Turns out I'm not a boy.

Well, after seven months of believing myself to be male at heart, I have finally been disillusioned. See, I'm not comfortable anymore being called "he" or "Matthias" or wearing a chest binder. Believe me, I'm aware that I've fucked up big time. I'm still a very masculine person, but I'm content now with simply being a butch lesbian.

This is going to get TMI and probably uncomfortable for everyone real fast, so be thankful that I warned you now. I think I started piecing everything together when I saw some guys on Tumblr ranting about their periods and how dysphoric and horrible they are for them. Oh, I hate periods too, and can't wait to get something to get rid of them. But they're merely a nuisance, and I only detest them for the cramps and migraines. They don't invalidate my identity or anything. And, let's face it, they're kinda gross as well, but I'm not like super repulsed by them like so many trans guys seem to be.

Plus, I love my figure, or at least I loved the way I looked before I started putting on weight (weight that will probably more or less come off now that I no longer want a pudgy stomach). When I do my hair right*, I think I look sexy. Presenting as male, I look like a teenaged asshole. And yeah, I may be a teenaged asshole, but I want people to come to that conclusion through actually talking to me, not through being subjected to my appearance. I put on women's jeans today and I looked fabulous. That's who I want to be. I can still wear polos and ridiculously large khaki shorts, yet enjoy the occasional dress. It ain't the end of the world.

You might also be wondering why I identify now as a lesbian rather than pansexual. I think of myself as a Kinsey Scale 5, aesthetically and sexually attracted to all genders but only romantically attracted to women. I could see myself hooking up with men, but my game plan for a long while now has been to settle down with the woman of my dreams. Each time I've really fallen for someone, she's been a woman; I think there are hot men out there, but I'm just not interested in dating them.

And let's face it, I'm a hormonal teenager, I desperately want a girlfriend, and I figure that's much more attainable as a heavily masculine girl.

In terms of the future, I think it'll also be much, much easier to achieve what I need to as a woman than a trans guy. That's not to say that any of this is a conscious choice, because it's not - I'm just posting all of this in order to better justify it (the choice to live as female again) to myself.

I'm still going to go by the name Matt, because Madeleine (given name) is still far too feminine for my tastes. Hopefully this doesn't fuck with y'all too much. Thanks for reading!

-Matt

* - because in all honesty, I look like a huge dork if I let my hair be.

The Future and Not Knowing

I enjoy being prepared. I overpack for everything, from regular days at school to field trips to family vacations. (Consequently, I've become quite good at carrying heavy loads, but that's beside the point.) I do my very best to meticulously plan every little aspect of my life, years before it could possibly be relevant. Sometimes these plans make my life a little bit easier; sometimes I fixate over them for days on end and they just wind up frustrating me. There are questions that I need to answer in order to plan accordingly, yet can't just yet. Below are those questions and my current thoughts on them.

Do I want a life partner? I used to think absolutely yes, for it'd be wonderful to always have someone there for me. But then I began to question who on earth would have me. I'm bossy, temperamental, and independent. I have never had a friend that I haven't argued all the time with. I'm also a self-proclaimed misanthrope. I don't generally get along with people that have even slightly different political ideologies, and it'd be impossible for me to simply ignore that person's views because politics is such a big part of my life. Then there's sex. Am I ever going to reach the point where I'm comfortable enough with my body to partake in it? Ugh, who knows.

