Being transgender is the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Chp. 1 Socially Acceptable

To be "normal," what a dream. To be socially accepted, my fantasy.

As I tinker with my mechanical pencil in math class all I can think about are these horrid thoughts, words, sentences. "Britney?" The teacher calls, I raise my hand and go back to clicking the pencil. All the rest of the dialogue Ms. Smith continued with was not of importance to me. I hyper fixated on one word of hers. Britney. Probably one of most feminine names I could've ever received. I prefer to go by Tom. Simple and easy to remember, right? Well I guess no one could ever get it right because that's not what I'm called.

The bell rings, we all get our things and walk out to seventh period. I have language arts. I enjoy language arts. After a long day of getting school work over with, I head back home. Ignoring the welcome as I enter, I walk into my room. I just wish that I could've been put into the right physical form from the start. Having to alter it to my liking takes effort, and knowing that it's never going to truly work makes me upset. I lay on my bed, dwelling in my thoughts and anger. One day, I tell myself repeatedly, one day. Soon that day shall come and I will be seen as what I am. Sulking gets me nowhere, I've known this for a long amount of time but there's not much I can do in the meantime. I'm in middle school, im 13, and I do not have access to hormone blockers. I have secretly bought myself masculine items though. They make me feel better about my physical appearance.

I get up and walk to my dresser. Rummaging through the clothes I find my binder. I feel confident in it. Lately I just haven't had the energy to put it on everyday. I decide that in the morning I will try and appear as masculine as possible. I do not really "try" when it comes to my appearance, but I hate when I look in the mirror and all I can see is a girl, for that is not what I am. I run my hands through my short, brown hair and throw the clothing in a space on my bed. I acknowledge that I am a man, and I am nothing different than that.

Hours past, I'm laying down trying to sleep. The truth is that I am unconfident in my identity, and that is not easy for me to admit. I keep tossing and turning, trapped in my own mental prison, constantly conflicted. Eventually I feel the release of sleep seeping into me, and give up on my mental torment to myself.