#my mother insisted on me explaining my dysphoria to her in the beginning and she tried so hard to relate to it

[zapsoda]

i know im like predisposed to mental health issues. and this is entirely my own hubris. but i just cant imagine myself getting post op depression after top surgery

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Colin Wright

Published: Feb 6, 2024

This morning, The Free Press published a testimony from yet another gender medicine whistleblower, Tamara Pietzke, who described the medical malpractice she witnessed firsthand at a MultiCare hospital in Washington state. Although observing the harsh realities and ethical concerns posed by gender ideology for the past five years has somewhat callused my emotions on this issue, reading Pietzke’s personal account was utterly shocking.

Pietzke shares stories of three patients that led her to question the ethics of “gender-affirming care” for minors expressing distress over their “gender.”

The first case involved a 13-year-old girl with a profoundly troubling history, described by Pietzke as “one of the most extreme and heartbreaking life stories I’ve ever heard.” The girl suffered from a history of severe abuse by her mother, multiple sexual assaults, and was diagnosed with “depression, PTSD, anxiety, intermittent explosive disorder, and autism.” During their initial meeting, the girl showed Pietzke “extremely sadistic and graphic pornographic videos on her phone.” She also explained her tendency to mentally “age regress” to that of a little girl and watch Teletubbies while “sucking on pacifiers.” She had also been expelled from school for threatening to blow it up. Despite all this, the girl’s guardian sought a recommendation letter from Pietzke for the girl to start testosterone treatment.

After expressing her serious concerns about the advisability of medically transitioning this mentally distressed girl, Pietzke’s program manager insisted that her traumatic history should not prevent her from beginning her hormonal transition. Subsequently, the girl was quickly transferred from Pietzke’s care to a new “gender-affirming” therapist.

Another case involved a troubled 16-year-old girl, recently identifying with “they/he” pronouns and seeking testosterone. Three years later, she claimed to have a “xenogender,” identifying as a “wounded male dog.” Pietzke’s colleagues suggested this wasn’t anything to be concerned about.

The last patient, a female who transitioned at 17, sought relief for her Tourette syndrome, depression, anxiety, and gender dysphoria. Despite now having facial hair and a permanently deepened voice, her mental health issues remain.

It is obvious to most of us what an abhorrent medical scandal all of this is. These children have severe mental issues likely resulting from extreme childhood traumas, yet because they have uttered the word “gender,” all of their problems are suddenly attributed to a singular cause—gender dysphoria. And the only proposed solution is to permanently alter their healthy bodies with hormones and surgeries.

While all of this is unequivocally insane, Pietzke recounts a moment that both resonated with and enraged me. After encountering “gender-affirming care” in practice, she grew concerned. Being the diligent healthcare worker that she is, Pietzke sought to expand her knowledge on the subject by researching gender-affirming care online. Like any honest truth-seeker on this topic, she was “horrified” by what she discovered.

She learned that puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones are not FDA-approved for treating gender dysphoria and learned about their numerous side effects. She learned about the absence of good evidence supporting the psychological benefits of hormone treatments. She learned of the link between gender dysphoria and factors such as autism, mental health issues, trauma, and abuse. She learned that gender dysphoria is influenced by social contagion. She also learned about European countries that have either banned or imposed restrictions on medical transitions for minors after conducting systematic reviews of the evidence.

Confronted with these startling findings, Pietzke decided to raise a question during a mandatory online training session on gender-affirming care.

