My therapist told me a story of a man who created a parallel universe in order to be with the woman that he loved. In his present lifetime, under irreconcilable circumstances, they could not be together. I have no doubt, nor have I ever doubted, the fact that you and I are destined to align just as the stars do. Loneliness in itself is a form of suffering, but being without you is something my heart simply cannot bear. There is some greater force at play here that continues to draw us together like magnets. We simply cannot walk away from one another. There is an evident difference in the us that exists now and the us that existed two months ago. But that difference is washed away when our lips meet, when our hands brush against each other, when our bodies burn into one flame. There is a love present that many people will not ever experience while they are alive.

The one that wakes them up, and makes them reborn, transforms them into the person that they always had the potential to be, but needed that extra bit of light. No matter where our lives take us, we will always be connected through our universe. The place that only we know about, the one where we do not have to explain ourselves, the one where we can just, be. You’ll know it when you look up at the brilliant white moon at night, you’ll feel so small and insignificant. But even as small as we really are in the grand scheme of the universe, what we have is enough to swallow it all under. What we have is a fire that will burn into eternity. A garden full of roses that will bloom in every season. A poem that others may try to rewrite, but never can be.

I first fell in love with your mind, the world inside of you that you took me to, and then I fell in love with your body, the world outside of you that you made me a part of.

Love is not always enough.

That is the hardest truth I have come to face over the past two years of my life. It is not all beautiful. It is not just pretty paper butterfly wings beating around in the core of your stomach. It is not just about the warm, safe feeling you get when you are staring into each others eyes laying in bed at the end of each and every night. Two people can be soulmates in every sense of the word and still not end up together.

The biggest problem with falling in love when you are young is that you do not know whether they will be your first, your last, or both. Time will stop when you wake up one morning and realize that this person has become your world. The fear will settle in that you could inevitably lose them, and it will be the most terrifying feeling you have ever experienced. This fear that I am speaking of is why most people choose to end relationships before they have even given them a chance to begin. The fear completely overrides what began it in the first place, the love.

I’m not going to sugarcoat this. It is so incredibly and painfully hard to let go of what we call home. It is even harder when we come to conclude that we must let the person go, even if we ourselves are not ready to do so. Some would say that letting go is leaving the person behind while others would say that letting go is giving them space to breathe on their own. Whatever your definition of letting go is, you have the right to do so in order to better yourself or to better the life of your partner. Even if you let someone go, it does not necessarily mean that you love them any less. Often times, it can even mean that you love them more. In a relationship, you want your partner to be the best possible version of themselves and you want to be the best version of yourself, as well. If taking time apart means this will be achieved, there is no shame for doing what is best for the both of you.

Other people should never be the ones to stand up and define your relationship. The only people who know what truly goes on, is you and the person that you are in the relationship with. It is easy to say that you understand a situation solely from an outsider’s perspective. It is even easier to attempt to convince someone that this is actually how their relationship is. But only the two people who are actually in it know definitively how their relationship is defined and understand it as a whole, without judgment. At the end of the day you and your partner have a definition of love that differs from everyone else, and that is exactly what makes your relationship unique.

Love can be created just as easily as it can be destroyed. It is the most volatile concept that we as human beings can put our hearts through. It can grow steadily like a rose or it can evaporate into thin air. There is no set formula or equation that you can use to make sure that it undoubtedly will all work out in the end. The only thing to do is commit to each other that you will both do everything in your power, to try and make it work. Don’t stop doing the little things for one another, communicating is key as opposed to over reacting, don’t block out the bad memories and only hold onto the good.

Love is not always enough. At 22 I have learned this, and as hard as it has been, I know that I learned it with the right person. Even after knowing this, I still love her. And I still know it isn’t enough. But I will never stop loving her. Because two people can still love each other, and not be together. And I still have hope, that someday, we will be.

