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travellikestardust · 4 years

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So, only a few days ago I finally finished my final year in college. What is an achievement for anyone, was a particularly big deal to me, as not only did I nearly quit countless times, but I barely even thought I’d be alive at this point.

I do feel that my college experience was especially tumultuous, but maybe I am just being self-centered with that mindset. However, the past few days and weeks I have found myself reflecting on the past four years, and to that I felt that the best way to process each individual year would be to write about it.

Before college even began, I experienced one of the most, if not the most, traumatic thing in my life which was watching dad die. Not something I will get into now, if ever, but it’s not something I wish on anyone to see.

That really had a major impact on me and especially on my mental health, which I am still trying to process, nearly four years later. It was a turning point in my life. And in the midst of that, I was finishing the Leaving Cert, waiting on results and desperately not wanting to go to college in September.

As the weeks flew by, I struggled to leave my house without having some sort of a breakdown or panic attack. It was a very dark point in my life, and I really struggled with coping.

From there, I began college, which was by far as easy task for anyone. But bare in mind, I was having panic attacks on a very regular basis, and held back tears for a lot of that first year. I was also incredibly shy, but in saying all that, I did enjoy making our terrible little productions and learning all these new skills.

To help me get by, I began taking anti-depressants, and was seeing my doctor on a regular enough basis. I went to a therapist, I was seeing a psychiatrist on occassion. All of this was to help me get back on my feet. Which to a point, I did, but if we’re being honest, I am still trying to this day to be 100% okay again.

First year of college, I was vulnerable. I was shy. And I was afraid. Even just to send a message in our groupchat was taxing for me. My heart would race and I’d start overthinking every character of the message.

When I think back to that first year, I see a lot of grey. I was unhappy. But I persevered.

My smiling angel.

Towards the end of the year, I somehow managed to convince my mam that we should get a dog. Both of us needed something to brighten our darkness, and I still thoroughly believe it was our greatest decision.

When Emmers entered our life, she was anxious and afraid too. She had a trauma and had gone through a lot in her past year, much like us. It was and still is an absolute treasure to me to see her develop from being so scared and nervous, to becoming this genuine ray of light who licks away the tears when I cry. Or who cuddles into me to cheer me up. Who just wants someone to look after her, play with her, and show her that there’s not just bad out in the world.

I’ll never forget that day that we naively walked into Dog’s Trust’s rehoming centre in Finglas, and didn’t realise that our lives were about to be changed for the better.

As well as as Emmers, I also managed to meet some people who changed my life around aswell. Namely, Amelia and Andrew. Some of the sweetest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and are still my amazingly close friends of this day. So just a lil thank you to them for being so kind and wonderful!

The second year without Dad turned out to be ever more challenging, as I’ve learnt that the first is when your trying to come to terms with what has happened, and the second is when you realise that they’re actually gone. On top of this, my aunt also died and we were pretty damn close. So that hit me very hard.

I hated every second of college. It was as though I had gone backwards ten steps. I was back to not coping at all. Panic attacks, breakdowns, they had all become so part of the routine that I even found my own little spot in the college to cry and be alone. It was the one place I felt I was able to collect my thoughts and breathe again.

That year was definitely the darkest in my life. I felt thoroughly alone. I was anxious, depressed and suicidal. I still don’t understand how I managed to finish college that year. I was ready to drop out so many times. Thankfully, I had an understanding lecturer who was there for me, listened to me and encouraged me to stay.

Of course, I had good days too. I was lucky enough to travel to Amsterdam with my friend, Grace, as well as Brussels with Mam. Grace is the most enjoyable company, its so easy to feel relaxed around her. And then for me and mam, I think we just really need these little breakaways to enjoy eachothers company without the stress or memories around home. Looking back, I think I just needed some excuse to get away from college.

But in saying all that, I do also think a lot of my ‘happiness’ at the time was more so masking than anything else. While first year was grey, second year was pure blackness.