When the leader of the training brought up hormone treatments, I shakily tapped the unmute button on Zoom and asked why 70 to 80 percent of female adolescents diagnosed with gender dysphoria have prior mental health diagnoses. She flashed a look of disgust as she warned me against spreading “misinformation on trans kids.” Soon the chat box started blowing up with comments directed at me. One colleague stated it was not “appropriate to bring politics into this” and another wrote that I was “demonstrating a hostility toward trans folks which is [a] direct violation of the Hippocratic Oath,” and recommended I “seek additional support and information so as not to harm trans clients.” As soon as I closed my laptop, I burst into tears. I care so deeply about my clients that even thinking about this now makes me cry. I couldn’t understand how my colleagues, who are supposed to be my teammates, could be so quick to villainize me. I also wondered if maybe my colleagues were right, and if I had gone insane. [my emphasis]

This resonated deeply with me because it mirrored the treatment I received from most of my former friends, colleagues, and acquaintances when I began to ask very calm and clear questions about the “sex spectrum” and other concepts related to gender ideology that made no sense to me. Before I ever wrote publicly on this topic, I privately tormented over it for nearly two years, very seriously questioning whether I had lost my mind.

I’ve known people who had episodes where they’d burst into fits of rage and shout venomous insults at friends and family. But the next day, when confronted about those outbursts, appear confused and deny any recollection of their actions. Was I now that person? Was I having similar psychotic outbursts followed by amnesia? I asked myself these questions earnestly, because only something like that seemed to have the power to explain the negative treatment I was suddenly receiving from those around me. I couldn’t rule out my own insanity, and Occam’s Razor seemed to suggest that it was much more likely that I was the sole crazy one instead of everyone else.

It took considerable time for me to convince myself I was totally sane, but I thankfully got there.

The most profoundly sinister aspect of this cult ideology, aside from the practice of “gender-affirming care” itself, is its ability to drive even the most rational and principled among us to the mental brink of questioning our own sanity. It will require more whistleblowers like Tamara Pietzke and Jamie Reed to jolt people’s consciences awake, but fortunately, once someone confronts the reality of gender ideology honestly, they cannot turn away.

That’s because we’re the sane ones.

[our-happygirl500-fan]

You mentioned Kichi’s parental issues... Could you expand upon that, even if it is just headcanon?

Well there’s the general headcanon of abuse but my idea for Kokichi’s backstory isn’t actually my own but from a fic I read on AO3, I can’t remember the name of it, I think it might have literally been called Dysphoria or something similar and not a lot of people read it and the author took it down like a month after finishing it because it touched upon some really sensitive and frankly uncomfortable stuff and I had only clicked on the story because the notes made an Umineko reference but the story despite its content was actually really well written and always kind of stuck with me. It’s very much like a WoH backstory and considering I always felt a similarity to Kotoko and Kokichi it kind of just stuck in my head.

I’ll put a read more, to sum up, what I remember of the story but tw for mentions or, rape, abuse, suicide attempts, and gender identity and confusion.

So the story was actually really well written and is from Kokichi’s POV from childhood to his time in the killing game to death and there is this reveal where you learn about Koharu along with Kokichi though I’m not sure if it counts as a big reveal because there are a lot of hints in the bits leading up to it but I’m not entirely sure how to do that with a summary.

The story kind of starts out from a woman’s point of view where she married an older man straight out of high school living in a small house, the man is abusive and often drinks but the woman has convinced herself that he loves her and their three-year-old daughter. She’s at the park trying to keep the other park patrons from noticing her daughters bruises worrying that her daughter will make trouble for her husband; she then notices another child with bruises, a boy who other mothers coo at and make comments about how boys always get up to mischief and roughhouse. The mother seems to have a realization and when she goes home she throws out all her daughters dresses and cuts the child's hair.

The story then jumps to a six to seven year old Kokichi’s POV where he’s making up some kind of story about a black eye that he has the other kids in his class ignore him a tell him that no one believes his lies anymore, a teacher who is implied to be new at the school later asks him if everything is alright at home and Kokichi remembers people coming by the house to check on his parents which led to his parents yelling and hitting each other and him so he starts spewing nonsense and annoying the teacher until the teacher doesn’t want to talk to him anymore.

Then there are a couple of scenes about Kokichi avoiding home and some thoughts about his parents, he wonders why his mother tries so hard to lie to everyone to pretend they’re a normal family and then wonders if none of the families are normal and everyone is just lying. 

