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their-misplaced-wings · 3 years

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Long letter to myself about growing up trans without knowing it and accepting myself and sharing bc pride inspired it so #happypride

tw: mentions of self hate, self harm, and some other stuff that might be stressful but it doesnt get specific or graphic

Dear me,

I know Pre-k is scary. I know that you’re worried about change and how much your life is going to be different. Sorry to tell you that happens every school year, and it happens every time there’s a change in your adult life too. It’s okay. I know that when the class is playing house the other kids tell you that you can’t play-pretend to be the dad, the uncle, or the brother so you decide to be the pet- either cat or dog you don’t care. I know that you become friends with two boys and don’t really ever pay attention to the girls in the class unless they speak to you first. I know that you prefer Pokemon, Power Rangers, playing in the creek, and riding the four wheeler to dolls or dress up. I know that even your friends and cousins would tell you that you had to be the pink or yellow Power Ranger when you were playing and wouldn’t even let you pretend to be Blue and you all hated the Blue one. I know it made you want to cry because it was the time you got to pretend to be anyone you wanted and they were still trying to fit you into a role that you didn’t get to choose. I know that you didn’t understand exactly why, because how could you? You were five and everyone told you were a “tomboy” like that was supposed to explain everything. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know everything became more confusing in third grade when the nice fifth-grade girl became your friend. I know that she was so nice and you thought she was pretty. I know that made you think there must be something wrong with you. Not only because you had a crush but because you wondered why you didn’t look pretty like her if you were both girls. I know that she made you feel like you were an imposter but you didn’t have that word to use to express yourself. I know that you were secretly angry when she told you she had a crush on your neighbor and I know we didn’t know why we were angry at the time so we played the role we were given and encouraged her. I know that you lied when she asked you if you had a crush on any boys. I read our diary about that a few years later and I know we just copied girls in our grade and said we had the same crushes. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know that fourth-grade is the worst so far. You were told that you had to start being friends with girls and when your friends that had been sleeping over for years slept over now you had to wear shorts to bed. I know you thought they were idiots because why would you and your friend even think that about each other? No one had told you anything yet but there were new rules now because he was a boy and it was no longer appropriate. I know that the girls that you tried to be friends with were mean and made fun of you because you weren’t like them. I know that they made you watch movies you didn’t want to because they were scary and they laughed at you when you cried. I know that they wanted to shop at Claire’s and do their nails and that when they talked you really never listened to them because you didn’t understand.

I know that when you started playing softball instead of tee-ball you felt so incredibly overwhelmed and out of place. I know that when you started to make friends with the other people on the team that liked wearing boys clothes, liked cartoons and playing outside you finally felt a little more at ease and felt like you really had friends since the boys from Pre-K stopped talking to you.

Dear me,

I know that sixth grade is even worse than fourth and fifth. I know that all of the girls you made friends with acted like they had never known you. I know that you loved having your friends from softball at school at least. I know that it changed when your one friend said they wanted to kill themselves so you told your mom. I know that she freaked out and never spoke to you again. I know that until your teacher reached out about joining the DI team you felt so incredibly lonely. It’s okay. I know that you became great friends with a girl that was silly like you and that you spent two years closer than anyone could possibly be, you thought. I know that when she went to high school you didn’t think anything would change. I know that you made another friend who felt and acted like you in your grade and you guys grew so close. I know that they were your lifeline and that you still felt lost. We’re still friends today so really it’s okay.

Dear me,

I know you lost everything including yourself in eighth-grade. I know that you feel like a shell and there is no one around to care. I know that when that man killed your dog you were so beyond broken that we became angry and numb to handle the pain, anger, fear, loneliness, confusion, and self-loathing. It’s okay. I know that the school counselor told you we have Depression and you felt like you committed a crime. I know that we cried and she accused you of proving her right. I know that you were so afraid you were going to be in trouble that you told Her we were fine and the counselor was exaggerating. I know that the poems we were writing were exaggerated versions of the very real truth. I know that the counselor failed so miserably that we no longer trust any of them again.

Dear me,

I know that you never really processed being in ninth-grade, or really tenth for that matter. I know that even though you had been friends for years, your friend that was a year older started to treat you like you were the most annoying person in the world out of the blue. I know that she dug into every insecurity you had about yourself and you still couldn’t hate her. I know you screamed into the woods asking what you did wrong and that you were so afraid to talk to her in case she made you feel worse about yourself. I know it left you confused and hollow even when you thought you couldn’t be any more than you had been for years.

I know that you stared at yourself in the mirror every night, sobbing, scratching, and hating yourself. I know that you wondered why you weren’t pretty and why you didn’t look like other girls or feel like other girls must feel. I know you wondered why no boys liked you and what must be wrong with you. I know you hated your chest. Sorry to say that doesn’t go away.

Dear me,

I know the past few years you wish you hadn’t been born. I know you’re too afraid to hurt the people you love to do anything like that though. I know really you just wish how you’re feeling would just stop for a minute so that you can breathe. I know that eleventh-grade is the hardest academically, socially, and personally so far. I know that you felt like He hated you and was disappointed in you. I know that you were afraid of him and that no one took you seriously. I know that he had a way of looking at you that made you feel five again. I know he never hurt you but his threats were enough to have you living in fear. I know that She was so busy dealing with her own things that She didn’t really see. I know that you carved PERFECT at night because at least you could control that much. I know that you thought something was wrong with you. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know senior year is big. I know that you were so tired of the fog and the self-hate and the tears that you finally were brave enough to talk to your doctor. I know that all he did was give you a giant prescription and sent you on your way. I know that they start to help but I know that they also start to take away our personality. I know that we start to care less about everything. I know that we feign confidence because the dose is too high and the doctor never bothers to change it or recommend a therapist. I know that eventually we lose that little last bit of ourselves and just start copying others. I know that we don’t care where we go to college. I know that we don’t care what our major is. I know that we really just don’t care anymore. That’s okay.

Dear me,

College really did a number on us. I know that we wanted to feel loved and supported so badly that we didn’t focus on learning. I know that we started talking to every boy we thought was cute. I know that they were all trash bags. I know that the first boyfriend was charming but judged you. I know that we changed to share his interests because then he wouldn’t leave us like our friend had right? I know that we know he cheated on us but we were so insecure that we ignored it or forgave him. I know that he broke our heart. I know that we were so broken again that we let ourselves listen to the next one. I know that we let that one break us more. I know that it felt so great to be needed and loved that we ignored all the signs and the fighting. I know that we let him tell us what to do and how to act. I know that we went off our medication because of his conspiracies. I know you told him you were depressed and he yelled at you. I know that you were as afraid of him as you were for him. I know we left in the middle of the night and he walked to our campus the next day. I know you tried therapy to process the abuse but I know it brought up too many things we weren’t ready to process.

Dear me,

I know that we’re doing so much better now. I know that this One has been helping us heal. I know that he’s teaching you so many things and that we’re starting to understand things about ourself. I know that there are new terms that we’ve learned and new identities that we never even fathomed. I know it’s overwhelming but I promise it’s okay. I know that when you tell the One about ourself it feels like an answer. I know that it was scary to ask him to use neutral pronouns despite knowing that he would understand. I’m so glad that we did. I know that we’re still healing, understanding, and processing everything and that some days are easier than others. I know that we wish we had know all of this about ourself back in elementary school but we have made it this far and we will keep growing. We’ll be okay.

#personal growth #Trans #nonbinary #letter to myself #queer pride #pride month #dear me #growing up queer

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