Here It is...

[Zedarius]

Hello all, 

I guess I'll put my story up here...

 

I am not able to give the story of knowing, or feeling like something was ‘off’ from young childhood, I had a head injury that sent me to the local hospital’s emergency room, and to this day have an indent scar on my head. Thus I don’t remember much early childhood; save what are on home videos or I’ve been told by family. So, I’ll start from where I am able.

 

From as young as 7 years of age I can remember having issues with my gender, wondering why I couldn’t be one of the boys, why I wasn’t a boy, and why I didn’t ‘have the right equipment’? Why did my younger brother have everything right, and I have all the wrong things? Why was I forced to wear all the girls’ things, while he could wear whatever he wanted? At 13 years old, I came across a documentary on TV – something about transgender people, and while watching it – some stuff they people in the documentary were saying made complete sense to me – while my mother called it against nature, wrong, and that all these people must be agents of the Devil.

 

I was never the girly type, much to my mother’s disappointment, and she would have screaming matches at me – accusing me of destroying her life, and claiming that God wanted me dead if I couldn’t be happy with all that he had given me. Despite all this, I still had a good relationship with her. I didn’t have the relationship I needed at the time with my father – all of my contact with him was overshadowed by my mother tales of him; such as how he wanted to sacrifice me to the Devil. So my relationship with him suffered greatly. It’s also probably why I didn’t realise there was something wrong family-wise with how my mother did things, until much later.

 

When I was 15 years old, I told my mother about me wanting to be a boy, and how I’d been looking into transgender things. Her reaction was incredibly bad, to put it mildly. She yelled and screamed at me, and even hit me multiple times with a wooden spoon. I was convinced that there was something very wrong with me. After that kind of reaction, I decided I’d never tell anyone else, ever again. I never spoke of anything similar again, until I was 21.

 

Throughout my last 2 years of primary school I was bullied by multiple different kids, and was known as the ‘weird kid’ who wasn’t a boy or a girl. My mother put me into “All Girls” classes those years to try and make me into the girl I was supposed to be. It didn’t work, and those 2 years were the worst bullying years of my primary schooling years. Being tomboy-ish was a bad thing in these classes. I had even told a couple of girls how I wanted to be a boy – I had thought they were friends, but suddenly the entire class knew. I’d have bullying all throughout primary school, but nothing as bad as this. These girls would hunt me down in the school, and outside of the school, they’d steal things, and I even had 2 girls throw rocks at me, telling me to end myself. The rock throwers were suspended from the school, but everything thing else was dealt with ‘talks” between the girls and I – as long as they acted nice nothing else was done.

 

When I hit puberty – is the first time that I thought about ending myself. Or in the very least harming myself. I didn’t understand why my body was changing the way it was, and I hated it. I wanted to cut off all the growth that was happening to my chest, and how I wished and prayed that God would do one of his miracles, and I’d wake up a boy.  Every birthday and Christmas since I was 7 I wished to wake up a boy – and I cried for days when it never happened. As ridiculous as it sound, it’s still something I wish for to this day, I would pray to God for him to change me into a boy, and I hated him every time it never happened. Every time that he forced me to live as something that I hated. For a while I though it was normal – a thing that everyone did, and never talked about, it wasn’t until I stared asking people that I realised it was ‘abnormal’.

 

When I entered into high school, the school tried to put me into classes with bullies from the previous school. My father had things to say with the school, and I was put into another class. During Year 7 I still suffered from bullying, but nothing as bad as I had had before. During Year 8, all the classes were mixed together and new classes made. During this year I met the group of people I would continue to be friends with throughout the rest of my high schooling. Before then I’d never had any friends to speak of – the only ones who I tried being friends with would end up bullying me after ‘they were in’. This friend group were very supportive, and didn’t care how ‘boy-ish’ I was. 3 of them are still friends of mine now – with 2 being counted among my closest friends. The high school I went to had a very strict uniform – girls had to wear dresses and skirts, and boys had to wear shirts and pants/shorts. It was incredibly hard for me to wear the very things I hated. Every day I wanted to go into the kitchen and cut of those horrible chest growths – how I wanted to swap someone from my ‘lower equipment’, for the ones they had.