For Those Suffering in Silence

“In 2015, an estimated 16.1 million adults aged 18 or older in the United States had at least one major depressive episode in the past year. This number represented 6.7% of all U.S. adults.” -HIMH (National Institute of Mental Health)

“The leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15 to 44.3. MDD affects more than 16.1 million American adults, or about 6.7% of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year. While major depressive disorder can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32.5 years old. More prevalent in women than in men.” -ADAA (Anxiety and Depression Association of America)

Depression has become almost romanticized by my generation. Many artists have stated that depressive episodes are the inspiration behind their creative outbreaks; whether it is in music, art, theater, photography, or writing. Depression is used as a synonym for the word sad. But depression for 6.7% of the population is not a temporary mood, it is a permanent mind state. It is a disabling disorder that prevents people from living their daily lives to the absolute fullest. It makes it impossible for them to find pleasure in their most beloved passions. It makes them see the world around them in black in white instead of color.

My name is Stephen Lewis and I am 22 years old. I am part of that 6.7% who suffers from what is known commonly as “clinical depression.” This disorder is listed in the DSM-V as Major Depressive Disorder, which lies within the category of mood disorders. Major Depressive Disorder, much like the majority of mental health disorders, does not fail to discriminate. There is not a single age, race, gender, or social class that has not faced this diagnosis. Although it is more likely to occur when there is a history of this disorder within a family, it can also affect those whose families have no evidence of mental health issues whatsoever. It can be biological, situational, or a combination of both.

Every single human being in existence will endure an obstacle that will stop them in their tracks, and will cause their mood to change drastically. There will inevitably be more than one day in their life where they will want to stay in bed and not see the sun light shine through their windowpane. For people with Major Depressive Disorder, nearly three-quarters of each and every day are spent in this way. They are overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, worthlessness, exhaustion, restlessness, indecisiveness, lack of focus, and even at times, suicidal ideation. The National Institute of Mental Health found that, “20-25% of adults may suffer an episode of major depression at some point during their lifetime.” An episode of major depression involves some or all of the feelings mentioned above, persisting for a period of at least two weeks. If you ever have an episode of major depression, you are automatically at a higher risk to experience another.

Major depressive disorder may be onset as a result of a trigger. Potential triggers include the loss of a loved one, social isolation, conflict in a romantic or platonic relationship, a major life change such as being let go from a job, or any form of abuse (sexual, physical, emotional.) Although both sexes experience major depression, women are twice as likely as men to suffer. This is a result of both societal as well as biological factors coming into play. Men, however, are more likely to suffer in silence rather than seek treatment. Often more than not, they will numb out their emotions by turning to unhealthy coping mechanisms such as substance abuse or indulging in violent behavior.

For someone with major depression, the mind is the most volatile weapon. Rumination and intrusive thoughts are not at all uncommon among those who are afflicted by this disorder. Once the process of rumination is initiated, it is seemingly impossible to put a definitive stop to the spiraling. A single intrusive thought leads to another, and that other thought leads to a chain of thoughts. Medications (particularly anti-depressants) are often prescribed to those who are diagnosed with major depression, but there are other ways to treat this disorder effectively. Forms of therapy such as DBT, (Dialectical Behavioral Therapy) CBT, (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) and psychotherapy, (talk therapy) are all beneficial when it pertains to successfully managing and coping with these intrusive thoughts as well as other symptoms. The effectiveness of treatment varies in each individual and is dependent on what route is taken. No sole treatment is one-hundred percent guaranteed to work for every single person.

What is important and indefinitely crucial is that each individual does undergo some form of treatment. There is no way of sugarcoating the fact that Major Depressive Disorder is a lifelong illness. The symptoms will persist much more severely if they are left untreated.  Although a stigma continues to exist within our society that mental health disorders are something to be ashamed of, this is far from the truth. Mental health disorders are out of our control, but we do have control over whether or not we choose to face them straight on or let them overcome us. We are much more powerful and resilient than we think that we are. For those who are suffering in silence, the wall that you put up to guard your heart will unfortunately eventually come crumbling down.

The key is having a support system-loved ones who can lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on. There is nothing more debilitating than isolating yourself and letting all of the emotions and thoughts build up inside. It is easy to listen to the voice inside your head that tells you that you are alone. It is even easier to believe it. But there are over 16.1 million people in the world who are suffering with you, struggling with some of the same thoughts and trying not to believe that voice inside of their heads. So get up out of bed, reach out to the person you love the most, and ask for help. Talk about what you are going through. That is the first step in bettering your life, increasing your longevity, and finding pleasure in your passions again. In this case, your words will be more powerful than your silence.

