It’s Gonna Be Bad Tonight

Tomorrow I will be having top surgery. This is a common procedure for most trans identifying persons and sometimes even some non binary people. And while I’m super excited and can’t wait to see what all of my years of struggle will finally unfold for me, it’s also . . . terrifying. There’s a lot of mixed emotions going on and no, I don’t mean bad. And I don’t say that because I’m going to ‘regret it.’ Anything big like that, you’re going to get a fuck ton of emotions coming at you. This is especially evident for me with my whole . . . lack of familial support and all.

I have fought for a long time in being who I am. And it took me even longer to get just shy of 22 hours away from surgery. The most major surgery I could ever hope to get in my freedom and in being myself. And it’s okay to have all of these feelings. It’s okay to feel like you’re on a roller coaster. That doesn’t mean you’re wanting to back out. It doesn’t mean you think you’re going to regret it. Anyone would feel this much range of emotions after fighting for so long and having the hard road I’ve been on. Especially if you also don’t have any immediate family support. I don’t know everyone’s story, but that doesn’t matter. Even if you do have the support, feeling those range of emotions is totally normal. And I just have to remind myself of this. And that it’s okay.

I’m excited. I’m beyond excited. But I’m also very stressed out and nervous. I mean, who isn’t with surgery? But with this big of a change, it’s ten fold. But I know once it’s all over and done and I’ve come that far across the line, I’ll feel better. Not immediately, no, but I will feel better.

I wish I had more support coming with me. I wish I had what I used to. I’m never going to stop saying that. I’ll eventually stop thinking that, sure. But nothing is going to change the fact that it’s not going to happen. I’m very grateful for my boyfriend coming tomorrow, yes, along with one other additional support. But it’s not the same as anyone else. Not the same as Them. And it never will be. And people understand that. The biggest point in my life and my transitioning and the people who should care about me the most no matter what will not be around. And that’s . . . that’s foreign to me. And even though I know everyone else is more of a family to me than They ever will be now, it’s still tough. I’m lucky to have them all. I love them all. They’ve all done more for me than I could ever hope in the last few years and the last year to be more recent. It’s just different. It’s . . . it’s upsetting. I won’t lie.

Today’s my last day with boobs. It is my last full day wearing a binder. And honestly, I’ve never been more relieved, scared, nervous, and excited in my life. Knowing the face of America today terrifies me as my surgery approaches. Knowing that if I’m ever around Them, taking my shirt off is going to be a whole new warhead path. Knowing that I could be at any moment in any kind of danger is nerve wrecking. Feeling how They are talking about or approaching tomorrow is sickening. There’s so much going on around me and in my head that it’s causing a flood of emotions. And again, that’s okay. I can’t celebrate as much as I’d have loved to. With people I thought maybe I would have made progress with. But I can celebrate with those who truly love , care , and accept me. I’m not a side show. I’m not something to pray about. I’m not a passing ‘fad’. I’m not changing my mind. I’ve come this far. I’m never going back.

I am who I am. And I have fought blood, sweat, tears, tooth, nail, legal systems, friends, people abroad, doctors, pharmacies, insurances, myself even, and hopping from living space to living space just to keep my sanity and stay away from Them permanently. I put my foot down a long time ago. It’s not coming up now.

Tomorrow is going to be the biggest day of my life. It’s going to be the most important day of my transitioning journey. And today is going to be one hell of a rollercoaster.

And that’s more than okay.


Okay, 2017. I’m Listening.

Things happen for a reason. People don’t cross your path for nothing. Your past doesn’t come back around the corner to blindside you. Everything is a learning experience. Things always happen for a reason. And people always come into your life one way or another. It can be to learn and to grow. It can be to heal. It can be to start anew.

But even if it hurts, don’t forget:

Everything. Happens for a reason. It’s just up to you to find that reason and grow.

That being said, last night was the most bizarre , this-only-happens-in-the-movies cosmic event I have ever come across in a single day.

I attended a drag show , one of many I usually go to with my circle of friends, people I call my family and whom I love very much. My boyfriend is visiting upstate with me for the first time and came along with me. It was his first show and I was very excited to show him around the cafe venue and meet everyone.

The night overall, was fantastic. The performers were amazing, we were surrounded by friends, food, fun, and good laughs. It was amazing and what made it even more so was the big, giant door 2017 seemed to have given me on this night. To which, I walked through and saw myself better and a little shaken up on the other side. But not to say for bad reasons.

Two halves of my past met up with me last night. At the time time, in the same place, with distance in years apart. Together, with people I have met in under a year that have changed my life for the better, and with my boyfriend of 4 years present with me for the first time in my home state. It was like a cosmic blast had gone off and my head was spinning by the end of the night. I’m still brimming about it.