When he finally does get home his mother is at work and his father is drunk, things get slightly violent and then there is what is very much implied to be a rape scene.

Later Kokichi tries to tell his mother what happened and his mother suddenly goes very quiet and calls him a liar, the mother gets more and more hysterical and starts hitting and beating Kokichi until he passes out calling him a liar the entire time.

He later wakes up with him mother repeatedly dunking his head into ice water so that his face doesn’t bruise telling him that they’ll all call her a bad mother if he goes into school like that. Later there is another implied rape scene and afterward, Kokichi decides not to tell his mother.

The story jumps to Kokichi being 8 or 9 in the middle of what is implied to be another rape scene by Kokichi’s father only for his mother to walk in and get into a fight with the father over what she saw, things get violent and the father ends up accidentally killing the mother right in front of Kokichi. The father horrified at what he’s done runs out of the house in a panic leaving Kokichi frozen in shock still on the bed staring at his mother’s corpse.

A neighbor walks into the house when she notices the front door left open and screams at the sight of the dead woman and child naked on the bed.

Police get involved and take Kokichi into custody and he has to explain while still implied to be in shock what happened, the police start calling social services and Kokichi hears two officers angrily talking about Kokichi’s dead disgusted that he raped his daughter and murdered his wife, the first part confuses Kokichi. Hospital scenes are then described with social services uncovering all the abuse and x-raying all the parts of his body. One of the doctors calls him a brave girl and Kokichi corrects him saying he’s a boy and the doctor suddenly goes quiet.

An investigation reveals Kokichi’s mother’s diary where she decided to raise her daughter as a boy because bruises are less noticeable on a boy and even expected than they are on a girl, some social workers try to explain this to Kokichi and even show him his birth certificate that says Koharu Ouma instead of Kokichi Ouma like he expected but it’s shown that he can’t really comprehend what they’re saying and thinks they’re lying.

They catch Kokichi’s father and he’s put on trial, Kokichi’s father insists repeatedly that he did not kill the mother and Kokichi notes the obvious lie because he saw it happen, Kokichi is brought in as a witness and describes what happens only for his father to angrily interrupt him and call him a liar. Kokichi is removed from the courtroom because he’s getting upset but he hears his father still yelling saying Kokichi is lying even as he’s led through the halls of the courthouse. Later Kokichi is told that his father committed suicide in his cell.

Kokichi ends up at what is implied to be Maki’s orphanage where he’s suddenly forced to wear girls clothes, placed in the girl groups and called Koharu. Kokichi tries to explain that he’s a boy and his name is Kokichi but every time he does the adults give him pitying looks and explain that he’s a girl and his name is Koharu. One of the older girls is put in charge of him and she grows very attached and possessive of him, she tells him about her best friend implied to be Maki who used to be so good at taking care of all the kids but left the orphanage suddenly one day. It’s shown that she misses Maki a lot and Kokichi literally thinks that she’s trying to use him to fill the hole that Maki left. Time passes and Kokichi’s hair grows longer and he starts looking like a girl. The girl who takes care of him will often do his hair and dress him up in dresses and tell him what a pretty girl he’s growing up to be and he will internally think that he’s a boy.

By age 11 Kokichi has started to comprehend what his parents did and starts thinking about how his identity as Kokichi is a lie but being Koharu feels more like a lie to him than being Kokichi and he mourns the fact that the truth feels like a lie and the lie feels like the truth. He walks to a bridge in the rain and contemplates jumping and ending it all, the girl who takes care of him suddenly appears and stops him but she ends up losing her footing and falling instead. She ends up drowning and the caretakers at the orphanage think that they were playing around and it was an accident but that she ended up saving Kokichi. Kokichi is horrified that his actions caused a death and feels no better than his father. Later Kokichi steals a pair of scissors and some boys clothes cuts his hair and runs away from the orphanage.