For more information on Major Depressive Disorder, visit: https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml

 

P.S. Thank you mom, my rock and my inspiration behind this. I love you.

 

 

The world that we live in today has always been overflowing with corruption. Violence has always been an automatic tactic in response to a tragedy occurring. We live in a country that has been ruled by the top one percent of white heterosexual males since the beginning of this so called “land of the free.” We live in a country that was built on a foundation of hatred and greed; a country that continues to be divided based on the color of a person’s skin rather than their character. It is undoubtedly getting harder and harder to find a balance between the top and bottom frequency; the middle is slowly but surely beginning to dissipate. People are being ruthlessly murdered on a daily basis for the colors of their skin, for the gender identities that they associate with, for loving someone of the same sex. Victims of assault are still consistently asked what they were wearing, how many times they said no, and how they said it, instead of being told that they are not at fault. Addicts are being treated as criminals while the real criminals are allowed to walk freely on the streets because they are privileged. Homeless individuals are treated like garbage bags thrown into the gutters and left to rot while many of these individuals suffer from mental illness and cannot get access to the resources that they desperately need. Materialism is overcoming all of the love that is possible that we could have for one another. Self-love is seen as superficial and insecurity is seen as weakness. The people of this nation are slowly but surely losing their overall sense of security.

The world that we live in today has always been overflowing with corruption. Yet, there is still so much beauty that is left in it despite all of the madness. Although it is becoming increasingly more difficult to remain positive, it is inevitably all that we have left. That sliver of hope that maybe one day in the future we can all just be seen as human rather than as the labels we have given each other. Currently in society we are acting like animals rather than human beings and we are fighting instead of loving. But there is still beauty that runs through our veins like ocean waves. We feel it when we look out at the infinite specks of glitter that dance on the water. We feel it when we look into the eyes of the person we love. We feel it when the sun is swallowed by the moon every night and is spit back out in the morning to paint the world with tangerine. We feel it even when we think that we don’t.

“I knew that I was dying.
something in me said, go ahead, die, sleep, become as
them, accept. then something else in me said, no, save the tiniest
bit.
it needn’t be much, just a spark.
a spark can set a whole forest on
fire.
just a spark.
save it.” -Charles Bukowski

 

For the People I Love Who Are Suffering From the Inside Out

Every morning you wake up and the first thing that you do is you step on that scale on your bathroom floor. You cross your fingers and hope that the number that appears on the screen is the same as it was last night before you went to bed-less would be fine but more would certainly not. After this you take a shower, and as the warm water paints over your pale, porcelain skin, you run your hands over your sides where your ribs protrude from your flesh. As you do every day for breakfast, you have your meal blended into a cup while you wish that you could be eating meals like the ones in your friends Instagram photos. When you’re picking out an outfit to wear for the day you tend to take much longer than you originally anticipated. Nothing seems to fit you right because all of your clothes look similar to drapes when you put them on, and it’s frustrating because you know that you have to look as close to perfection as you can. And it’s certainly not for the benefit of anybody else at all, no, it’s undoubtedly all for yourself.

When you’re walking through the streets of your city you have the tendency to instinctively compare yourself to everybody else around you that is the same sex. The outfit you picked out after almost an hour of rummaging through your entire closet as though a tornado hit it in the process, just doesn’t seem to look as good as it did when you analyzed yourself in the mirror for an additional 30 minutes before finally leaving the house. You genuinely believe that you would have looked so much better if you hadn’t had that “cheat day” over the past weekend and eaten that In-N-Out protein style burger. If you saw pictures of yourself two or even three years ago, you would without a doubt say that you honestly thought you looked better now. However, you would also be able to confidently say that you don’t quite recognize yourself in those photos but you do remember looking the way you did before, with a heavy heart. Your face was more full and your eyes lit up just like you had fallen in love for the first time, your skin had a naturally healthy glow to it and your body didn’t seem to cave in as it does now. Beauty often comes along with a price, but what you didn’t ever expect was for that price to become literally skin deep.