The first half of my past was only last year. Around the same exact time, as well as I came to realize. It’s January 2017, and the first half of all this was in February of 2016. At first, I was shaken. I was a little more than terrified.

But let me tell you something. I’m glad it happened. I’m glad that I was able to just let go. Be free, be me, have fun, and pay no mind to anything. Remembered where I was, who I was with, and who I came to support. Am I still a little on the edge over it? Sometimes. But literally in the inches and feet apart . . . I didn’t feel so unnerved anymore. I felt moved on. I felt okay. I felt free and I felt strangely at peace. 2016 was then. This was today, tonight, and now. I’ve grown over it. I’ve bettered myself because of it. And now? Now I have this amazing support group and this family of wonderful people. I have my boyfriend. I have life back. I don’t have to worry and I shouldn’t have to worry.

The second half of my past I hadn’t seen in nearly five years, easily. A family member I always remembered and talked fondly of. Someone I truly missed because we both rowed the same boat, being members of the LGBT community. Someone who shared my pain of the rest of the relatives. Someone I knew I could talk to and hoped to one day see again.

It was quick at first, seeing him in the crowd as a performance was going on. Shortly after sets, though, I ran over to see him after he’d caught my eye finally. I was vibrating with shock and elation. It’d really been too long. We both moved away around the same time, same year. Me to live with my boyfriend, he to Florida. Both for around the same reasons for leaving, too. I didn’t know he was in state, much less in the same building as me. He met my boyfriend briefly as the show was ending and people were filing out. We talked, and exchanged mutual understanding and feeling, and facebook contact. I’m still in disbelief and amazement over it.

The chances of those two people and situations coming together in the same room, the same place at the same time . . . with people in my present who I love and cherish as my family. With my boyfriend visiting for the first time, even. It’s astronomical. It’s as if the forces of the universe came together to bring these two totally different situations together with my present to tell me something. I’ve spent some time thinking about what that something is. I couldn’t make sense of any of it last night, but I’ve had time to really dig into it.

It’s a lesson, really. Lessons to let go. Lessons to reconnect. Lessons to grow. Lessons to move forward. Lessons to live. Lessons to love. Lessons to be.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who is around you. What they think, what they say. People are always going to be just that. People. They’re always going to talk, always going to think. You can’t run from your past forever. It’s cliche as fuck to say, I know but listen. I see that as full blown truth now. I may not have engaged in the first past, but I didn’t need to. It wouldn’t have been wise to. It was wiser to just not even give a glance and walk away. It was smarter to just be. It was growth to just live.

Don’t let things pass you by. It’s smart to leave some things unturned, but if you have the chance to reconnect again, do it. If it’s in your cards, let them play out. I never in a billion lifetimes thought I would see and reconnect with my cousin again so suddenly and freely. Without the aid of other hands. In a LGBT friendly public space. Surrounded by everything and everyone I love. It was more than I could have honestly hoped for.

2017 is starting out rough for a lot of reasons around the world. But listen. 2016 beat people down enough. Believe me, I know. There’s this air about 2017 that’s just fresh. It’s strong. It’s powerful and it’s beautiful.

Clearly, last night happened for more than one reason for me. Two halfs of my past life came together in the same distance and the same time span. My present was loud and ambitious, full of laughter and love. The three combined in such an overwhelming way that . . . at first I was shaken up and unsure. I didn’t know what to make of any of it. But like I said: it’s lessons. It’s learning. It’s growing. 2017 is talking and she’s talking louder than anyone or anything. It’s as if the universe is helping along the lines of boldness and growth for so many people, myself included. It’s giving chances, and making things happen. It’s letting yourself see things in a different light. It’s learning how to take the things you have been dealt with before and saying ‘I came from that stronger’.

In the oddest, most twisted way, I have to thank my first half of the past. Without that situation and without the events, I would not be here today. I would have never met all of these wonderful people I have connected with. I would have never lived through all that happened last year. I would have never found my voice. I would have never gotten this huge sense of support and community I have today. So I do have to say thank you, wholeheartedly. No matter how bad the situation turned out, to everything that has happened since then. I say thank you.

So here’s to 2017. It’s only the end of January and she’s got my attention in more ways than I was prepared for.

And let me tell you. I’m listening.


It’s a New Dawn, It’s a New Day

It’s officially 2017, and people everywhere are making resolutions or changes to their life. A new them, a new life, a better them, a better life. If only I could take that advice for my own self and sanity.


