Coming Out

It was August 10, 2004, and my family still had lived in Parkersburg, West Virginia when my mom started to go into labor with me. Gosh, I remember her always complaining about how long she was in labor. “72 HOURS! YOU KNOW HOW LONG THAT IS, THAT'S 3 WHOLE DAYS!” But of course, I had no control over that. August 13th at 10 o’clock in the morning is when she ended up giving birth to the baby girl she had always wanted, or so she thought.

I was my mom's second kid, her first being my older brother who is eight years older than me. My mom had him when she was just 17 with his dad, then later down the road, she met my dad.

I can’t say much about their relationship. All I know is I haven’t seen my dad since I was around the age of three and I haven’t talked to him since I was about 12 while I was in a group home. I can’t remember much about what my mom had said about why they had split up. On the other hand, my dad had said, “I can’t really tell you much about it, but know even though I haven’t reached out to you, I really do love you. It’s just your mom has done some things that still continue to ruin my life today.” Which, knowing my mom, comes without surprise. Anyways, let’s continue from the beginning.

Some of my earliest signs come from when I was around the age of four or five years old. I can always remember hanging out with the boys, just doing what they did. Of course, these were my brother's friends so my family probably thought it was normal. What surprised me the most is that they didn't think anything of it when my brother wasn't with us (he lived with his dad in West Virginia most of the time) and I was still hanging out with his friends, doing stuff that they do. Like taking our bikes and getting out a quarter pipe to get some air off of it.

During my elementary school days, I didn't really have any friends, I was always the "weird kid." Especially during my kindergarten and first-grade years, I would yell at my teachers all the time and just misbehave. I had a lot of anger and sadness inside of me and I didn't know why I especially had lots of self-hatred.

I can remember wanting to hang out with the boys in my grade as I did with my brother's friends but at the time I was looked at as female, even though mentally I thought I was male for a very long time.

Skipping forward a few years, it's around the end of my fourth-grade year and as usual, my mom takes me to her friend's house to party and gets drunk. It's said that the age you have a kid is the mental age you stop at forever, which makes a whole bunch of sense now that I know this, because as stated before my mom had my brother at 17 and she acts just like a 17-year-old.

Moving on, my mom had ended up introducing me to her boyfriend at the time. I can get some pretty strong vibes from people and I told her I didn't like him because of this vibe. We moved in with him in 2014. Although they got married and I hated him throughout the marriage, I'm extremely thankful for him and his bravery for dealing with my mom.

Around this year, I started going through puberty. I grew a chest which really confused me. All my life I thought I was really going to go into male puberty and grow facial hair, get taller, have my voice get deeper and everything. I thought that even though I was a "girl" that I would one day be a boy.

When these changes started happening, my self-hatred grew more and more. I had a handful of friends but they were all girls, which there's nothing wrong with, but I always wanted to hang with the boys again. I even considered at one point to join my middle school's football team to make more guy friends.

I can remember telling everyone when I had started growing a chest that I wish it was smaller. I wished it was gone. Nothing that I had tried helped to make my chest smaller. I never knew why I had felt this way. It would all make sense very soon.

After living with my step-dad for a year or so, my mom got into a horrible fight with him, causing a divorce. He did let us stay in his house until we could find a place to live. We finally moved out and into an apartment after a few months. We ended up moving back to where we lived before only because my grandma lived down there. I ended up seeing a lot of people from my past.

We moved the second half of my sixth-grade year, and everything was doing just fine. Then came my seventh-grade year. I became very suicidal, I began to cut, and I was just extremely depressed and it all seemed to come out of nowhere. I had started to go in and out of mental hospitals due to suicidal thoughts, cutting, depression.

On my fourth visit, I met three or four different people—they were transgender. It all made sense to me then, all this self-hatred, the depression, and the suicidal thoughts. They all came from something called gender dysphoria.

I remember accidentally outing myself and my mom instantly became more abusive, times became worse and worse. I remember one night I had "attacked" her. I didn't really. I just pinned her to the ground. This time we were with my second step-dad. I don't know what happened. All I can remember is that there was so much anger inside of me from her abusing me and I pinned her to the ground. Next thing I know is that the cops are at my house.

