Diary of a Non-Binary

Part Nineteen

I don't really mind so much  when people who don't know about me call me "she", mostly because, well, how could they know not to? Even when people who do know would mess up and then correct themselves right afterward, I get it. I know it's hard to remember to use the right pronouns when you've been using different ones the entire time you've known me.The only thing I really get mad at is when the people who know what I've asked them to do repeatedly ignore what I said and don't try one bit to say something right. That's just really disrespectful to me. I don't care what religion you practice, what your beliefs are, or any shit you want to do, but if you're choosing to disregard something that I've told you hurts me, that's just wrong.

To be completely frank, every single day I wonder if this day should be my last day alive. In a way, the tally marks on  my hand could also be for how many times in a day I've thought about killing myself. Yeah, that's how much it hurts. I know some people can't remember, but if they can't remember a simple thing like that, they probably won't even remember me. I can only think of about five people who would actually miss me. I can't have made a difference to that many people. I'm such an asshole, even spending a week away from them, they would most likely forget me completely.

While I was getting my contact lenses, I had to have an appointment and all that. Anyways, at the eye clinic, everyone that worked there would address me with the right pronouns. These people don't know me at all, and I know they weren't told my preferred pronouns because my dad was the one that took me, and he always uses the wrong ones. Anyways, I might be starting to be able to pass to others that dont know me at all. This made me happy, I could even just about forget how many times my dad haf messed up.