Most people believe that eating disorders are a lifestyle choice, but this belief is so far beyond the truth. Eating disorders are another form of mental health disorders, and can more often than not be fatal to those who suffer from them. All genders are susceptible to these disorders, although it has been statistically proven that women are two and a half more times likely to have one than men are. So the next time you want to comment on a picture “you look so skinny,” you should really take at least a moment to think rationally before you hit that send button. You could be sending the wrong message to the right person.

I personally do not suffer from an eating disorder. I have loved many women who suffer from eating disorders. Furthermore, this issue is extremely personal to me because I have far too many loved ones, including close family members and friends, who do as well. They all deserve to be recognized and taken as seriously as any other mental health disorder would. Just as a bone is if it has ever been broken, the feeling of the initial break will always be present even when it has finally healed. The bone is just like the eating disorder in the sense that the feeling will always be present, even if one has successfully gone through all of the steps of treatment. It is exactly the same for a person who has attempted and survived suicide, the feeling will always be present even after surviving. The key at the end of each day, is to simply be stronger than that feeling.

*There is always a light at the end of the tunnel, even when you want to believe that the light is a train.*

If you or someone you love is silently suffering from an eating disorder, please click the link below.

NIMH (National Institute of Mental Health) http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/eating-disorders/index.shtml

 

 

 

Feeling the Burn (No This Isn’t a Political Article About Bernie Sanders)

We become accustomed to certain things if they are pushed upon us enough, even if these things are detrimental to our own mental health. I remember during the earliest stage of my transition a year ago, how blatantly angry I would get whenever I was mis gendered or furthermore questioned about my sexuality. Before, I would have described my anger as a fire and all of the countless times that I was called “miss,” “she,” or “m’am,” would be the fuel to make that fire even more substantial. Over a year has gone by since I initially began my journey towards becoming Stephen, yet I continue to be addressed by the name legally printed on my drivers license. I don’t know if it is because I live in such a tight-knit community where everyone knows my past and what high school I went to, or if it is just the disheartening fact that people still don’t truly understand what it means to be transgender. Regardless of the reasons, I am deeply saddened to say without a doubt that the massive fire that one burned steadily in my heart is starting to falter, little by little. The fire that kept my fighting heart alive has transformed into a single flame. I have almost gotten used to being misunderstood, which is something that I genuinely believe should never have to be the case for anyone out there who is struggling with their identity-whether it be the color of their skin, sexual preference, or gender identification.

You can only be called a certain word so many times before you start to simply get tired of it, and as a direct result your will to remain strong will begin to fade slowly but surely. In both my mind and in my heart I have never once doubted my gender identity, not even for a second. The first time that I loved a girl was way back in middle school, and it was not in the way that a girl would love another girl. I knew even then at eight years old, that I loved her in the way that a boy would. I write these types of articles over and over again at an attempt to engrain these words not only into the minds of you readers, but furthermore to engrain these words into your hearts. If you ever have a child who is transgender or if you have a friend who is, the bottom line is that you must accept them. Accepting a person ultimately comes along with action, it cannot not simply be just words. How would you feel if you were a straight male and every single day someone called you a girl, or vice versa? Would you fight every single day against all of those people telling you that you are something you know you are not, or would you eventually just give in because you got tired of fighting the battle?

I cannot express this enough; I did not choose to be transgender. If I had wanted to make things easier for myself I would have identified as a lesbian and sat back and called it a day. But, I absolutely refuse to not be my authentic self in order to simply make things easier for others or even easier for myself. I will not add my name onto the list of those who felt the burden of being transgender was far too heavy to bare any longer, even when there have been many sleepless nights during which I have wanted to. I will not let the flame burn out entirely because without people like me who vocalize the true consequences behind others’ ignorance, there will undoubtedly be no progress towards resolving this issue whatsoever. I will not stop writing about this and I will not stop talking about this; I will not let fear regarding the possibility of being hated prevent me from using my voice. I’m trying to keep that fire alive within myself, so if you’re going to continue to refer to me as labels that I am not, know that you just keep adding fuel to the fire. You’re the ones who give me something to write about.

