Of Tragedy, Trauma, and Transgender

Chapter 1: The Incident (Monday)

Soooo, I bet you're wondering what happened between Abby and me.

(This was exactly four weeks after the last entry if you're wondering.)

It's sort of complicated.

You see, we were walking to lunch, and we were joking around as usual.

As we went down the stairs, I said, "And who do you have to thank for your girlfriend...?"

She paused, and answered, "...Me, because I had the feelings first?"

I got mildly frustrated and decided to vent it out in a safe way by jokingly making the I-want-to-strangle-you gesture with my hands.

She laughed and then said in the most mock-serious voice, "Do it."

I took it as a challenge, and in a flash, I suddenly had my hands around her neck.

The thing is, I didn't hurt her, nor did I hold it for more than a second.

But she screamed and overreacted.

Then she walked away, with that blank face.

I walked after her, "Uh, Abby, are you-oh, you're just doing that thing."

I waited for her to stop being dramatic.

But nothing happened, she just kept walking.

At one point I tried to stop her (not with my hands, but she only walked forward when I did, so I stared at her and slowly walked back with no luck).

To no avail, she avoided me and walked into the lunchroom.

I felt such a sense of loss, but I held my stomach and thought one thing:

Don't feel the emotions, don't feel the pain. She'll get over it.

She proceeded to avoid me the whole day.

Wouldn't sit with me at the gym, and didn't talk to me when we were changing into our gym clothes.

I felt like I couldn't handle talking to her for the day if I had made her this mad, so I lived with it for the day.

This was the day I decided that enough was enough for my mental health, and I went to a counselor's office.

For a while, I had been considering going because of my problems with my sexuality and school stress, but this was the last straw.

I shoved my awkwardness away for the sake of my sanity and walked through the doorway.

"Question," I asked nonchalantly, "Do students just walk in for a session or do appointments have to be set up?"

She shut her laptop and bit her lip, thinking, "Well, this isn't my office, so I don't know how things work around here, but...what grade are you in?"

"7th," I answered quickly.

She wrote something down and asked me another question, "What's your name?"

"Melecia Whisler-" but then I realized that this was a new person and she wouldn't judge me, so I said, "But I don't like Melecia so I go by Skylar. With an A-R, not an E-R."

She wrote that down, too, "Okay, so you're in seventh grade and you go by Skylar? This isn't the right building office for your grade, so I'll lead you to the seventh- and eighth-grade counselor."

"Okay!" I said, putting a stripe of mint gum in my mouth to ease nerves.

We walked to the other side of the hallway, to a door that had the Gators team name on it in black and red.

"Ohh, it looks like she's working with someone right now, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow. But I'll be sure to message...oh I can't remember her name, but I'll email her, so she can meet with you tomorrow!"

I smiled gratefully, "'Kay, thank you!"

Then I left school for the day.

I opened the door to my house.

My mom was already in the kitchen, and she smiled wide at me, "Hi, palangga! How was school?"

"Good!" I said shortly.

She looked at me, brows furrowed, but still smiling, "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I said like I was slightly annoyed.

Mom always looks out for me. She can be overbearing at times, but I am grateful for her persistence.

"I feel like there's something you're hiding from me..." she commented suspiciously.

"Ahuh."

I walked into my room, but mom opened my door.

"Tell me now, or else you won't be able to make applesauce with me!" she said.

This was actually kind of a dilemma because I loved homemade applesauce...

But she really had to understand that there are things that I will be ready to tell later on.

She just needs to trust ema and have patience.

I stood my ground, "Uh, no."

She squinted at me, then said, "Fine. Don't tell me, I don't care."

I sighed, walking out of my room, and into the craft room with the computer, "You should just learn to be patient instead of being an asshole about it..."

I mumbled it, so no one really heard but me.