 

It wasn’t until I was in Year 10 that I’d ever met another transgender person. She was MTF and she was incredibly brilliant. She was doing everything I wanted to do – but was unable to. It wasn’t until I met her that I started to think about whether that was something I’d ever be able to do for myself. In the end I put it into the back of my mind – I though it wasn’t something someone could just do – and living at my mother’s place would make it impossible, either way. The year that I first ‘came out’ to my mother, she re-married to another man. I had not issues with that, but wished that it wasn’t this man. He was extremely anti-LGBT – to the point of talking about ‘killing all the gays to make the world a better place’, and often talked about how transgender people were a sin on the world, and should all be killed and thrown in an unmarked grave. He was also not a very nice person; he would often threaten people with physical violence. Both my mother and him were, and still are Conservative Christian, and believe some insane things. All LGBT is wrong, altering your body in any way (surgery) is wrong; people should die when God tells them to, transgender people are apostles of the Devil, etc.

 

I stayed living in that house up until I was 18. I didn’t want to leave my younger brother alone in that house, I also had my own pet birds, which I wouldn’t be able to take with me, when I left. At 18 years old, I got a bad back injury (3 disks out in my back, crushing nerves), and he told me I deserved everything I got – for not being a good enough daughter, and not wanting to have children. I left that house in December of that year. I moved into my father’s house, as I was unable to work, even walking gave me serious pain, and I was unable to walk with a straight back. I couldn’t deal with everything that happened in that house. A month later my brother moved into my father’s place, as well.

 

During all the time that I lived with my mother – I had the overwhelming urge to often end my own life – living a lie, as this female person, who didn’t belong in this world. It came to a head last year, in March. I was unable to keep function as a person, pretending to be something wrong. It came down to the decision: either do something about it, or cease living in this world. Continuing as I was, I could not see a future for myself lasting longer than 6 months. I decided I had to start telling people, I had to tell someone. After 3 months of deliberation, I decided to tell the person I was closest to – my best friend. If it didn’t go well, there was no foreseeable way I could tell anyone else, and my decision would be clear. I told her everything I had been feeling, how I wanted to be male, and how if nothing was to continue happening, I wouldn’t be able to go on. I was surprised with how well it went – she even told me that she thought I may be transgender. Over the next year I slowly started coming out to friends that I could trust. Eventually it came down to the point of telling my father and his partner, and my mother and her partner. Telling my father and his was an odd experience – they were and are supportive, but to a point – they don’t exactly ‘get it’, and don’t think I’m transgender because I’m not what they ‘think’ transgender should be. My mother and hers were somewhat good in the beginning, but 5 months on they turned nasty, telling me to kill myself, that I’ll always be ‘just a lesbian’, and the likes (many which I won’t, and don’t want to put into words).

 

I have no contact with them; I don’t need to deal with that from family on a daily basis. I’m still hoping that at some point, somehow, they can change their views, or at least my mother and that she can still be a part of my life…

 

I came out to family in New Zealand a month ago, as my mother partner was spreading all kinds of nasty stuff about what was happening with me (he told them I’d killed myself at one point). Everyone but my mother and her partner have been unbelievably supportive, more than I’d ever hoped, having my past dealings with religious people, and the topic. At this point in time, I’ve come out to all friends, and most family. Dad’s family is yet to know (most are in their 70’s + … it’ll happen eventually).

 

I have just recently (as of 8^th August) just finished a Office, Admin and Reception Internship at a company, and may be going into a Veterinary Nursing TAFE Course next year.

 

I currently deal with a lot of depression, it gets at its worst lining up with the menstrual cycle… given the choice I’d have it gone. If I could, right now, I could be turned into the most disgusting, repulsive guy possible, and it’d still be better than what I am now.

 

 

I am wondering if this would also be fine to take along as the biography thing to the Gender Clinic, or is it not dysphoria enough...?