 

A Letter From Someone With BPD

“People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement.”
― Marsha M. Lineham

This semester one of the classes I am taking is titled “Intimate Relationships,” a course in which the objective is to inform students about all of the different principles involved within effective and healthy interpersonal relationships. In the first chapter we are introduced to the three basic styles of attachment found in children- secure, anxious-ambivalent, and avoidant. Later on these three basic attachment styles are further categorized into four separate styles of attachment found in adults-secure, preoccupied, dismissive, and fearful. Our style of attachment in adulthood is often based upon our style of attachment in childhood. If we tend to be neglected in our childhood or receive mixed messages regarding caring from our parents, we will most likely be dismissive, fearful, or preoccupied when it comes to our intimate relationships. It has been said that sixty percent of the population is secure in their intimate relationships, leaving the remaining forty percent either preoccupied, dismissive, or fearful. I have determined that I am within that remaining forty percent, falling under the category of fearful. Individuals who are fearful have a high level of anxiety regarding abandonment as well as a high level of anxiety regarding intimacy.

Up until high school I would have without a doubt labeled myself as being secure. But once I began transitioning as well as having my first unhealthy intimate relationship experience, it became evident to me that I had begun to view relationships in a much different light. Following the very first time that I was left by a girl who claimed to be as in love with me as I was with her, I began to find myself fearing intimacy and attachment; both in my friendships as well as in any romantic interests I had at the time. A seed of the fear of abandonment was planted within me and it drastically grew as I began to experience more intimate romantic relationships with age.  Last July I was faced with a diagnosis that seemed to explain my intense fear, called borderline personality disorder. BPD is often viewed in an incredibly negative manner; and those who are borderline are frequently referred to as being “crazy” or “uncontrollably unstable.” It is true that my emotions are black or they are white, there is absolutely no kind of an in between. It is true that some days certain people will be on the top of my list while on other days they may be crammed in at the very bottom. It is true that the most minuscule of things tend to affect me, simply misinterpreting a text message from a friend as being cruel rather than realizing its actual intention could leave an incredibly sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It is true I am typically the first person to apologize in any given conflict even when I am not the one who is at fault, and it is out of pure fear that the person’s words will leave me feeling shattered. But it is not true that I am defined solely by my mental illness, it is not true that I am undeserving of healthy friendships or romantic relationships, and it is certainly not true that I am any different than I was before I was diagnosed.

To my acquaintances, friends, family, and future lovers: I write this to send a clear message, people who suffer from BPD often need that extra bit of love but their constant attempts to receive that love can come off as pathetic, clingy, or even overwhelming at times. But please, give them that extra bit of love and open your hearts to them even if it takes them a little longer to do the same. For all you know, they genuinely do not know of anything else but being left behind. Even if the fear of abandonment for them is only imaginary, to someone with BPD it will always feel real; and furthermore it will always feel like it is going to inevitably happen.

To learn more about the symptoms and treatments for BPD, visit:

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/borderline-personality-disorder/index.shtml

 

 