Do I want children? I've gone back and forth on this one countless times. On the one hand, children are adorable, and I'd like to be able to teach someone about the ways of the world. But on the other hand, I think I'd make a lousy parent. Between the anger issues, staunch views, and cursing (because I honestly swear upwards of a hundred times a day), I think I'd find a way to fuck them up pretty early on. I don't think I'd be able to say no to the small things (extra dessert, blowing off chores, etc) but say no way too much to the important things, like playing with them. I'm fairly career-focused, which could easily mean lots of business trips. Though all in all, my greatest fear would be that they turn into me: reclusive and reliant on the internet for their education. I wouldn't want to be a helicopter parent, because I know how obnoxious those can be, but I wouldn't know how much independence is enough. I was left alone in my room for much of my childhood, and as a result, was watching porn and reading smut at age nine, among other things. Basically, I was fucking miserable, and no one noticed anything wrong until I was thirteen. I also wouldn't want to have to tell them about how fucking horrible the world is and don't want them to inherit such a screwed up planet! If I had a white boy, he'd grow up privileged and horrible unless I found a way to put my foot down. It'd also be hard to get them in the first place. I know that this is basically incoherent, so the TL;DR is that I'm a jerk unfit to raise children anyway.

What the hell is my gender? I don't know. I'm certain that I'm not a cis girl, but I don't know if I'm a trans guy or something else. I *think* I'm non-binary leaning male, so transmasculine, but I'm not sure. It's confusing as hell and I hate not knowing, but I suppose I'll have to live with it for now.

What am I doing here? I used to want to pursue the most lucrative career possible (which in the US is a doctor, specifically an anesthesiologist), then realized that wouldn't bring me anything except money. That led me to wanting to join MSF, which is why I'm studying French now, despite losing interest in the job. Then I wanted to be a bureaucrat, because I figured that was the best way for me to help people. Debating and writing are both in my nature, so I thought it'd be easy enough. However, the government shut down and disillusioned me shortly thereafter. Now I'm fairly set on working for the UN, but I could see myself working for a non-profit of some sort. I just want to improve lives without developing the white savior mindset.

Where will I go? Canada was my ultimate goal for a long time because I think the US is so fundamentally fucked up that it'll take a revolution to change anything. But Canada is...small, at least politically. I was interested in living in New York City or Boston for a while, but I just don't know that they'd be right. Now, I'm pretty sure I'll wind up in either Oregon, Washington, or the SF Bay Area, but that could very well change in the next five years. The one thing I do know is that there's no way in hell that I'll remain in the South. The sheer thought of staying here makes me feel down.

How long do I have left? I've gotta plan around this, but I don't know. I figure that if I become any sort of public figure, I haven't got a shot at lasting past 50, and I'm honestly okay with that. It just means that I have to motivate now and get shit done while I can. Without appropriate treatment for my problems, I'll probably be dead by 30, but I doubt it'll come to that. However, my habits'll probably leave me deaf (or at the least hard of hearing) soon enough. With an average life, I think I'd survive to 70, which is a decent lifespan. Eh, whatever, only time will tell what happens.

Well, here goes.

I managed to go nine whole days at school without blowing up. That's pretty damn good given my track record! I've been called [given name] more times than I can remember as well as generally disrespected, but I deal with it. I am a pretty awesome creature, if I do say so myself. And I know that doesn't sound very modest at all, but please know that it wasn't always that way. I am proud to love myself, because I used to hate me. I'll leave it at that as I'll probably make an entire post on the subject at some point in the future, but just know that I'm not being obnoxious.

But anyway, back on topic, I lost it yesterday. We had to create "identity webs" in English with four intrinsic parts of us. Mine were as follows: liberal, queer, pessimist, and scholar. The idea was that someone else in the class would have to interview you based on your web. Well...I got paired with the only other kid in the class with my given name, which everyone immediately pointed out. She even read the slip of paper (which I put my *chosen* name on!) as given name, to the whole fucking class. So I said "fuck it," literally, and didn't say anything but that for two minutes on end. (Mind you, I said it once everyone had paired up - the teacher, to my knowledge, did not hear this.) That was just *so* fucking irritating. I also had to explain queerness to this kid, who just didn't get it the first several times through. The teacher did ask me after class if I went by [given name], which was polite enough of her, and I responded as nicely as I possibly could that I really preferred to be called Matt. The teachers are being very good about this overall - one's slipped up a few times and called me "ma'am," but immediately apologized and used "sir" instead. Another just studiously avoids using pronouns - other kids are "yes, ma'am?" and "yes, sir?", well, I'm "yes, Matt?" Works for me, though I think he'll come around.