My boyfriend, Bobby, is visiting for the first time upstate with me. We just celebrated our 4-year anniversary on January 3rd as we flew back on the same day. Weeks beforehand, I had gotten back into talking with my sister pretty regularly. It was fun and light, like old times. I figured maybe we could pay a visit up for her birthday (Jan 13th) some weekend. My parents didn’t care and my sister wanted to play Overwatch with us, anyways. I figured why not? They’re being civil. It’s a new year. Things have been . . . decent. Same as always. Even though I shouldn’t even be trying. It’s like I’m trying too hard for something that’s ever reaching. I still want to try. And it’s ridiculous. It suddenly feels like I’m just doing this for fun. Like I keep going back for more. More of what? I don’t know.


It’s freezing and I don’t drive. I figured if things were seemingly so decent, I would ask for a ride to the closest WalMart so that Bobby and I wouldn’t have to carry groceries onto the bus, then haul ass in the fucking cold to the house carrying like 30lbs of groceries. My mom told me she couldn’t until Sunday because of busy stuff and to ask my grandmother.




I refuse to do that or go anywhere fucking NEAR that option. Never. Not with the way my grandmother has no filter. It would be fucking anxiety damaging not only to Bobby with invasive questions and misgendering, but the both of us. I refuse. My parents and sister are honestly pushing it. But like I said. They’ve seemingly been decent and my sister seemed like she wanted us to come up.


Now. Now I’m having second thoughts about going up at all.


It’s this ridiculous, stupid game and cycle I cannot seem to bust myself out of. It’s a prison I keep tunneling myself out of, only to find my way right back into my cell. It’s too comfortable. It’s too familiar. It’s too much of what I want to keep in my hands. Yes, I want to dig my way out with a  plastic spork, but at the same time I want to stay. I thought maybe going up on my sister’s birthday weekend, playing video games, joking around, talking about stuff might be the okay thing to do. Now I’m just feeling unsure and on edge. It wouldn’t be fair to Bobby or myself to try and go up and have a time then I feel miserable for three days straight later. Just like with Thanksgiving. I feel a disaster either way it works out. And I fucking hate it. I hate going back for more, more, more and hoping things change or things aren’t as tense. I don’t think anything will ever change, but I still keep slamming my head against the wall, hoping that if I bleed and bruise enough something is going to give.


I know I have posted about this several times before, and I repeat what’s here, like a broken record. But it’s true. And it’s so hard and terrifying to sort out. I have to seek therapy in February (yay wait lists) but I don’t know what that’s going to come out like. I don’t know if one therapist will be good enough. I don’t know if I would have to seek a LGBT+ counselor for that type of familial struggle. Why I keep doing this aside from them wanting to love and accept me. Why I keep beating my head against so many walls.


I was so confident about this visit. Now I’m just wanting to drop everything and run.


It’s a new year. A new day, a new month, a new week. And I keep doing the same old song and dance. A mistake repeated more than once, is a decision. I don’t know why I keep hurting myself and regretting everything later. I don’t know why I keep making these “mistakes”. I don’t know why I’m so deliberate and persistent. Or maybe I do. I know what I want from them. I know I want change. I know I want something out of all this. Something back. Something solid.


I said it before: my LGBT community and friends and Bobby are my family. But it never, ever, ever is the same. And they know that. I know that. I can’t tear myself apart from 25 years of knowing what I had, all religious stuff and crazy stupidness aside. I notice things going on that I wouldn’t have gotten away with growing up in the house. I notice a lot of things. And for whatever reason, I want back in. I want everyone back. I’m addicted to the toxicity because I want them to accept me and I want solidarity and somewhere to live and all of these other things. Even when I know it’s bad. Even when I know it’s going to literally put me in the ground one of these days. My dilemma is the addiction I have to them. Abuse, or whatever you want to call it . . .  it’s an addiction problem. In the same instance of a romantic relationship that is abusive. You want out, but you love that person. You want it to work.  You want to go back. You want everything you had once. You want more. You keep hoping, praying, hitting your head on walls. It’s addictive. It’s damaging. You want to see the good in them. You want change. You hope for it. But you never know if it will come.


I have a lot of things I want to do in this year. 2017 , I feel , will be okay. Maybe not great for a lot of people, but for myself personally I want to make it work. I want all of 2016’s bullfuck that happened to me to get long forgotten. I have plans, things I want to accomplish this year, things to learn, things to experience. Coming here with Bobby was an amazing first start to this year. A very happy, positive thing. I want that to continue. And in doing so, I want to know what I have to do about the relative situation. How to break my bind, how to avoid those walls, and how to embrace being okay without them. It’s not going to be this entire year and done. It’ll take me years to sort it all out and learn. But if I can start, then that’s all I want. I thought I was done. I thought I was going to be okay. I kept going back. I kept begging. I kept bruising myself. Kept bleeding out and patching it up with a bandage and going on my way.


