First few months were crucial to me. Of course, it was hard for me because I never knew how to start or where to begin. I'm only about three months into the transition; if it's even called a "transition". I don't know where I fall into the trans spectrum but I know I fall someplace.
I didn't really have very supportive friends to begin with. Everyone else was caught up in their own life. I don't blame them since it was senior year of high school. People were already thinking of how to move out or elope in some secretive way no one would find them. Basically ignorant plans for the future. No escape plan, no way to figure out how to stand on their own two feet and make things work even when things aren't working. I didn't make plans for my future. As far as I was concerned, it was community college and then maybe following some interest of mine as a job or career. That was if there was a chance of that possibility. I was in the middle of trying to figure out my position in the community as well. I don't think I really was a female to begin with. Although I was born as one, I don't think I was the kinda person that would be okay with carrying a bag with a long strap or wear ridiculous looking shoes that strained my posture. For the longest time, I thought I was a slightly masculine girl. I didn't like the gender specific dressings or the fact that either men and women had qualities that either sex could or couldn't do. Certain occupations like construction and landscaping; a man job. Toys; dolls versus trucks. Colors; reds and blues. To this day, I'm angered that the women's section is on a separate floor as the men's section in some clothing department stores. I guess that's just it for my rant on equal rights...
As I've said before, when I first started, I didn't have very supportive friends because they were preoccupied with other things. I needed to know that. Not that I had an issue with it but I needed to go through things myself. I needed to know these things for myself. I started with small things. Growing out my leg hair, wearing only pants and wearing a t-shirt with a flannel. My partner would give me her old clothes in order to help me figure out what to do with them. She gave me some old boxers and shirts and a pair of shorts. It took me a while before I could wear boxers on their own and nothing underneath. Now, it's gotten to the point where I can't wear panties because they dig into my skin and cause rashes due to irritation. Wearing cologne became a ritual. I'll wear it after I get dressed and ready. Same with "male deodorant". The first few months, I began to think about my sex. I defined as a male but was I happy? In fact, I was. Significantly happier wearing clothes that felt right to me. Honestly, I don't remember when there was a time I was happy when being "a girl".
I remember my mum gave me a 400$ necklace for Christmas one time and I was MAD. I wasn't going to ever wear it. I didn't care if it were diamond on silver, I didn't do anything to deserve something like that. I didn't even like it. It wasn't the fact that it was something girly, it was the fact that it was too expensive for the usage. Realistically, I wasn't going to wear it and for her to spend money on me like that... She could have told me. I feel terrible to flying off the handle like that. But she had better means of spending than on me. That was like three grocery shopping trips. Or at least a mortgage payment at the very least. I'd prefer to keep the basic necessities than a few pieces of metal and rock.
Two or three months into the transition, I now have a few outfits that are genuinely male. I haven't been binding as much as a trans man should but I've been wearing baggy looking t-shirts and wearing compression bras in oder to well, compress my chest.
Like many things that go terrible rather quick, all it takes is one time. Earlier in the month, my dad saw me scratch my knee. Not an issue until I rolled up my pant leg to relieve my itch. My dad saw my leg was hairy, I didn't have a problem with it, but he did. He said, "That's fucking disgusting. I know we buy you razors. Use them.". As a natural response, I said "okay" and never did anything about it. This issue didn't dissolve like I thought it would. He kept pushing me to shave. I kept using "okay" as a response. It came to the point where he'd threaten to have my mum watch me shower and make sure that I had shaved my legs. I teared up but I didn't want to show him any sort of emotion towards this situation. I didn't want him to know that this was part of something that means something to me. To this day, I don't want my immediate or extended family to think that I was influenced because of my partner. I didn't change for her, I'm doing it for me.
This morning I did what my dad told me to do which was shave my legs. I lathered my legs with soap in one hand and a razor in the other. I closed my eyes and made the first stroke. I lost it then. I couldn't keep quiet and I couldn't make noise because I didn't want my family to think something is wrong. They always assume that it's my partner but she's never done anything to make me cry the way I did in the shower this morning. I was torn. I was physically cutting something out of me that helped me define myself and cope with how I feel. I know hair grows back but... it was a part of me.
I ended up spending most of my day out with my partner because I couldn't stay in the house and sulk about how bare my legs are. They'll grow back and I need to remember that. She helped me in a way that helped me socialize and keep my mind off of these things. Sometimes... I wish that my basic hygiene wasn't a concern to my parents. I'm tired of them telling me, "I'm not raising a boy" when the tightness in my throat persists on keeping me from saying, "I AM your son". One day, I'll tell them... right now is not the best time.
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