Unfortunately, I ended up to the point where Pieta House was involved. But, they were nothing short of amazing. My therapist there was outstanding and patient and kind. I still have his words ring through my mind when I find myself struggling again. I will never be able to thank him enough for all that he did for me.

Cliffs of Moher

The summer before third year was pretty wild in all fairness. Some of my family came over from Spain, which is probably when I’m at my most content. We went around Ireland, showing them, Glendalough, the Cliff’s of Moher, Galway, Dublin, and everywhere in between.

This summer there was a crazy heatwave and so thankfully for them we were able to show them how beautiful Ireland can be when it’s not covered in rain.

Inbetween travelling the country with them, I was also working four jobs. The local cinema, a promotions company, an online travel company, and as a ghost writer. All of this was to ensure I had enough money to travel for a month across Europe, through Interrail.

Unfortunately, another death of a close family member occurred, but I was determined to not be set backwards again.

We left to go travelling on the 29th of July, and I returned one month later on the 29th of August. What an experience! By far, this was one of the highlights of the past four years. We started in Paris, then went to Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague, Karków, Budapest, Split, and afterwards, I flew to Barcelona to spend a week with the family. It was just amazing. Something I will never forget, and that’s for sure.

By the time I was back in Ireland, third year of college had just rolled around. Although I had struggled so much the year prior, after enough deliberating, I decided to take this new year by the horns and move to the college’s town.

This was a pretty major feat seeing as at least when I was struggling the year prior, I was always able to at least go home and see Emmers. This year however, I was jumping straight into this enviroment. It was scary, especially for me to have so much extra time alone with my thoughts. But ultimately, I feel like it was the right decision.

For the first while, I was even living right around the corner from Amelia, which was amazing! She was a great support system to have so closeby, and I still cherish the evenings spent drinking wine and playing with her beautiful dog until all hours.

On set with Neil and our new friend for our third year music video!

In regards to my own course, I really tried to socialise as much as possible. Third year really sealed my friendship with Neil, who is one of the kindest souls. He was, and still is, my closest friend.

As tough going as I found it, I really did try to socialise as best as I could. And looking back, I do think I did a decent enough job at it. No matter how much I was dying on the inside, I always pushed myself to be more outgoing and personable. I think, in a retrospect, I would have to say that I am quite proud of myself, for persevering.

It was also in third year that I managed to truly reconnect with my best friend from our school days, Caoimhe. That was a comforting experience to bring back the familiarity and ease of our relationship along with the inside jokes that stem back to being fourteen years old again in some class that we didn’t care about, just wanting to have a laugh.

Third year was definitely different the the other two years as I really just wanted to finally experience college and not struggle. And to do that I pretty much decided to ignore my problems, which is probably (definitely!) not healthy, but one way or another, it seemed to work. I even stopped taking my anti-depressants towards the end of the year.

[Sidenote: never do what I did and just stop taking them. I ended up with the world spinning and a constant nausea for weeks as I didn’t wean myself off them. And from what I’ve learnt, they were lucky side effects, apparently it can be a lot worse.]

By the end of third year, I finally felt more at peace. For the first time in a long while.

For the summer before forth year, I mainly worked, but also made sure to spend as much time with my friends as possible.

Of course, to keep things on theme, there was yet another death in the family, which, once again, hit me hard. This time it was my close uncle, who not only looked a lot like dad, but also died of a similar illness just the week before his anniversary. And as it was Spain, in the midst of summer, I wasn’t able to get a flight to say goodbye. That hurt.

Thankfully I was surrounded by wonderful friends. Andrew who came over and brought me flowers the day it happened, and just chilled and watched crap with me while I was sad. Then, Amelia, who went to the effort of getting me a plain balloon and marker and bringing out to somewhere quiet, to let me write one last message to my uncle. Bare in mind, it was even her birthday! I was blessed.