I don’t know what’s going to happen in 2017. I don’t know if I will accomplish everything I set out to do. I don’t know if I’ll be able to drop everything and sort my jars again and clean out my closets and folders. I don’t. Nobody knows what the next day will bring. Nothing is guaranteed. But I can work. I can work on me. I can work on my mental and emotional health. I can work on being me. And I can work on moving forward from here, wherever and whenever that will be.


It’s a new day. It’s a new dawn. It’s a new year. And I hope it will be a new life.


For me.

What Do You Want From Me?

“Why did you change your last name?”


This is something I get asked a lot per changing my legal name upon transitioning and even before then when I was discovering what name would fit me best. I went through a plethora of first name changes as well as back and forths on the last. Subsequently, I dropped both my birth first and last names. Both, of course, with reason.


I changed my last name at first for the purpose of ‘does it matter? I’m still their child no matter what name. I don’t really care for my last name, so I want something different.’ Other excuses, well, I didn’t really have any. I didn’t have an answer as to why I changed my last name as well. I just wanted to. I felt like I didn’t have to have a reason. No profound or meaningful reason. I just wanted to.


Nowadays, I state otherwise. I changed my last name simply for this reason. I still wanted to. And furthermore, I didn’t feel like a part of the “family” anymore. They treated me different. They saw me no longer as a part of them. I wasn’t their child. I was a stranger. So why would we want to have the same last name and associate anything with each other? Why would I want to hang my birth last name over my head like that? I am me, a new me in some ways, but a totally reformed me. I am my own person, my own journey, my own self. Changing my entire name just seemed . . . right. And I still stand by that.


This holiday season, as I stated in the blog before this one, I was sent Xmas gifts from my mother. I didn’t know how anything was going to be addressed, since they refuse to acknowledge my name, let alone write or speak it. If anything else, she’d address it to my boyfriend or something like that. Needless to say, it kind of happened that way.


Upon receiving the package before Xmas Eve day, it read my boyfriend’s mother’s name and below it, much smaller, was my now legal name but my ex-legal last name. Of course, points for the first name correctness, I was happy with that. But everything else kind of messed with me a little. Maybe more than I should have let on, but that’s just how it transpired.


It took me until Xmas day to open those gifts. I felt so destroyed, so confused, so . . . wrong. She addressed it to my boyfriend’s mother, flat out. Maybe it was for the post office to not get anything wrong or mixed up, maybe not. I don’t know, but for whatever reason I can’t really pinpoint from A to Z, it messed with me. And now I don’t expect to hear from anyone for another six months until around my birthday. Which is totally fucking pointless, just like Xmas was. Why try to belong to something and keep popping in and out like that if it’s just going to cause me grief and chaos? Why do you keep coming back again and again and again only to never give me the benefit of the doubt I so very much crave? If you’re not going to acknowledge me or see me as who I am in the now, then what exactly are you trying to get at?


It always baffles me when I see LGBT kids have supportive parents who go above and beyond for them. Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy for those who have that support and more. But my brain can’t register that’s a thing that actually happens. Because I, and so many others, don’t have that. We don’t have parents/relatives who call us the correct name and pronouns. Who help us get our shots and surgeries. Who buy us new clothing. Who understand what we do or who we are. It’s a very wide and unfortunate majority who are shut out like that. It’s painful, and it kills me to have friends and my boyfriend go through that same bullfuck I went through and still have to on and off.


There’s nothing wrong with how you go about your transition. Whether you decide to keep a certain part of your name or not. My personal experience is not the same as anyone else’s. We all have our reasons for different aspects of our journey. Some of us, not so much. Not everyone has a profound, deep, novel length meaning to everything said or done. And that’s perfectly okay. For myself, it took me a while to come around to why exactly I changed everything about my name.


Simply put: I wanted to. And I didn’t want to be a part of them. Though, in reality I do, I don’t want to associate WHO I AM with WHAT THEY ARE and what they believe and think of me.
I don’t know what they want from me. Do they want a connection or not? Are they just coming in and out randomly, hoping that I’ll ‘change back’? Maybe. I can’t tell their intentions anymore, and nobody tells me. Nobody talks to me like a normal person. It’s like they’re trying, but they try too fuckin hard. And it puts me off even more, sadly. I can’t ask, because it would start something I rather not get into. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to bring it up. I don’t want to argue and I don’t want to fall flat on my face with tears before them. I don’t want them to have that smug benefit of the doubt.

