All About Me

[Guest Mr.Yoav]

I know for a fact that this is going to be long. Just warning you.

So, my life has been riddled with disappointments, forgotten hopes, and lost dreams. I don't know what is it like to be happy for who you are and to actually love yourself, seeing as I never have.

I saw someone else organizing their life story like this, and it worked well, so I am stealing their idea. I hope you don't mind.

Age 0-3: I was a normal little girl. I would wear flower dress and play with dolls. I suppose at that age you really don't have much of a choice.

Age 4-7: I was standing in a field one day. I was raised Catholic, and I believed that God had sent me a sudden message,telling me that I was a boy. I ran inside screaming, and told my mother what had just happened. She told me to stop being stupid and that I was a girl. But I didn't listen to her. I was so convinced that I was a boy. I started to wear boy cloths, and I would steal my brother's stuff, because she would only buy me girl stuff. I remember sneaking around at night, taking the shirts and shorts that my brother didn't wear and putting them in my room. My mother got really angry at me for this. I don't understand why, because sometimes I think it was her fault that I was that way.

Anyway, I was a good Catholic schoolchild, and that meant that I had to wear a dress to school, except in the winter. We could wear pants. My mother used to punish me by making me wear the dress. It was so humiliating that I think she didn't realize what was actually going on. For my first communion, I had to wear a white dress, and I screamed for about an hour and a half beforehand. I couldn't sing at the service. I was clawing at the dress and acting all strangely.

Age 8-10: So, I wanted to play baseball. I tried to sign up once for a boy's league, but I wasn't allowed. I signed up for another league, which was supposed to be all boys, but they let me play. I was so happy. I had so much fun.

Outside from baseball, people would always say to my mom," you have such beautiful boys, or Oh my! What handsome boys". I would always feel proud when people said that. But my brother and mom would say,"Oh, that's my daughter, or that's my sister". It annoyed the crap out of me, because there would be this long awkward silence afterwords, and everyone would stare at me, expecting me to say something. I wanted to scream"I am a boy" but I never said anything. My mother finally bought me boy's clothing, and I started to feel a little happier. She would only do so if we at least looked at the girl's section, but I never wanted anything there. The hardest thing to get her to buy was boy's underwear. I really felt like a boy when I wore them, but to her, that was an extreme sin. I can remember that day perfectly. We were in the Gap, and she just said,"FINE" and pulled some boxers off the rack. I didn't say a word, but inside I was doing cartwheels and laughing and cheering. I really felt like a boy.

She also finally let me cut my hair short, after I gave my self a dreadful haircut once.

Once we were on vacation and I told everyone my name was Ian. They all believed me. It was great. I always created these"Boy identities" for myself, because I so desperatly wanted to be someone I was not and and would never be. I would pray every night that I would wake up a boy. But that never happened, so I lost my faith in God, and actually told my 3rd grade teacher and a priest that I hated God and hoped that he died.

Ages 11-13: I switched to public school. I remember when I walked inside, all of the boys said,"Hey, dude, how's it goin'?" and I talked to them a lot. Everyone thought that I was a normal 10 year old boy. Until my brother told everyone at recess that I was his SISTER. That's such an ugly word to me. It's like a curse word. Everyone stared at me, and I ran off into the bushes. They all acted like I was a freak. They didn't trust me at all, and I became that social outcast that everyone hates. I starting experimenting with self harm in 5th grade. It started out slowly, like burning my fingers in candles and poking myself with knives, but it slowly got more intense, until I was punching doors and hitting my head on pavement. I really wanted to die. I wanted this suffering to be over. I was tired of it. No one understood and they never were. I tried to kill myself so many times in 6th and 7th grade. Not as many in 8th grade. I did some really bad things. I would drink. Not a lot, but I still did.

I became really isolated. I never talked to anyone. I hated everyone. I believed that they were here just to make my life miserable. I hated my teachers because they would always call me "Honey" and "sweetie" and other girly names like that. I was always an A+ kid, and I never let my grades drop, I just focused so much on work. A boy asked me to a dance and I said no. Going to a dance with a boy seemed so wrong that I couldn't do it. I liked girls.

There was a time when I was at a lunch table with boys. We picked out tables,and I wanted to be there. They would tell "boy jokes". I desperately wanted to laugh with them, but this one idiot would always point at me and say "Guys, the girl!" I actually punched him one day, I couldn't take it anymore.

Shaving was a really hard thing for me. I was always rather hairy. So, in 6th grade, I was sitting down and this kid came up to me and said that "Girls are supposed to shave. You're a girl. That's so gross that you don't shave." I told him to go f*** himself, because I didn't care what he thought. I still shave, but only because I have to. It's summer now, so I currently do not.

I just want to say to all of the FTM, if your parents understand you, you are the luckiest person in the world. If the accept you for who you are, and realize that this is not a phase, love them. My mother says she supports gay marriage and see nothing wrong with people like that, but doesn't let her own son, me, who who I was born to be. She doesn't realize the cruel twists of irony in this story.

I actually have more to say.

Thank you all for your warm welcomes! I cannot describe how happy it made me to see that people finally understand. Even if there is an ocean, or mountains, or whatever between us, it is very comforting to know that I can now be completely honest with myself and others, here at least.

While we are enjoying our pizza and cold drinks, I guess I'll share more of my story. Most of this no one has ever heard, so if there is a better place to be posting longer entries, please let me know.