I’m not sure if it was his death or what, but very shortly after it was as though a switch was flicked in my brain and I developed chronic insomnia. What made it even weirder, was the fact that up to this point, I was an incredibly sleepy person, who could have literally slept anywhere, anytime.

This had a major impact on my mental health. Absolutely no sleep for days and weeks on end was rough. I was back to crying and not being able to cope. My doctor ended up prescibing me anti-depressants again, but I couldn’t bring myself to take them. I refused to need them.

I felt particularly bad for Amelia who I ended up going away with at the time. Although it was a wonderful holiday, the lack of sleep meant I was short on energy, and was also tossing and turning throughout the nights, more than likely keeping her up, although she would deny it.

Similarly, I went to Spain at the end of August, and definitely kept my poor cousin up every other night.

Even though I had a lovely end to third year, I found myself stressing about the return to final year. I had moved into a new flat, that I liked quite a bit, and decided to give it a go. My motivation was that if I really wasn’t happy, I would just leave college, once and for all.

While those thoughts were floating through my mind, my grandad also wound up quite sick, and it was pretty not good there for a while. He was eventually put into a home, with the anticipation that he would be made comfortable, and that not much else could be done for him.

Grandad & I around November

BUT my strong lol grandad, made such a recovery! He was put into the home around late September/ early October, and he is still going! He is currently better than ever, being super well looked after in an amazing nursing home.

Now, as far as a year in education goes, it was fairly disasterous. A lecturer that we were supposed to have for two modules was on maternity leave, and her replacement cancelled the first few lectures we were supposed to have, before finally quitting. We never even met her. It was as though this was an omen for what was to come. Every week, we would all hope for a full week, but, ultimately, we were always let down. The first three months ended up having more cancelled classes than actual classes.

By the time we ended up having the lecturer replaced, and finally full weeks of classes, it was just about Christmas.

We broke away for the New Year, with the anticipation of a much improved new semester awaiting us.

As for Christmas break, my friends from school and I decided we were in desperate need of a group holiday, and so we planned a trip to Edinburgh for a few days. This was the loveliest little holiday! Hot chocolate, great food and nearly all of us got a new peircing! (Which, is a blog in itself!).

Now, although this was a wonderful memory, Christmas just gone also meant my best friend moving away, which was heartbreaking.

The group of us organised a surprise meal and drinks for Amelia before she left. But its definitely strange not having her so close by anymore.

When we finally got around to going back to college, it went surprisingly well at first. No cancelled classes, assignments weren’t crazy. All was good.

Until, of course, Covid-19 turned into a pandemic and the world pretty much shut down. But, of course, we all know about that.

As I currently stand, I am surprisingly sad to have finished college, especially in such extraordinary circumstances. I’m also excited to begin this new, hopefully brighter, chapter in my life.

Forth year was most definitely a blink and you miss it kind of experience. It was memorable though. I finally felt as though I was content.

Over the past few years, I have made lasting friendships with spectacular people, however I’ve lost friends some along the way, some are probably for the best, but others I miss dearly.

It’s been quite a journey. As I said at the beginning, I shocked I’m even here. It’s been remarkable.

Memorable for sure.

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College Days So, only a few days ago I finally finished my final year in college. What is an achievement for anyone, was a particularly big deal to me, as not only did I nearly quit countless times, but I barely even thought I'd be alive at this point.

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thepdvblog · 6 years

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Dandelion - Chapter 2: Daffodil Bouquet

Dandelion Directory

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Summary: She gives him a bouquet of daffodils before they drive off, telling him these are his favourite flowers and that he now needs to move on. Isn’t this the meaning of daffodils? I think you once told me that when you picked them as your symbol or something.

Notes: I should precise beforehand this story (just like all my original work) is set in an alternative France where technology and society are more advanced than their IRL counterparts. This is why Florian has access this early to hormone blockers and hormones, when this story is set in anno domini 2003 for the moment.

AO3 version available here.