Every line feels blurred, more often than not. I think I’m in the clear, everything is okay and we all talk. Everything is great, or at least moderate. Then things will hit me, one by one. There’s so much I want from them and so much I want for them to do. It would be nothing short of a miracle if they would just go speak with one of the Q counselors I have/see. Maybe it would be helpful, maybe it would just make things worse. I really don’t know. And it’s the thought of not knowing I think that kills me more than anything. What I could have. What they could learn. What they could see and hear. There’s nothing I want more. I can’t even seem to bring myself to ask them to do that. I’m too afraid. No child adult or minor should be fucking afraid of their parents or relatives. I doubt they’d go. Can you imagine if fucking someone at church found out they went to a “gay place”? Honestly, that stings.


I wish I knew what to do. What was the clear path, the right thing. What I could just . . . do. I need to know, but there’s no way of knowing for sure. There’s nothing I can say, nothing I can do, nobody I can go to that will give me a Point A direction. Uncertainty is one of my greatest enemies. One that I don’t really care to come across.


So why did I change my name was the point of this whole blog. Only to come around with what do you want from me? Two questions that I still think about every single day. I hope for the day that I don’t have to hear them ever again. Or think about them anymore.


I think that when that day comes, I’ll finally be able to breathe. At least, for a little while.

Hashtag: Relatable (LGBTQ)

It’s the holidays, which means I’ve been thinking a lot. Even more so, having gotten into a fandom recently, which sounds funny and stupid, but sit tight.


I don’t get along with a large portion of my “family” (I use that term loosely) anymore. This has a lot to do with me being a LGBTQ individual and falling out of the Christian faith. I am a FtM (female to male) transgender person who is Panromantic and asexual. This is all kinds of ‘nope’ on the scale. I know what they think of me. I know what they say. I am not their son/brother/grandson/nephew. I am practically nobody to them. I’m a fucking stranger. I lived with them for only four months this past summer and it was a nightmare. It was like I wasn’t the same person. It was like they hated me. It was like . . . I was invisible.


That being said, I know it’s not hate hate. It feels like hate, it really does. But more or less it’s . . . confusion? Religion? Uncertainty? Maybe more. They don’t know what to do with the information. They don’t know how to act. And truth be told: that’s bullshit. They know how to act. It’s 2016, there’s more than enough information for them. I belong to a wonderful group at my local Q Center that provides services for LGBT and parents alike. They have ways. They just don’t want to bother. They don’t want to know me. They want to keep the old me. I’m still ex-legal name called. I’m still she/her. And I fear that’s all I’ll ever be to them. That poor, sick, hospital ridden disabled little girl.


One of my biggest hated statements from religious people is “love the sinner, hate the sin”. The amount of times I’ve heard: “we still love you both (I have a gay cousin), but that doesn’t necessarily we agree or accept with that you’re doing”. That’s total garbage. You don’t get to pick and choose the parts of a person to love, related or not. Not to bring religious text into this, since I’m basically speaking against it in light of my relatives, however it is important to note that the Bible states: Suppose someone claims to love God but hates a brother or sister. Then they are a liar. They don’t love their brother or sister, whom they have seen. So they can’t love God, whom they haven’t seen. – 1 John 4:20


I’ll let you sit on that one.


This is not to say, at all, that I don’t miss them. Any of them. It’s not like a bad relationship you just got out of in the last few months. This is 20+ years of my life with these people. It’s not that easy to forget , drop , cut ties and move along. I’ve tried for the last 7+ years of my transitioning. I’ve also tried to reason, help, and educate. All with failure. It’s natural for me to want to still have that . . . family. That sense of being loved and belonging. Even though I have met some wonderful people at my center who are my family. Even though I have a great boyfriend of 5 years who is my family. Even though I have an amazing cat who would do anything to help me, and me to him. It’s never the same. It will never be the same. And when the holidays come around, that just makes it all the more complicated.


I thought that I had paid my dues after this past summer. I had sworn off contact and was ready to move on. But like I said before, it’s the holidays. People always pop in and out randomly around this time of year. And for me, that makes it so very difficult to distinguish what’s okay and what’s not. My relationship with my relatives is nothing short of toxic. Growing up in a strict Christian home where Halloween was demonic and I had to sit in a dark, silent house every fucking October 31st, where sex isn’t talked about or educated on, and a whole lot more . . . well you get the general fix.


I attended thanksgiving dinner at my aunt’s house this November. I had gone back and forth for days before deciding to dive in. I was probably going to be hurt either way. Why I was doing this to myself, I’ll never know. But I went and nothing went wrong. You would think that’s awesome.