I had a court date because my mom decided to press unruly charges against me. I remember we were in the car and she got a call, I don't know what happened, but I guess she got fired. I can remember being so mad because she said it was my fault, but how could it be my fault? She's the one who CHOSE to bring charges against me.

Anyways, we got there and we talked to some people. I can't remember much. I guess at one point they believed that I was going to kill myself if I went home, which they were probably right, so they sent me to a hospital. From there I got admitted to yet another mental hospital.

After I left the mental hospital, I was put into foster care. I'm going to basically skip this part so that it's not as long, but I will write another story on my experience from each one.

I had been in two group homes, then a foster home, then one or two more group homes before getting sent home again. It was around Christmas time. So Christmas came and went, my mom had kicked me out of the house the next day. Something about my mom is that she feels the right to say anything because she believes she's above everyone else.

While she was at work, my step-dad was on the phone with her discussing my education and how I will need a computer. My mom said that I did not. I can remember my step-dad saying, "Why not?"

My mom then said, "Because she's just gonna fail anyways."

I was so mad, enraged even.

My step-dad then said, "Why would you say that?"

I told him right then and there, "Because she's a b!tch."

I was so mad she had said that.

She then told me, "Take your stuff and get out of my house."

So I did what she said. I didn't want to live with her anyway.

So I had to get my stuff and leave. I went to my friend's house, but they weren't home, then I went to my other friend's house. The only problem was that she didn't know me as well as my other friend so I had to explain everything to her and her brother. They had let me call my former babysitter and she was about to pick me up. She had to call my mom first because you can't hold a runaway minor. It's illegal. I remember her calling back. She said my mom called the cops and said I "ran away."

"WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" I remember thinking. She had just kicked me out, how dare she. So I go outside, there's a cop, he takes me back home, and knowing my mom is going to beat me for no reason when she gets home, I say, "If I stay here I'm going to kill myself." I know legally they have to do something then, 'cause if it does happen and they know they could get in lots of trouble.

They take me to a hospital and yeah. I can't remember much from there. Now it's 2018, I was so tired of my body, how it looked, trying to kill myself day and night, all the time, and I was discussing haircuts with my mom. She told me if I got one I would look like "a lesbian gym teacher." (Thanks for your love and support, Mom, I really feel it.) So I lock myself in the bathroom and cut it myself.

I remember I had got a shout-out that night from Storm Ryan, who is a well known female to male transgender man. I was following him at the time and somehow he had seen my live video when I had cut my hair. I had gained so many Instagram followers that night. Then my mom took me to yet another mental hospital.

I was there for a good three weeks before I got out. I was sent back into foster care, and I am living as a male. I've been so much happier and healthier since this transition. Instead of attempts every night, I've had one, and that was due to my last foster family being extremely transphobic.

I'm not writing this to throw a pity party or for someone to say "Oh wow you've had a 'tough life, I've had it worse that's how it is, kid'" or for people to say how sorry they feel for me. I chose to write this to have hope that maybe an unsupportive parent of an LGBT child will open their eyes and save their kid's life.

Today, if I were to live with my mom, I have no doubt that I wouldn't be here. The truth is that teen suicide is on the rise, mainly in the LGBT community, especially in the transgender portion. According to Linda Carroll, transgender youth are around six times more likely to commit suicide compared to someone else their age.

I myself may not be able to change your mind, but if you were to look at the statistics, it's crazy. Caitlin Ryan's Family Acceptance Project has said that when LGBT youth aren't accepted as how they identify, suicide attempts are over EIGHT TIMES as much compared to when the youth have faced little to no rejection.

The Suicide Prevention Resource Center has concluded that 5-10% of LGBT youth have attempted suicide, which is 1.5-3 times as higher than heterosexual identifying youth. These numbers only really continue to go up.

Not only is it just unsupportive home life, but peers can make it worse. Bullying is up on the rise for LGBT youth as well, and even though one may have a supportive family at home, peers can influence suicide as well. One example is that 8-year-old boy from Colorado, back last year. It is vital that you make sure you provide a safe space for your child so they can live a happy life, instead of, and I hate to say this, becoming a statistic.

If you really care about your child, please be there for them before it's too late. I'm honestly extremely glad that I was taken out of my mother's house before it was too late. I inspire to make a change in the world, by trying to end suicide rates one step at a time. Together we can do this.