and...the counselor called my dad last Friday to inform him that I was going by Matt at school. Sitting in his office as he made the call, well, it was the most nerve wracking situation of my life thus far. He (my dad) made it seem over the phone like everything was alright, that he just wanted me to be happy, blah blah blah. That lying bastard – as soon as I got home, I got subjected to the "well I didn't figure myself out until my twenties, there's really no need for labels" speech yet again. This happens whenever I try to have a meaningful discussion with him. He acted all resentful and whatnot, so I promptly fell asleep and stayed asleep till Saturday. Hey, it's a real easy way to get out of talking to someone after a long week.

Yesterday, I walked a mile and a half to CVS when I got home, bought a Visa gift card, and promptly spent it on a new binder from Underworks. I even paid the extra $20 to have it overnighted – my dad's out of town in San Francisco and my mom's been working late this week, so I knew this was one of the only chances I'd get. And boy, did it pay off! I feel like a fucking *god* wearing it.

I'm sure that I've managed to forget something, so I'll just include it in the next post when I get around to it.

I'm going to try to adhere to a weekly posting schedule from here on out - before school started, I really needed something to kill time and negative energy, and so this blog was born. However, I do have homework and the like in addition to a general...tiredness now, so I'm fairly well-occupied. I'm not going to abandon y'all, as there are still so many words that have to be written here. But I also don't have the time nor energy to post every two days or however often it was before.

Random thoughts and such shit

I know I haven't posted in a while, and I have a totally valid reason: I didn't feel like it. Anyway, school started, and things are alright. My teachers are all using the right pronouns for me, and correct themselves when they slip up. The majority of my classmates are still using the wrong name/pronouns, but they're gradually improving. I've only been called a slur once and I handed that kid's ass to him. At this point, my peers try their best not to offend me* because they don't want to have to hear the subsequent rant I give when they do.

Also, my counselor informed me on Friday morning (so, after three days of school) that my teachers already believe that I belong on a college campus. I'm not particularly surprised, but it's always nice to hear that!

I ordered a couple of binders a few weeks ago and they were too tight; I physically couldn't breathe, so I sent them back. I have yet to decide when to order a replacement.

Yesterday was my fourteenth birthday. It was an okay day, meaning that it wasn't great but also not as bad as I expected. My mother baked a "festival of sweets," meaning brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and bars made of graham cracker crumbs, sweetened condensed milk, peanut butter chips, chocolate chips, and coconut. I'm currently gorging on all three. My dolls are also rockin' some new outfits.

My best friend and I are tackling the French Harry Potter books. Yes, they're challenging, but they're also quite rewarding. (This is only a few pages in, mind you.) I've read the English Harry Potters enough to know when I'm fucking up the translation.

Well, that's all I can think of to say at the moment. Honestly, this whole transition thing is making me exhausted. The only things getting me through are dolls, Friendship is Magic, my internet pals, and geometry homework.

* - no, I don't chew them out for misgendering me. That's just a bad idea. They get "the rant" for racist/ableist/misogynistic/homophobic/transphobic/anti-Semetic/rape jokes and that kind of shit.

On Losing Your Voice

No, I'm not talking about laryngitis here. I'm talking about the inability to express yourself properly, which is among the worst feelings that this life has to offer.

I reconnected with a favorite teacher of mine very recently, one who I hadn't spoken to in multiple years, despite intending to for as long. She was the first supporter of my writing; she'd read whatever I had to offer, no matter how horrible it was. (For example: she slogged her way through a story in which the main character yelled "Lucy likes pot!" She said I should rephrase it. I was talking about glassware.) Anyway, I figured that the best way I could explain to her how much I'd grown over the past few years would be through my writing, which she immediately upon seeing me demanded a sample of. I got home, searched through my computer, and realized that I only had one measly single-page story on it since I last rage-wiped everything, which was last December. Yeah. Completely unacceptable. I still have several notebooks to go through, but I don't remember anything particularly stunning within any of them.