Here’s the thing, though. It was too good. It was everything I wanted back into my life. No fighting, no craziness, no stupid comments. Nothing. Not even when my grandmother came over for a few moments. Nothing. Was. Wrong. And I hadn’t spoken to anyone since the stupid whatever fight bullshit that happened back in June. Even after all of my couch hopping having to leave bad rooming situation after bad rooming situation. Even when I found myself (still) potentially homeless and not knowing where I would be. I vowed to never go back, and let me tell you. Living back in that house seemed better than my current situation of not knowing where I would be n two weeks. I didn’t waver. I didn’t crumble. Not until I went to dinner. They still don’t know what I’ve been going through the last almost 6 months. I haven’t had a stable place to live since August when I left visiting my boyfriend for the summer.


I wanted all of that back. I wanted to be best friends with my sister again. I wanted everything. I wanted love. I wanted acceptance. I wanted fun. I wanted a family. And I had it. For all of about seven hours. It was wonderful. It was everything I wanted.


Then the days following hit me. All of the good things I wanted. How amazing it felt. How complete I was. But on the backside, the photo. My mother had asked one of my cousins to take a picture of the four of us. Me, my sister, my mother and my father. I hadn’t noticed a damn thing of it until after that day. How . . . collected and okay I looked. How awkward and still everyone else was. I was so elated in that moment that there was a picture, regardless that. I didn’t notice anything else but the moment. I felt crushed. I had a total of eight people come to me one, two days later telling me about that photo. I can’t look at it anymore.


My mother is sending me Xmas gifts. I don’t know how she’s going to address it. I don’t know what she’s going to write on the package. I don’t know what anything will read. And it terrifies and hurts me.


I’ve recently gotten into a fandom of where there’s a couple characters to whom I share a lot of the same characteristics of. As a writer, that’s kind of important to me, though a lot of people find it so childish and dumb. But it helps a large portion of fans and writers and viewers alike. I think it’s really important to find yourself in things like that. It helps, it really does.


In the same instance, per this fandom, I’m reading a lengthy fic for it. That’s kind of what drove me to write this out even more. I had already planned on it, but I finished a particular chapter that had me really relating to not one, but both main characters.


For my own purposes, I’m not going to mention outright fandom names and such. I will, however, abbreviate the characters as to not get confusing.


KK is one of the characters I honestly didn’t click with right away, diving into the show itself and the fandom. He wasn’t an instant ‘yes!’ like the other main I instantly found myself to be a lot like. I don’t know where along the lines I had started to see myself more and more into this character, but I’m pretty sure it had to do a lot with the fan theories and his overall backstory that could be very soon revealed.


It’s a bit of a difference between my situation and that of KK’s, but it rings with me all the same true. KK has no family, he has no known parents, or anything of that nature. That is solely the fact that he is an orphan. Me, by no means is. However, the longing KK has for wanting to belong somewhere, to someone, to a group, to a family has me roped in. I understand full well all of the ideas, the theories, the stories, and the little hints from the writers and producers and acting itself. Nobody wants to feel like they have nothing. That they belong nowhere.


One of the first/main lines of KK’s when we meet him that kind of punched me in the face very recently was: “After getting booted from ____ I was kind of… lost.”

This entire year for me has been going from one boot to the other. Things gone wrong, nowhere to go. Feeling lost and hopeless. Having to go back to a place I swore I’d never go. Even after finding myself going to the center and having people there who genuinely cared and loved, it still wasn’t the same. I still felt lost. I still felt incomplete. I still felt like I was lacking family. And as much as I hate thinking about them so often and thinking about how they have behaved with me, around me, and what they say/think of me, it doesn’t mean that I don’t miss what we had. It’s human. It’s human to want, it’s human to grieve, it’s human to fall back.


KK has a “family” now, for all purposes of the show. He’s a part of something great, much like I find myself a part of something amazing in the LGBTQ community with everyone I have met this year. But it’s not the same, as I’ve already said. It won’t be the same throughout the show for KK, either. He doesn’t know who he is, where he’s been, and has never had that strong and secure connection with family before. I’ve had my connections up and down with everyone. But it was never secure. It was never strong outside of me being a sickly child. Everything was different with me. And it always was. It felt foreign, and it’s even worse now. Though I have a family . . . using the word stings. I’m not used to all the attention. The love, the hugging, the interest in who I am and what I like. It’s . . . it’s all new to me. It’s something I have to condition myself. That they actually want me around as me. Not as who they lived with for the last 20 years.


