i’m coming out so you better get this party started.

How many of you remember that time in 7th grade when I walked into school with dyed hair and a fake name, intent on convincing people that I was a girl? And when, naturally, nobody bought it, how I beat up that one asshole (we don’t have to talk about him right now) and got suspended?

Probably a lot of you, huh. 

How many of you remember how I was teased for that moment years afterwards, and how deep it cut me every time? 

Again, probably a fair amount of people.

How many of you remember how that teasing almost drove me to suicide, it being a constant reminder of the body I was born in and how much I despise it. How many of you know how desperately I’ve wanted to come out as trans?

I guess that one’s only me. 

Cat’s out of the bag now, folks. I suppose it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. I’m a fucking tranny. Please be nice to me. 
Truth be told I’m not entirely sure what I am, but all I know is this, the way I currently am, feels wrong. 

It’s not the dick I mind, especially. My dick is a piece of shit but it’s my piece of shit so I’m not gonna complain there. Really it’s my hair and face and shoulders and chest and all the fucking hair that crops up on my body like an invasive flora decimating the pristine wilderness of my body. Yeah, I’m poetic as hell. 

I shaved my legs a few months ago and I loved it so much. Instead of gross hairy reminders of the testosterone coursing through my body I could pretend that those legs, my legs, belonged to a different body, a different person. One that I could get along with. 

I straightened my hair a few weeks ago and put my hair in bangs. It wasn’t a super great look, enhanced by the fact that I had no idea what the fuck I was doing, but every time I looked at myself in the mirror I squealed with joy. I felt good about some facet of my appearance for the first time in forever. I came into school with that hair and Derek laughed at me. I couldn’t defend my fashion choice without admitting that I wanted to be a beautiful girl. I haven’t done it since. 

I know Craig is gonna shit on me for mentioning this but I feel like a Creep whenever I look at cis women. By Creep, I of course mean the Radiohead song of the same name. Their skin makes me cry and I feel like shit. It’s a constant reminder of everything I’m not. I used to think this was the sexual frustration of a pubescent boy. I still think it is a little, but I guess it’s more than that. 

I spend so much time crying now. It sucks, I cry when I watch movies and play video games and see someone on the street that looks a little bit too much like how I want to look. It sucks and I hate it. 

The first person I told about all this was Anna. She’s been nice to me. She gave me a leather jacket as a gift last year. I wore it when I took the SAT and got a 1500; I wore it when I passed my driver’s test. It’s good luck, I think. I’m wearing it right now. I need that luck. Thanks, Anna. Shit, I’m crying again. I’m so fucking pathetic I made myself cry. 

Thanks Anna. Thanks for being nice to me.

You motherfuckers better be like her.