I have the rest of my life to develop my identity. At the moment I am swinging between genderqueer and gender-fluid, but I am considering the term non-binary.

Anywho, that tangent was besides the point. I'm here to talk about the things about my body that can tear me down. One thing is my chest. I may only have A cups, but they are large enough that wearing a well-fitted shirt leads others to assume that I am female. Of course, half of the time I don't mind, but the other half, hearing people call me "she" and "miss" hurts. I know that it shouldn't, that I should be confident enough in my own identity, but hearing those words reminds me of the words my mom has told me as I've been exploring my gender: "You have what you have! God gave you boobs!" or "God made you a girl!"

And it hurts. It hurts to be reminded that I am not right.

Anyway, despite all the comments my mother makes, I have purchased a chest binder so that my chest is flatter when I wear it. The binder has really helped me out, and it's a safe way to flatten my chest without injuring myself.  So, coupled with my haircut, my flat chest allows me to walk around outside and have people call me "sir" and "man" and "he." And God, does it feel great.

Now, on to my period. That week is the worst. And I know what I go through is mild compared to other people who have a uterus, but it's just another reminder that I am a "girl." In fact, it's the ultimate reminder that I am biologically female. I feel uncomfortable, and I have to wear panties in place of my usual boxers, and it is just an overall unpleasant experience that I have learned to deal with. I don't like it, but I'm the only one that knows what goes on in my pants, so I will deal with it for as long as I have to.

My voice is the only thing about me that I still feel a lot of dysphoria about. My chest and my period I can get around, because I have found solutions and ways of thinking to combat the dysphoria. But my voice is the one thing I can't really change without hormones. While my voice is lower than most of my female friends, it is still high enough that people who first address me as "sir" will correct themselves upon hearing me speak. This always leaves me feeling disappointed and discouraged, which can lead to darker thoughts. I have an example.

Recently I went to Savers to find an interesting tie, and this woman - who was with her young son - asked me if I knew where a certain section was. I blurted out an awkward "I don't work here!" and the woman gave me a look and then walked away. As she passed me by, her son looked at me and told his mom "He looks like a boy but sounds like a girl." His words felt like a rock on my chest, and I went to the dressing room to compose myself. I didn't cry or anything, but I had to calm myself down because all those dark feelings were bubbling up. I know that my reaction was an overreaction, but it reminded me that my voice will never get deeper without the help of hormones. The only time the opposite of this happened was when I had to call my cell provider to work out an issue with my phone. The guy on the phone called me sir until he pulled up my information and then apologized. Even though he corrected himself, I was ecstatic because it was the first time that had happened, and it made me happy.

 There are only three people who know that I feel these things, and only one of them knows everything. But now I suppose whoever reads this knows too. I didn't want to get too much into the actual feelings so much as the cause of them, because those feelings are dark and I can't shake them when I write about them. And, seeing as how it's getting late as I write this, I wouldn't have emotional support, and I don't want to go to bed thinking all those awful things. So, that may be a post for another day. Or maybe it won't. I haven't decided if I want to share them with the internet, even if only like two people still read this blog.

So, that was me, talking about myself like the little weirdo I am.