There’s a lot of fine differences, like I said, between myself and KK. But the fact still stands of family. Who do we really have? Can we really have what was lost? How can we move past the hurt? How can we learn to love again? How can we be a part of something amazing without aching? What can we do to better ourselves and grow? What is okay? What is not? Do we move on and let go, or do we hold tight and hope that something changes? To be honest, I hope the show plays more into KK’s life a little. Backstory, struggle, what he wants, what will happen, if he will change, if he isn’t who he thinks he really is . . . all of that and more. KK has suddenly become this complex and amazing character that at first, I totally glanced right over.


The next character I’m going to look into is LM. A character I glazed over mostly because I saw my boyfriend in him the most. But there’s a little trickle of a silver stream in him for me, too. And this happened to come around the more (again) fan theories came out and stumbling into a fanfic that was recommended to me. Per the last chapter I read, as well. I got a lot of thinking coming out.


LM is a bisexual character. Though not firmly foot down in canon, it’s seemingly to become very canon and the fandom, producers, writers, and voice actors took it very much in stride and may run with it. Even if it’s not blatant, it’s very much a giant reality everyone shares. Which, in today’s world and media is amazing in of itself.


So clearly, most of what I’m going to write about this is mostly coming from the fanfic itself, however the case still remains of the character himself.


In the very last chapter I read of this fanfic, there was a lot of resonation for me. Again, on both sides of the mains who are LM and KK. But since I already spoke of KK in canon, it leaked the same tone into the fic itself.


For LM in this particular chapter, it’s very much how I opened up this blog. His father doesn’t understand his sexuality and is very verbal about it. Having wanted LM to grow out of it, change, “pick a gender”, and the likes. It was super realistic writing, beautifully done and elo quent. Believable, relatable, and with tons of feeling. It wasn’t the fact of so much that LM’s father hated him, but couldn’t fully understand and see that there was so much more to LM than sexuality and orientation. This is what I opened up with on my own relatives.


There’s a lot more to my own relatives , like religion , that plays into their hate. Now, it was stated throughout the chapter that LM’s father didn’t particularly hate him, but LM just didn’t register that. It was hate to him. Much like how I feel with my own parents/relatives. It was more or less that of confusion, misunderstanding, and not seeing LM as a whole person. Not just his sexuality. That, I feel, is a large portion of my own situation as well as many others in the LGBTQ community with some obvious variations depending on your home life.


There’s a lot that parents/relatives don’t understand about the LGBTQ world around them. It’s “new” to them even though it really isn’t. LGBTQ ideals and persons are just more vivid now because it’s 2016. No more hiding. We’re here and we’re real and we deserve love and acceptance. Sadly, that isn’t the case for so many. I know how that feels. But you keep fighting and you find people you can connect with who love you for you. It will never be the same and you’ll want to continue trying to connect with family and educate them. That’s okay. But if they won’t turn around and you feel they never will, it’s hard pressed to say it’s time to turn away.


If only I took my own advice.


One of the lines in the chapter from LM was that of context in that him being Bi wasn’t at all the whole of who he was. It’s just a portion. He listed off all of the other things he was and added being Bi as a normalcy. That’s something so many parents and others don’t understand. Me? I love cats. Always have. My entire life has been about cats. Cats, gothic style, writing, drumming, obsessing over shows/movies . . . and you know what? All of that I still do! I’m still me, regardless of gender and sexual identity. Me being transgender is only a portion of who I am as a whole. And much like in the story, my relatives/parents are only seeing the transgender part and that’s basically all I am. It’s straw-vision and it’s damaging.


It might seem silly to you to compare a lot of my real life/real time situations to these characters and their show or fic verse situations. However, as a writer, it’s super important to me as I said before.


For example: if you watch a movie or read a book and you can’t find connections with the story or character(s), then what’s the point? The creator didn’t do their job as a creator. As a writer, a painter, a person of film, an actor . . . anything of that nature it is our job to make things relatable. To see yourself as this situation or person(s) and make you think. Make you feel. Make you relate. I think that in today’s world it’s seen as so silly or childish. When really, it’s more of a coping and a comfort. We can see ourselves as these characters, these people and these situations and find comfort. Even if it’s hurtful. Because you know you’re not alone and you can submerge yourself in the character, the movie, the book, the game, the fandom or wherever. It’s so important not only to us, but to creators.