Kokichi lives on the streets for a while and ends up meeting another slightly older boy with hair covering one of his eyes who is working on something to earn food and cash. Kokichi wants in but the other boy looks at him doubtfully and says that a kid wouldn’t really help him Kokichi decides to lie about his age and say that he’s 13 instead of 11 to be taken more seriously. The two boys introduce themselves to each other and Kokichi uses the name Kokichi Ouma for the first time in a long time.

It then goes on about Kokichi picking up more people who are described to be the future members of DICE and Kokichi notes that he’s making his own family, one his mother would never have approved of but a family no less. He then notices that his chest is growing and panics not wanting DICE to ‘know about Koharu’ he starts skipping lunch and binding his chest, he doesn’t miss the meal since he couldn’t taste it anyway. Kokichi then panics again when he gets his first period, he then reads that anorexia can stop girls from receiving periods and he stops eating dinner. He deals with the hunger pains by drinking liquids his favorite being carbonated drinks like panta. He starts wearing white to ‘play the game on hard mode’ to put more pressure on him to stop his periods because if blood appears on white clothes he won’t be able to hide it. DICE member notice Kokichi is eating less but they think he’s reorganizing food to give them more to eat and note that their leader cares more about them than his own health Kokichi lets them think that and feels guilty for lying to the people he cares about and he begins thinking that any admiration they have for him is based on his lies to ‘keep Koharu a secret’.

He feels like a terrible person for lying to the people he’s close to and then starts thinking he must be a terrible person because of all the shit that life has thrown at him and it must have all been because he deserved it and this causes him to start thinking of himself in a more villain like persona.

Then the killing game starts and that goes about the same as most fics describe, he actually likes Tenko calling him a degenerate male. He has complicated feelings about his attraction to guys and whether that means he’s really Koharu or Kokichi but decides to lean into it sort of like a whole ‘I’m so comfortable in my own masculinity I can flirt with guys’ but that means he slightly overdoes it. He feels slightly uncomfortable if not angry at Momota and his idea’s of masculinity. He recognizes Maki as the girl who left the orphanage and a lot of the anger he directs at her stems from his own guilt over the death he feels he caused.

The hanger happens and Kokichi takes off his shirt and Kaito notices his bindings but doesn’t seem to know what they mean, instead asking Kokichi if he’s hurt or something. Kokichi waves off Kaito’s concern but is releaved that he’ll die as Kokichi Ouma instead of Koharu Ouma.

He says his final speech to Kaito on the fact that he’ll do anything to end the killing game and says ‘I had to lie to myself to keep myself sane’ and there’s a flashback of Kokichi’s mother calling him a liar for telling her that his father raped him, ‘I had to lie to myself to stay alive’ and there’s a flashback to him lying to teachers asking if things were alright at home and his parents arguments. 

He then finishes his speech and watches the press lower, he wonders what would happen if the first lie the lie that he was Kokichi Ouma had never been told and wonders what he would have been like if he had been raised as Koharu and if he would have been an honest person that anyone could like and get along with, he then decides it doesn’t matter because even if it was a lie being Kokichi Ouma was who he was and he was a liar afterall and it makes sense that his existence was a lie in and of itself.

I did a really poor job describing the fic because it was seriously well written and it’s deleted now so this is only from memory it was really emotional and I’m crying just remembering it but I really liked it so part of me always feels like this is Kokichi’s backstory. I also like the idea that he’s so thin because he’s deliberatley starving himself and the idea that he lied about his age and is tecnically younger than everyone.

[thepdvblog]

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.

[iamabitconfused]

“We can’t be friends anymore.”

    “What?”

    Standing on your porch and having to say this is single handedly the hardest thing that she has ever had to do.

    “_____, what happened?” You ask again, reaching out for her arm.

    She flinches and you let your hand drop. She is holding herself as if she is going to fall apart. She shakes her head repeatedly.

    “I can’t do this anymore, _____,” She chokes out. “I need to breathe. I just can’t do this.”

    “_____, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, come inside. We can work this out.”