Finding a name to refer to himself is a life changer. Roxanne calls him “Flo”, Juliette, who is still struggling coming to terms with this but is trying her hardest, calls him insists on “Florian” because she is still not used to it. And yet, she gives him some advice to look more masculine, basing herself off things she has seen among male soccer players: how to make his voice sound lower, how to present as confident and self-assured when he truly isn’t, somehow provides him with brand-new male clothing and underwear he could not have wished for more.

Juliette once told me, when visiting me in this hospital years later, that her mother was a cashier at a local Carrefour, and that she could easily access unsold products that way. Barely legal, but I doubt much of my early transition was condoned by most of societal conventions.

Mrs Flamand tells him, during a session where she finally realizes this has been illegal all along, that she will only give him the green light for the next step once he is an adult in the eyes of the law. This makes Florian realize a few things, starting with what legally being an adult is going to allow him to do. He will finally be able to change his name to the eye of the world, go on what seems to be a dangerous therapy, stop being himself only around Roxanne and Juliette, stop being “Catherine” around the teachers and the classmates who know he is supposed to be a girl.

Florian makes a third friend who does understand who he is, but he is an online buddy. He lives in the south of the country, kilometres upon kilometres away from Colombes, living under the Mediterranean heat, near the Rhône’s delta. Their friendship is unlikely, considering this friend is already in college, yet feels natural: Lilian is trying to understand his little sister, Florian is just trying to get his voice somewhere where he won’t be targeted by the crude remarks of people reminding him, “you looked better when you weren’t pretending to be a boy”.

Yet, anxiety remains in his veins. The more his birthday nears closer, Roxanne swearing to buy him the best she can for this important occasion, Lilian thinking of a thousand ideas for a drawn present, the worst it gets. His dysphoria is rushing him to finally take the goddamn hormones before it threatens the remainder of his mental health, so he focuses on books and flowers to pass the time until it gets better.

He remembers an old thing his eighth-grade Literature teacher said once during a class, that there are birth month flowers just like there are birthstones, albeit there is no universal version of it. Searching in the local library on a free Wednesday afternoon where he does not feel like going back “home”, he finds out his assigned flower would either be a narcissus or a daffodil. The latter resonates so much, once he looks into the symbolism behind it: new beginnings, unrequited love, respect. The daffodil quickly becomes his personal symbol, the flower he likes to draw on science lessons instead of actually listening.

It is every time he goes home from school that he remembers why there is still so much fear inside his heart. He is not afraid of the decision to start HRT: it only feels like the next step on his journey. However, he is terrified of the reactions he will get when he will have to eventually come clean about it, about the fact he is a he and not a she, about how his parents are going to disown him quicker than lightning. Considering their rampant racism and internalized classicism, there is no way they will accept their daughter to actually be a son.

Phrased like that, I almost sound like I’ve once enjoyed being born to them.

Even then, Florian presses on. He has no time to lose worrying about his parents’ reaction when he can spend said time researching where to live in case the worst happens and he gets kicked out from home. He has no real way to gain money until he is out of high school, but he still tries: he applies for holiday jobs for the Easter and summer breaks, he sells some old belongings like most of his female clothes, he still abuses of his parents’ lack of concern and constant arguing to steal a few bucks every week after school. All flats he could possibly get in at the last minute are too expensive for him to afford until his first jobs, so Roxanne finds a solution of him: he can live in an abandoned flat the owner, a man living in Calais named Norbert Leeht, has forgotten he was still paying for.

When she brings him there for the first time, he discovers why someone that guy has forgotten they he was paying for it until it was rented: it is incredibly small, just enough for one person with a ridiculously tiny bathroom and barely any other furniture than a bed that was left there years ago and a small kitchen. It is still much better than he expected to get: at least, he does not have to pay for anything not additional furniture or food.

The premise being this eerily advantageous, Florian looks more into it and into its owner. Norbert Leeht is known online for his abandoned flats people love to occupy illegally when in a pinch, flats he has forgotten he owned and had not rented, too busy counting the amounts of money he gets from villas he actually cares about. In order to receive his mail properly, he decides to make his address Roxanne’s, the easiest option he has considering this flat will never have his name on it.