KK and LM are only two of a whole messy bunch for me. There are many more from other creative content. One more itself even from the same verse as KK and LM. It reminds me that I’m not the only one who has these types of issues. Though fiction most of the time, yes, the content is real. You can sink your teeth into it and find reality. Realness in fiction is my favorite thing to see. Because if you can’t have some sense of reality in a fictional world, then it’s just fantasy. It’s not relatable. It’s lacking feeling. As a writer, I try to pour out as much of myself as I can into my content. Whether it’s characterization or setting. I do my best to make it real. Make it relatable. Make it worth your time.


There are days where I want to turn around and run backwards. I want that sense of family again without strain, worry, awkwardness, and wondering. I find myself lost. I find myself wondering what they’re doing now. What they’re thinking. Do they miss me? Do they think of me? I find myself sitting down in KK’s position and trying to dull away the ache. The longing.


There are days where I wonder if being trans is worth it. That maybe if I wasn’t, I’d still have a roof over my head for more than just a week at a time. That I would have that fun back. That they would see me as a human fucking person. And not only that but being trans and diving my feet into the world of drag. It’s completely nerve wracking knowing that at any moment anyone can find me and start a verbal war. Making me wonder if I’m valid. If all I ever am is just trans. If that’s all the person that I am, and nothing else. If they truly do hate me and aren’t just being stubborn, confused, and unsure. Those are days I find myself in LM’s head per the story.
There’s a lot of mixture for me. A lot of feeling, a lot of thinking, a lot of finding stories or characters. Pointing and nodding saying ‘yes, I can relate’. It’s hard to sort myself out a lot of times. But I find comfort as weird as it seems. As much as it hurts when I sit down, look at a character and go ‘that’s me’. Sometimes it’s painful, the ache in my chest when I realize how relatable I can get to someone. Whether it’s live action or 2D. And I can’t exactly say why it gets aching. Maybe it’s because I feel for that person or character and want to see things get better for them. Maybe it’s another reason. I can’t say for certain. But in a weird way, it always helps. Even after the breaking point.

I don’t know if I’ll ever make amends with anyone. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make amends with myself. I can’t say if anything will work out a week from now or ten years from now. If it does, I’ll be happy. If not, I’ll have to learn how to get along. It’s a tough spot and it’s one where I wish I knew what to do. I guarantee after the holidays I won’t hear a word from anyone until my birthday. Which is kind of bullshit. I’ve barely had a text back from anyone since Thanksgiving. I don’t get it, none of it makes any sense to me. And it’s all so terrifying and hurtful. I don’t ever know what to do and when I find myself on the healing path, I get hit in the face with a swing back door. Just about every single time, too.


There’s so much I have to do. Sand to sift through and rocks to toss aside. I have to stop picking up water in my hands and trying to run with it while everyone watches and laughs. It gets nobody anywhere and it makes my longing, my aching, and my self validation turn on itself.

However, no matter what goes on around me and what my head tells me, this much I do know. There’s always growing to do, especially with yourself. You can always learn, you can always stumble. You can always pick yourself back up. You can always lay down for a while and allow yourself to feel. It’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to cry. But if that’s all you do, then you’re stunting your growth. There are days where I wanna lay down and say ‘that’s it’. There are days where I wonder about the world without me here. What would happen. What would be said. Who would miss me, who wouldn’t. There are days where I think that there’s nothing more to do than to give into whatever my relatives/parents want. Erase myself, go back to them, go to church . . . give in. Maybe then it would fix everything.

Lying to yourself is a horrible thing to do. And I do it too often. When I pick myself back up, somehow I feel on top of the world, even if it’s just for a little while. I forget about what’s going on. I forget about them. I look at my friends. I look at my boyfriend. I look at my cat. I look at the family I do have, much like KK, and laugh. I live. I let myself flow. Even if it’s just for a little while, there’s always someone that can make me laugh harder than I have in a while. Always someone to grab me and tell me to cool my jets. Someone to look out for me. Someone to care. Someone to take on my moods. Someone to relax me. There’s always something, always someone. And more often than not, I forget that. And I think KK does, too.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next year. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next five to ten. But that’s going to have to be okay. I’m going to have to roll with the punches and the high fives. Every low, every high, every in between. Learn to grow, learn to love, and learn to live. Whatever happens between me and the relationship I have with the relatives is going to be whatever it is. Whatever I decide, whatever happens, whatever I can do. It’s not an easy road, the one I have ahead of me. There’s a lot that I have to do. There’s a lot I have to sort through and let go of. I don’t want to think about it, but sadly it’s the reality. If I want to heal, I have to start now. And it sucks, because I want them to accept and love me. I want them to know me. And I want that family and sense of belonging back.


It’s a tricky fine line. Between what you want and what you need.


And in my reality, in my fiction . . . I just hope that it’s a crossroads I can firmly decide upon.