I have a cast of characters that I've developed far beyond any other group I've ever had, but I can never seem to put their respective miseries on paper regardless of how hard I try. I have dedicated entire evenings to writing, yet always seem to wind up on Buzzfeed instead. This is a fact that I deeply regret, but can never seem to move past it. There is always something more pressing, something more exciting. I have long believed that I could be the voice of a generation, that I could inspire a mass awakening. Alas, I shall never be that great, no matter how I wish to be. Thus is the sad reality of life.

I have lost my voice. I do not possess nearly the command of the English language that I once did. It is regrettable, but it is the inescapable truth. I do not know if I have it in me to try anymore when there is so little gratification for me. Perhaps I will, but I will fail anyway. For I believe that there is no such thing as success; for each battle that is won, there is another that drags itself out for days, months, years until lost. Sometimes the battles do not seem to come quite as quickly, but they will always be there, reminding you that somehow, there still may be worse to come. I fear the day that it does.

Hallucinations, My Will to Live, and Some Anxiety

Well, until I can get a legitimate psychiatrist, I'm going to treat you, my audience, as a substitute. So prepare yourselves for potential incoherence beyond belief!

I don't remember if I've talked about hallucinations here in the past, but if I have, well, stinks to be you, because you get to hear about them again. Fun! Anyhow, for the last year or so, I have only been able to go to bed with the assistance of YouTube because I'm too scared to be in my room "alone" in the dark due to the figures I see around me. Sounds childish, right? It might be, because I've had the feeling of someone watching me before bed since I was probably around four, except back then, it'd manifest itself in the form of a large animal outside, not a human with me. If left alone with these figures, I will have an immediate panic attack and generally be petrified. My solution to this was to allow so-called ASMRtists to whisper me to sleep. For those curious, I do not actually experience the phenomenon known as ASMR, which is generally described as a pleasurable tingling in the back of the head or neck. However, I do find that listening to these people can be immensely reassuring to me.

Last night I was discussing these figures with a friend of mine, when she suggested something that sounded ludicrous at first: sympathize with them. Maybe even talk aloud to them; have a conversation. Imagine being feared simply because you exist. I thought I might as well try it out, and wow, it helped tremendously. I was able to get a decent night's sleep for the first time in months! Later on in that initial conversation, though, she said something else that hit me hard: a simple mention of the afterlife. And it was in that moment that I finally realized that I DO want to live. I used to think that I had a duty to life, to improve others' condition. And yes, I do still feel that way, but I am actually excited to! I want to make a difference. But apart from that, I discovered that I have friends. Friends that I enjoy talking with. Friends that will help me through the difficult times. Friends that support me not because they necessarily feel obligated to, but because maybe they like me. And that is a damn good feeling to have. And yet - I'm scared of death again. I fear that I will not achieve what I must; that I will die in my current miserable state. I have to get somewhere in this life first, but I'm not sure that I'll be permitted to.

However, before I can achieve anything, I have to make it through five more years of public school as well as however many are necessarily of college/grad school. And I tell you, just going into school to set up my locker today gave me no fewer than three panic attacks, which I dealt with by uttering the phrase "fuck it" over and over as well as exaggeratedly chewing gum. Yes, I know that sounds obnoxious, but hey, it was a coping mechanism.

I decided yesterday that I want, nay, need, to be out at school this year. I cannot deal with the pain of staying in the closet. I fired off an email to my counselor from last year, asking that he please explain name/pronouns to my teachers if at all possible. And guess what? I got an automated response saying that he's on paternity leave until the first day back and won't be reading mail regularly. I'll wait to see if I get any response, but if I don't by say, Thursday, I'll mail my new teachers myself and explain it. It'll be tremendously uncomfortable, but it's better than having to explain in front of the whole class, I suppose.

