The most difficult thing that I have done in my life is come out to my parents. More importantly, come out to my father. I already knew that his reaction wouldn't be the one that I received from my mom.
Knowing that he was born and raised in Mississippi and in an extremely conservative family already raised a few red flags in my mind. I expected it to be negative, but not to be slapped across the face for my identity. My father's callused hand colliding with my soft cheek is still something so vivid. He questions how I could think that God made me wrong and that my gender and sex do not correlate. He believes I want attention.
This leads me to wonder about the signs of my gender identity that were apparent when I was growing up. How my mother insisted that she somehow knew all along.
<< 2011 - AGE 10 >>
I was ten years old when I first began to notice that there was something different about me. It wasn't apparent, but I could tell that there must've been something off. Whether it was always wearing baggy t-shirts to conceal my developing breasts or the deep and confusing insecurity when my hair wasn't tied back in a tight bun.
In fourth grade, I was confronted with my first wave of dysphoria. The feeling was familiar yet foreign. I normally felt this way about my appearance but not to this extremity. Maybe because I was heading to a father-daughter dance in a navy blue dress that had a silk white ribbon wrapped tightly around my waist and my dark hair was in curly waves that cascaded down to my shoulder blades.
"You look so beautiful Trinity." my mother smiles as she finishes my light makeup of Lip Smacker lip gloss and tan eyeshadow.
As an attempt to ease my discomfort, I begin to rapidly lick my lips and taste whatever flavor I chose from Claire's. It tastes identical to Sprite, so I proceed to remove it with my tongue.
"Dad is downstairs and ready to take you." she kneels down in front of me with a kind smile, "My beautiful little girl."
My stomach twists when she says this to me and I am led downstairs. My father has what I assumed was merely a bracelet with a flower on it, but my mom whispers about how kind it was for him to buy me a corsage for an elementary school dance.
"I love you very much Trinity." he says while placing the corsage on my tiny wrist, "My beautiful little girl."
I was so young that I didn't know any better, so I nod with my shiny lips and partially crooked teeth, "I love you too dad."
<< 2014 - AGE 13 >>
There are only two words that I could use to describe my middle school experience. Teenage angst. I figure that maybe if I try hard enough, I can repress my mess of a gender identity until I am eighteen and then be my out self on my own.
At this age, I was introduced to the concept of sexuality and gender through my middle school's GSA. With a partially conservative family, I barely knew what it meant to be bisexual. Yet I gave myself a slur of gender, sexual and romantic identities in hopes that it could help me discover what my deal was.
"I'm Trinity, I'm thirteen and I identify as nonbinary, biromantic and asexual." I said during my second meeting as I introduced myself.
"What pronouns would you like us to use for you Trinity?" the club president, Morgan, asks me as I clear my throat to answer.
I pause for a moment and answer her question, "They and them." I smile.
That was the first time I felt slightly comfortable when someone addressed me at school. Word got out and I seemed to feel a bit better about myself. So much better that I cut my hair into a pixie cut later in the school year and was truly viewed as a nonbinary individual. I even dated a girl named Zoey and she was the first person that I ever came out to. She was proud, saying that I could be whoever I wished.
<< 2018 - AGE 16 >>
Finally, the moment of truth. When I metaphorically grew a pair and came out to my family. Bradon was only seven at the time, yet when I simply told him that I was a boy, he asked my name and I insisted that he continue to call me Trinity until I could find a new name.
"What about Bradon?" he asks, "We can share a name."
His acceptance and love at the age of 7 prepared me for the worst. He was full of love, and I was sure that my mother would be. But my father was a new story, something that I could never be prepared for.
The instant that "I'm transgender." fell from my lips, I feel my father's glare stabbing me in the chest. I have a sneaking suspicion that his reaction will not be good.
"No you're not." my dad shakes his head, "These games are gonna stop and they're gonna stop now."
He stands up and begins to walk away, my mother's eyes full of sympathy for me,"Jonathan get back here and listen to our child."
"No, I'm tired of listening to Trinity's bullshit lies." he snaps and points to me, "You are a girl. You were born a girl and that'll never change."
"I'm not a girl." I say back, "I'm a boy and will be even without your support."
My dad approaches me and I begin rubbing my hands against my denim jeans, consumed purely by fear. What is he going to do to me? I've known him to be violent when angry, but this situation could just be fueling the fire.
"I'm not gonna let a tranny live in my house." he spits out, "You're a girl."
"I'm a boy."
"You're a girl!"
"I'm a fucking boy."
Yikes...maybe I shouldn't have said that to him. He isn't even trying to contain his anger. Without warning, I swear that a swarm of bees have flown into the living room and are repeatedly stinging my left cheek. The stingers quickly left, making their appearance brief yet the pain lurks internally. My father slapped me.
"The fuck you are." he curses while shoving me on the leather couch, "God made you a girl and I'll be damned if you parade a drag show into my goddamn home Trinity!"
"Johnathan stop!" my mother shrieks while jumping to restrict him from hitting me once more.
My father whips around and rips her hand off of his wrist and pushes her to the ground, "Our daughter just told us that she's a boy! I'm not gonna let her corrupt Bradon. Get the fuck out."
I feel my throat close in, like a tightly bound corset. Yet his fist is not around my throat. He instead goes for the collar of my shirt and lifts me to look into his eyes, "I'm not gonna let no faggot live in this house."
"Daddy please." Bradon cries out in response to his aggression towards me, "Stop hurting Trinity."
I am shaking, but he finally tosses me down on the couch and balls his hand into a fist. Single tears are flowing down my burning cheek and my mother crawls off the ground towards me. My father leaves through the front door and she grabs my hand.
"You're my son... " she says while we both cry, "And we are going to get out of here. I can't let him treat you or even me like this."
Two days later, she filed for divorce and we were on a plane to Los Angeles. My life changed that quickly.
YOU ARE READING
binded
Fiksi RemajaGrace's life is normal. She has lived seventeen years of her life as the type-A girl with perfect grades and adoration from her parents. She has everything in the palm of her hand and doesn't want that to change. Zane has a secret. He is on the run...