Furnishing the flat is harder than he wishes it was. He needs to move most of his room’s furniture without being spotted by his parents, for which the ideal time is on Wednesday afternoons where his father is at work and where his mother is out shopping for groceries. Roxanne, Juliette and he always strike around his time and, soon enough, only the bed and a dresser he plans on replacing anyway are out of there. After a while, the flat feels more like home than his supposed house has ever done. Everything is in place for the final revelation.

On March 20th, 2003, a warm Thursday where spring is just around the corner, he decides to let his plans finally play out, hoping for the best like the young and optimistic boy he has been ever since seeing things go forward. His therapist hands him out a strange box after his session of the week. Upon opening it, he sees a small recipient and a syringe. He does not need to read the label on the former to have a smile invade his face and his eyes tear up.

“I figured you’d be mature enough to handle these by yourself, Florian,” she tells him as she looks at the box. “And since I know you’re rather shaky on your finances, I’ve paid you the first dose and the syringe with it. You told me you didn’t mind needles, right? I can provide you with pills if you do.”

His voice catches up in his throat, and even he wants to be a man and not cry, his thankfulness eventually explodes.

“I… Thank you so much, I… I don’t know what to say…”

Dr Flamand then spends some time explaining him how to inject himself, and even if his fingers are shaking around the syringe as if it could break under his touch, it feels like the best piece of news in the latest year. It is finally in his hands, the way to break away from womanhood even more, to provide his body with what he is missing: his facial hair, a lower voice, a better repartition of his body fat.

Of course, he does not go blind into hormone reassignment surgery. He has researched its symptoms, asked high-school science major Juliette if she can clear up things, eventually blesses Lilian for being a medical student in an internship. He knows he will look very… teenage-y for a while, with a lowering voice, potential skin issues, possible hair loss, a risk to get excessive body fat he does not really want. After all, he is wearing a binder to hide his chest, no need for it to get bigger. And yet, he feels more than ready for it, already eyeing the syringe in desire.

I remember being terrified of this decision, when I first found out about HRT and what it was about. I kept asking to the mirror, “What if this isn’t what I am? What’s going to happen to me?”. I have to say, I regret not having started it before, even if I know I had to be mature to handle it correctly.

Everything is set in stone in his eyes when his eighteenth birthday rolls around. It is a time of truth, his moment to come out, to tell everyone “Catherine” is dead, to welcome Florian, the one he has been all along. It is exciting, it is terrifying, like his first rush of injected testosterone, the fear of the needle and the euphoria from the hormone he has craved for years. He already thinks of all the pros and cons of coming out, having studied the matter for the past months and having talked about it with Roxanne and Juliette for days on end. He prepares himself for school, gazes into the mirror wishing for facial hair to come soon, puts on his needed outfit and heads to school, both terrified and ecstatic.

I’d define myself as a careful and prudent man, but it wasn’t the same when I was a boy. It’s difficult to see what discrimination you are about to face when it’s invisible to most people due to how rare this all is.

For the first time ever, Roxanne and Juliette call him out by his real name instead of “Cat” as they are used to around his class. They help the anxious, now tetanized boy to ask his homeroom teacher, the Literature one, if he can make an important announcement. Of course, this makes the old lady be suspicious, but she accepts nonetheless, and he mentally prepares himself to break Catherine’s shell once and for all, never to be seen again, so ready to reject her for the last time and never look back on it. Looking at his entire class, all there for once, taking his proudest stance despite the sheer terror stacking in his throat, he takes one deep breath in, one out, and stares at everyone though his clear, “enticing” irises.

I remember by heart what I said on that day, fifteen years later.

Everyone, listen. It’ll sound weird, I know, but I’ve never been a girl. I’m a boy, a boy in a girl’s body. It’s a rare case, a mental disorder if you want to call it that. Please, even if you don’t believe it…

Don’t call me Catherine.