    “No!” She shouts, stepping near the steps leading off of your porch. “I can’t breathe when I am near you. Wanting more than this is killing me. Removing you from the equation will make everything hurt less.” She chokes and tears start running down her bright red face.

    “_____…” You start.

    “Stop,” She interrupts. “Just… stop.”

    She runs away from you, into the street and towards her house. You stand on your porch for a couple of minutes, confused.

    •~•

    It doesn’t hit you until the next morning when you check your phone while brushing your teeth. No missed calls, asking if you need a ride, or short texts saying good morning from her. You put your toothbrush down and rinse your mouth with cold water. When you leave the bathroom and walk back into the dark hall, you head to your bedroom, your hand on the wall for support. When you enter your room, you don’t approach your dresser to get dressed for the day. Instead, you climb into your bed and submerge into the warmth of your blankets and begin to sob.

    You didn’t move for six days.

Three Months Later

    You’re still not over what happened. You still can’t help but check your texts and your Snapchat every morning when you wake up, and then again before you go to bed. You still can’t help but feel your heart pull when you see that she still hasn’t reached out to you in any way. You had grown so used to the regular check ins after all of the years that she had known you. You wish that you had appreciated them more before she left.

    You see her in the hallways still, even though she changed her route. You used to walk her to some of her classes, and she would walk you to the others. Those seven minute breaks between classes would be filled with laughter as you made fun of her for knowing so many people, and she would tease you about your ridiculous stories. Now your breaks are full of silence.

    Your mutual friends still talked to both of you. They inform you that she doesn’t engage in conversations if they revolve around you, not like she used to. They know more about why she left. They want you to figure it out by yourself and then try to help her. You have been trying to think about it, and work it out, but nothing clicks. It just doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore. You lost your best friend.

    Today you are sat in your bed, going through your Albums on Google Photos. You come across one from three years ago, and you click on it. The first few pictures are from theatre, but you found a picture from the first day you met her. Your eyes water as you stare at it. It wasn’t anything special, just a picture of her and a mutual friend, and she asked if you would take their picture. A picture of them in matching flannels. You check the date. October 18, 2017. You smile softly and keep scrolling. As the weeks wear on, you see more and more pictures of her. After you moved into her neighborhood, you two became inseparable. Even her parents thought that you two were dating for a while.

The first picture of her ever taken at your house was just her making grilled cheese in your kitchen. She had insisted that she had to make your family dinner in order to impress them. She was obsessed with first impressions. That never wore off. She had some family secret that made the sandwiches taste incredible, and she really hit it off with your family. She was always the more charming one, the diplomat. Your parents still ask when she is going to come back to feed them, and your siblings ask when she is coming over to play with them. She had done these things consistently for three years, coming in while you were at rehearsal and making dinner or playing with the kids so that your parents could have a break. Seeing her assimilate so easily into your home made you feel something indescribable, and you miss it. You just smile and tell them that you will make sure to ask, but you never do. You just want them to stop asking.

You go through the pictures of her and you during the countless number of sleepovers throughout the years, including the secret ones where you sneaked into each other’s houses. You fell apart at the pictures where you and your friends would skip classes together. You’d sneak pictures of her buying everyone food and drinks at the donut shop. She loved you guys so much. She would always say that the mom had to take care of the “young ones,” which always made you laugh because she was a year younger than you but held herself like she was so much older. Not in a condescending way, but in a thoughtful way. She was so much more put together than everyone else, having a steady job by the age of fifteen. She was a stable person to be around, even in her darkest times.

You are about to turn off your phone when you come across a video of yourself. It was when she stole your phone while you were making tater tots and listening to All Star. You press play.

There you are, dancing like an idiot and singing. In the background you can hear her laughing and telling you to stop. Video you keeps dancing until you see that she is recording you. You grab your phone and turn it so that the camera is facing her. Present day you smiles when you see her perched on her usual spot on your counter.