I have all sorts of odd stories about my life. Some are funny, some a serious, and some are just there. I'll share some now.

I often get looked at strangely when I go into public restrooms. I understand people can feel a little uncomfortable with someone who looks like the opposite gender walking in, but I don't know if that gives then the right to grab someone and yell and scream,"Pervert!". This only happened a few weeks ago. I was on vacation in Germany. and my group (all girls) was out wandering around. Some of us needed a restroom, so we walked in the woman's room. I was standing there, about to go into a stall, and this lady came up behind me, and yelled. She grabbed my arms and pushed me out of the room, yelling to whoever would listen that there was a boy in the bathroom and this kid was crazy. I was yelling in German, "Stop, I'm a girl! Stop, this isn't cool!" I was angry that none of my trip mates said or did anything. They just stood there, staring. Does that mean that I have no one to depend on? It happened again in the airport on the way back to Morocco, but not quite so violently.

When we got back to the hotel, I went up to our hotel room. I punched the door so hard that my hands started to bleed, and then I hit my head against the wall. I sort of fell asleep on my bed, and had this bizarre dream where God told me he was punishing me for not having enough faith. This next part is REALLY weird. I have created an imaginary friend, even though I am 14, just because I feel so alone, and he acts a "light in the dark". My own coping device. I suppose he could also be a father figure, which is something I have never had. Regardless, I sort of dreamed that he told me to get up be proud of who I am.

When I got down to dinner, I didn't realize that I had blood all over me and a bruise on my forehead. I made up some stupid story about how I tripped walking upstairs.

I guess the worst thing about this entire story is that my group did nothing to prevent or stop the incident from happening. I don't know if they were in shock, or just didn't care. They never mentioned that it happened. Has this ever happened to anyone else?

When I was a little younger, I was so convinced that no one was like me. I was the only person out there like this. No one would ever understand me, because no one knew what it was like to be me. I remember how I found out about transgenderedness. I was watching Silence of the Lambs, and Billy is transsexual. I thought"Wow! That almost sounds like me!" I googled it, and wow! There are entire communities of transgendered people. I was so happy that there was a NAME for what I am. It makes life so much less scary. I have always believe that it is easier to suffer in a group than alone.

You guys here have made my day so much better.

I am just going to tell my story here, because I need to talk.I need to let it all out.

[Sally]

That's great Mr. Yoav,

Now whenever you have an interesting story that you want to share or just some thoughts about your life, you can put them right here.

Of course, keep putting questions and responses to questions in the appropriate forums but this topic is yours!

All about your life and others will read it and leave comments and you can answer and add to it - it's yours.

Love ya,

Sally

[Guest Deeedoo]

I hope things are getting better for you now. My mom used to force me to shave my hairy legs, and it made me very sad, but she finally decided that I was old enough to make my own decisions. Your story makes me angry sometimes, but I was very happy when your mom gave you male underwear. Good luck with the rest of your life.

[Guest NicolaiAE]

There is nothing weird about you having an imaginary friend...I'm 16 almost 17 and I've still have one as a coping divice too.

It feels good to have someone to let all your problems out to and it does help...my mom heard me talking to "him" and started searching my room for someone that wasn't there....

anyways...enough about me...Welcome to the Playground, Mr.Yoav.

I know things are tough now but keep in touch with the kind people here and we can help you through it.

Remember....It's always darkest before dawn.

-Nicolai

[Guest Mr.Yoav]

Haha, my mother was like, "Why are you talking out loud? No one is down here." (my room is the basement)

I wanted to laugh. I guess that I was so desperate for a release of anger, that I created this guy.

I think one of the hardest things about being transgendered is Christmas/Hanukkah time. I come from a multi-religious family, so that's what we celebrate. You get gifts for both of the holidays. And what do most people think little girls want? Dolls. Makeup. Flower shirts. Pink paint for their rooms. And what do little boys want? Trucks. Fake tools. Models. And what was I? A little "girl". And what did I want? Trucks and tools.

We always went to visit relatives in California and everyone would always try to dress me up. I hated it with a burning passion. My grandmother has a grapefruit orchard, and I would take to hiding in that. No one would ever find me there. I made "friends" with all the animals there. It was so much fun, being outside in the desert, alone, in the grapefruit trees. I was happy. The greatest thing was that I could spy on people, and watch them try to find me. I would move around. It was like playing a giant game of hide and seek. But only I was actually playing.

Christmas and Hanukkah are supposed to be happy times. Celebrating a birthday and a great miracle. Nes Gadol Hiya Sham- A great miracle happened there- that's the message on a dreidel. But they were times of such misery. Getting gifts that I didn't want. Stealing other people's gifts. I would always try to leave all my presents at the house when we left, because I simply didn't WANT them. I felt bad that people wasted their money on me, but I couldn't accept the gifts. It was too had. I was always getting in trouble. I think the first time I ever burned myself was when we were lighting the Menorah a few years ago. I took the Shamash- the candle used to light the other candles, and burned my finger, pretending it was a candle.

I'm glad that my family isn't religious at all anymore. I don't believe in God, that's just my personal preference. I don't mind if others do, but nothing is going to change my stance. My grandpa, who passed away recently, was a really intelligent guy. He was Jewish, and he knew so much about history and being happy. He was a simple man, but so interesting to listen to. I really miss him.