Call me Florian.

The surprise it drops onto everyone’s shoulders is mind-blowing. Most of them stare at each other, bewildered, and the fear rises inside his chest at an alarming rate. Roxanne is not in his class, and so is Juliette, so he is all alone in a class who barely knows him anyway. Some start to laugh, others seem to remember some sex education lessons provided by Planned Parenthood during their earlier school years, or by that one Biology class from last year, and in the end he is torn between people not taking him seriously and others trying to understand. The teacher stares at him, at loss for words, so she gulps and just politely, almost quietly, tells him “please take your seat again, Ca…” and she stops herself.

Acceptance does not come easily after this announcement. The mockeries start even more, saying he is just “playing pretend” and “a tomboy who takes it too far”. The jokes are common and start almost immediately, but some classmates really show empathy and a will to understand, so it is all fine. Well, the mockery does remind him of the risks he has read about online all that time and how dysphoric they all are, but it is nothing compared to the last straw.

His parents.

For the first time in years, Florian goes up to his parents as he wants to be, rather than what they would have him rather be so they would have no more issues.

It may sound strange to the outside ears, but I was an undesired child. They were just against getting an abortion for me and too uneducated to know they could put me elsewhere, although I have to give them kudos for trying to raise me and always feeding me. I suppose routine and familial allocations helped me being more helpful than they had expected.

In fact, he almost shows it heavily on purpose, binder on, hair freshly cut by Roxanne’s sister Solange, dressed in all dark blues and men’s apparel, in a spirit of provocation and spite he did not think he had before this day and preparing it for it. His heart still tries to break out of his ribcage, smashing itself against the bones in his chest, but he keeps it together and mans up.

The reaction he gets from them as soon as he says “Mom, dad, I’m a boy” is baffling at best. They stare at him, asking him why he is saying that, how it is “just a phase” and how “he’ll see that he’s gonna know he’s a girl soon again”.

What a joke.

Florian arguments back, pulls together all the ideas and explanations he has ever done, while not even hoping to get their approval. It seems counterproductive, he knows how this is all going to play out. He has nothing to lose, so he puts between his parents and him the paper officially diagnosing him with gender dysphoria, another with all the actions he has taken to “fix” the issue. The eyes of his father shoot through his irises, rage burning in that stare, barking following.

“You’re no daughter of mine.”

“And I’m no girl,” he replies.

“Fuck off, get out of here, you fuckin’ crossdressing fuck!”

“I guessed you’d ask me to do just that.”

“Why did you tell us then?!” his mother asks him through tears he can tell are fake, the way to bribe her way out of divorce threats.

“Because I’m no dishonest man. I waited for this day for so long.”

“Fuck off.”

“Farewell.”

Taking the remainder of his bedroom’s things, Florian sets off, leaving nothing behind him but a few unsold girly clothes and a rotting flower which died before seeing spring come back. Roxanne is waiting for him outside, a warm smile and welcoming arms he still loves despite the split-up. Despite how ready he felt he was before, tears come to his eyes and he abandons himself in his best friend’s embrace.

Eighteen-year old me would have liked to know how painful being rejected by your own family can be painful, even if you know the end result isn’t going to be pretty.

Roxanne invites him to come in her car, saying she would drive him back home, putting the last of his belongings into the chest of the vehicle. She lied: minutes later, she tells him she is paying him a good dinner in a not-so-expensive restaurant, “because he deserves only good things when he’s been that brave with this”.

She gives him a bouquet of daffodils before they drive off, telling him these are his favourite flowers and that he now needs to move on. Isn’t this the meaning of daffodils? I think you once told me that when you picked them as your symbol or something.

“Thank you so much” escapes in a sob from his mouth before he takes off his glasses and wipes them with his arms. To all the preparation he has made for this day, and to all the better days to come.

#DCMC #RC #florian moinot #roxanne roturier #juliette soissons #dandelion

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