Barriers

Callie

Dear Diary,
I'm not going to school today. I've made up some crap about having a headache so that mum and dad would leave me alone as well as let me stay off. In reality, I'm up in my room all day, headphones in and writing. Writing whatever comes to mind, whatever I feel like. I get to the point where I begin to think of what I'd change my name to if I did end up pursuing my dream and changing my birth gender to what I really am. I practically identify as either a "he" or a "they" now, anything but "she" or "her".

Connor, Christopher, Caleb, Christian, Cameron. None of which suit me at all. I sigh as I close the notebook and bite at my nails. Twisting a strand of my dark hair around my finger and thinking of what my mum said to me yesterday makes me feel sick, 'you couldn't cut it all off because of a crazy internet trend.' A crazy internet trend. The words swim around my mind like a fish in a cramped tank. Maybe it is just a phase? But can phases last nearly 6 years? Usually I'd tell myself never to believe my mother, especially in situation like this when I know that I am in the right, but now I'm not so sure whether she does know best. I know it's awful of me to say, but I wish my mum wasn't like this. Not busy, but willing to spend time with me. Not unsupportive but caring. I wish she was different.

Later on, I go down to make a sandwich for lunch, and to my surprise, my mum is smiling away at me as if she didn't want to strangle me with my own hair. "How are you feeling sweetie?" she puts a hand on my shoulder which makes me jump as well as slightly uncomfortable. I shrug. She slides me a leaflet across the counter, 'How to break bad habits', it reads. "What?" I say in confusion. Reluctantly, she puts her arm around me and simply says, "You don't have to keep pretending to be someone you're not." Momentarily I wonder if she means it's okay that I'm not the beautiful girl she's always dreamed of. But she doesn't. She thinks I'm sick. She thinks its not normal that I'm "pretending to be a guy". Well damn right I'm sick. Sick of her. Sick to death of living my life as a girl.

Calmly, I take the leaflet from the counter and tear it in two. "Screw you." I mutter bitterly. Slowly, I make my way up to my room and sigh before slamming the door behind me. Sitting at my desk gets me thinking. Why doesn't she appreciate who I am? Doesn't she love me? At one point I even tried to empathise with her, maybe even imagine what it's like to have always wanted a baby girl of her own, then finally getting one who isn't a girl at all. A tear rolls down my pallid cheek as I begin to sink deeper and deeper into thought. Maybe I'm the failure. The problem. Perhaps I'm not worth the love. As I fall deeper and deeper into this black nothingness, everything begins to slow down. And for a while, I feel numb. So numb and so empty. Who am I?