Her hair was in a bun, because she hated how curly it was that day. She was wearing dark skinny jeans and an oversized pink jumper, and she used the sleeves of it to make sweater paws, which she was hiding behind. She hated pictures/videos of herself. Video you steps between her slightly open legs and starts to laugh as you zoom in on her face. She moves her hand to push you and the look on her face makes you pause the video.

It clicks.

Her red face. Her twinkling eyes. Her wide smile and gentle shove.

You realize how big of an idiot you are. You put your shoes on and run upstairs.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Your step mother asks, surprised at your sudden enthusiasm.

“_____’s house, I’ll be back soon,” You explain, shoving your arms through a jacket.

“Alright then,” she mutters as you run out of your house.

You race down your street, praying that she is home.

The hand holding. The kisses on the head. Constantly defending you. The “I love yous.” They were all real. The need to be a part of your family. The family you both made with your friends. How she held you when you couldn’t stand looking at yourself. The tea and sandwiches when the body dysphoria kicked in. God, you feel so stupid. You knock on her door about eight times and then wait, breathing heavily.

She answers the door, her head peeking out slightly. Thank God she answers the door. She looks scared and confused when she sees you. Her hair is in a messy bun, and she is still in her short pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You smile and laugh.

“_____, I am so sorry,” You say. “I am so stupid and oblivious and I’m sorry.”

She stares at you, still confused, so you go on.

“The past three months have been hell. I miss your laugh. I miss your cooking. I miss your stories. I miss how you fit into my family and how you try to keep us together by having an impromptu family dinner when I feel like we are falling apart. I miss your energy and your spontaneous adventures. I miss my rock and my confidant. Damn it, _____, I just miss you.” You breathe, and pause to give her a chance to respond.

“Why?” She says softly. “Why do you try to come back and fight for me now?”

“Because,” you say, stepping towards her hesitantly. “I finally get it. Why you left.”

    Her shoulders tense, and it is all confirmed. You were right.

    “_____,” You whisper. “Do you love me?”

    Her breath catches in her throat and you take another step towards her, confidently this time.

    “_____…” You whisper again, putting your hand on her upper arm.

    Tears start to roll down her face. She squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head. You pull the slightly taller girl into you and she puts her face into your neck and inhales shakily through her nose. You feel her smile softly.

    “You still smell good,” She says. That’s when she starts to sob violently.

    She almost falls, but you hold on to her and she wraps her arms around your waist and squeeze you tightly. You can feel her whole body shake, so you ease her onto the floor of her porch, not letting go. You coarse your fingers through her hair and start to whisper words of encouragement into her hair.

    “Shh, it’s okay. Just breathe. I’m not going anywhere.”

    After an hour or so her breathing begins to even out. You lift her head up to face you and wipe the wetness off her cheeks and neck.

    “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” She whispers, her voice hoarse.

    You shake your head slowly. “No, I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner.”

    Sh stays silent for a moment. “It can never go back to what it was, can it?”

    She won’t look at you in the eye as you think about it.

    “I really, really hope that it doesn’t,” You respond slowly.

    Her head snaps up. “What? Why not?”

You contemplate this for a second. “Because before, we couldn’t do this.”

    You lean your head down and bring your lips to her softly. She gasps and sits up quickly.

    “What was that?” She asked quickly.

    “I kissed you.”

    “Why?”

    “Because I wanted to.”

    Her lips tighten, and she stares at you with a fire in her eyes that you want to be engulfed in. She puts her hands to your cheeks to test the water, and leans in to kiss you again, a little bit harder this time, and it lingers for a moment.

    She looks into your eyes, questioning, calculating.

    “I have wanted this since I was a Freshman, so you better not be screwing with me or I swear to God I will kill you.” She says passionately.

    You laugh and kiss her, running your left hand through her hair that has fallen out of the bun, and resting the other one on her waist. She sighs into the kiss and wraps her hands around your shoulders. You two stay like that for a moment before you pull away.

    “I’m not THAT stupid.”

(PSA: yes they are)