I made it through twenty minutes of being at school today by doing two things that are prohibited in it and still had multiple anxiety attacks, likely caused by studiously avoiding my classmates. I saw probably ten that I considered to be casual acquaintances (no, I don't call them friends, because I trust friends). None recognized me, even having looked at my face, which is a relief, because I sure as hell didn't want to explain transitioning in front of my father, who accompanied me.

As always, we'll see what happens.

What I Did Today & How I Deal With Anxiety Attacks

Sorry for the mediocre title, it was the best thing I could think of off the top of my head.

My parents decided that I should attend "Cope Sessions" with the pediatrician, where they basically do talk therapy for mild-to-moderate anxiety and/or depression, as well as getting kids on the appropriate meds. I will admit that the prospect of attending the session gave me several separate anxiety attacks over the course of the past 24 hours, but I believe that I handled them fairly well.

Anyway, I was quite nervous to potentially be going on meds, because while what goes on inside my head is crazy, it still seems to be who I am. I do know people who have been positively impacted by beginning meds, so I wasn't completely upset about it, but I was still apprehensive.

Luckily enough, they did not begin me on meds yet. They wanted to after I scored "off the chart" on the anxiety test, but then they realized that they probably were dealing with bipolar disorder as well, and decided that a psychiatrist would be a better fit in terms of knowing what would keep both in check. They also had trouble distinguishing what were psychological disorders and what was gender dysphoria. In other words, I have too many issues for them to deal with appropriately.

They did tell my mother that the only thing I really need from her now is acceptance and support, so I hope that both she and my father can learn to deal with it in the near future. I managed to have an anxiety attack while they were explaining this to her, but focused on breathing and no one noticed.

The pediatrician did say that they'd find me a trans-positive psychiatrist that could help me through this and hopefully talk some sense into my parents.

I'm sorry for the short, fairly boring post, but I've had a lot on my mind that I need to get off my chest. In order to compensate, I'm adding a second part to the post, which is how I deal with anxiety attacks so far.

The first step for me is recognizing which type of attack it is. I've noticed two main types so far, though there can be a bit of overlap:

In the first type, and the one I have more often, I stop automatically breathing. When this happens, I open my mouth as wide as I comfortably can and take deep, loud breaths. This ensures that I get maximum amounts of air, because if I don't, I begin to feel lightheaded and dizzy. If it doesn't cease within a few minutes, I open YouTube and listen to this video (JustAWhisperingGuy's Watch this if you are having a panic attack). I've found it to be immensely helpful and can't recommend it enough, although obviously its effects will vary from person to person.

In the second type, my heart rate speeds up and I hyperventilate. I find that it's best to just let this type end on its own, which generally takes between one and five minutes. If it doesn't end, it's the beginning of a manic episode, which can be taken care of through exercise and managing the underlying problem*.

Something that I've found helps with both types, though, is music. The music itself depends on what mood I'm in, but I can generally count on either Blue Öyster Cult, Cracker, the Eagles, or fun. to help. Sometimes I'm not in a position where I'm able to listen to anything, and then I really just have to focus on breathing. I've heard that meditation can also help with stress, so I'm going to begin practicing in hopes of one day being able to end an attack by using it. It has to be worth a shot, right?

After the attack is over, I try to reflect on why it happened, how I handled it, and how effective my response was. I believe that I've been dealing with anxiety attacks for years, though I wasn't able to recognize them up until these past few days. I've only consciously dealt with about ten so far, though, so my methods will probably evolve further. My current system is working for now, though, and that's what matters.



* - although sometimes, manic episodes of mine aren't caused by problems, but by victories, so then I have to find a constructive way to use all the energy, whether it be exercise, writing about it, or something else.