Nothing in existence truly prepares you for heartbreak. Months can go by and at the end of each day you’ll still find yourself not knowing what to do with your hands. Going from a glass that was nearly full or overflowing the brim to a glass that is only half-way full or even empty. Photographs burn your memory like the cherry of a cigarette to your pale paper skin. Songs that used to make you smile bring you to the verge of tears and make you wish the car had more windows. Everything you used to adore seems sour but when she was yours it all tasted so sweet; even things that were full of bitterness. Nothing will inevitably bring a person back to you. Longing is the slowest process that is ultimately like you would imagine death to feel like; but it will never kill you entirely. When I was eighteen I wrote that someday I will be undoubtedly regretful because I will have never known a world where I knew what her kiss tasted like. Whether it would have been sugary sweet like maple cinnamon syrup drizzled on top of a stack of buttermilk pancakes or bitterness coated on her tongue like the drip of black coffee burning through my taste buds. At almost 21 years old I no longer remember the little things, they have all faded from my memory and left me with an empty black canvas once again-a black canvas where a million brilliant white lights were once splattered across. When you fall out of love you lose that brilliant white light, you stop seeing the world through rose colored glasses. Colors are just colors and days all seem to be the same shade of eggplant white like the color of days printed up on the calendar. You begin to see the world in black and white again, sunsets are still beautiful but you no longer watch the sun get swallowed up by the great white moon in anticipation while you are holding hands with the one you love.  You’ll always have photographs but the one that you gave your heart to will not come out of those photographs as the same person. They’ll become a ghost, only somebody that you used to know, and the memories that you cherished together will fade from your mind further and further as time passes by ever so effortlessly. They say that you never forget your first love but if the destruction caused by losing them is so magnificent you just might, and the scariest part is that you won’t even realize it until the loneliness consumes you on the darkest of blue nights. Loneliness ultimately will not kill you, but the idea of being alone will drive you down a very dark road if you choose to let it overcome you. We are the generation that refuses to sit in silence, we do not know how to handle loneliness because we have never known a world without the ability to connect to one another in the palms of our hands. I think we have all ultimately forgotten how to genuinely enjoy the intimacy of a dull moment without any words or distractions. We do not realize that the loneliness is what will end up making us resilient individuals. We do not know what it is like to truly live in the moment, we are always a part of each others moments through a screen. Constantly interacting with one another, we have ultimately chosen to succumb to dependency on other individuals in order to obtain our own sense of “happiness.” There is no over the counter prescription drug available to prevent the loneliness from coming in and out of our lives consistently like ocean waves kissing the shore to say good morning and retreating once again to say goodnight. But we have control over our thoughts, and once we realize that we need the loneliness to provide us with the importance behind discovery of self-love and value, we will welcome it with open arms. In winter it seems tragic to not have a hand to hold or arms to comfort us when we are at our weakest point, but at the end of the day all that is certain is ourselves. We are the only ones who cannot leave us, we must learn how to hold our own hands without the selfishness of wanting something more “significant.” The light at the end of the tunnel is not a train, you need to stop running away from the problems you’ve stuffed deep down into your pockets in order to try and forget about them. Look out your window, the trees look exactly the same as they did yesterday and the sky isn’t black and white it’s actually really a quite lovely shade of blue. Nothing has changed, nothing except for you.

I Tried to Forget

I tried to forget that I was a girl. People always ask “if you were a superhero, what power would you want to have?” My answer wouldn’t be the ability to fly or be invisible, my power would be to transform into the man that I have longed to be since I was eight years old. I tried to forget that I used to wear princess dresses with glittery shoes, I tried to forget the sound of my own real name. I tried to forget that a person named “Stephanie” ever even existed at all. Every day when others are waking up, they throw on clothes and jump into the shower effortlessly. When I wake up, I wish that my entire life so far was just a bad dream. That my biological gender identity was just a big mistake and I can simply unzip right out of my skin. I cover up all of the parts of myself that I hate when I feel the water paint my skin over, and it feels like a baptism. Some days I break down and I can’t tell the difference between the tears pouring down my cheeks and the running water.

I tried to forget that I was a girl. I tried to ignore the staring and the misgendering, all of the “misses” “m’ams” and “she’s” like they were just insignificant little pieces of paper rolled up into balls in my pockets. I tried to set all of the hatred I felt towards each of those people on fire but in the end I was the only one who truly got burned. I tried to forget that I can’t love like normal people can, people who have parts that match the way that they feel on the inside. I tried to forget that I was a puzzle piece for every girl that said they couldn’t love me because I didn’t match their idea of what the puzzle should look like. I thought that the piece of paper allowing me to receive hormone therapy treatment would be the golden ticket to solve everything, but it didn’t. I am still reminded on a daily basis of everything that I am not. When I hang out with my guy friends they tell me that I’m lucky because of the clothes I wear or the places I get to go. I want to tell them that I look at their faces, their body structures, the sound of their voices-and tell them that they’re lucky to be born in the right body.

I tried to forget that I was a girl. I deepen my voice when I order food at restaurants and when my friends ask me why I want to scream. But silence is what is easier, and we all have the tendency to ultimately settle for what is easy.  When I love, I love hard. I love hard because I know exactly how it feels to not love yourself, and how it makes you feel like you are not even worth loving in the first place. If I could go out into the world as a man without deepening my voice or stuffing my abnormally small hands in my pockets, I would. But society has too many standards that I feel I must conform to in order to be a real man. Some, that I don’t even morally agree with. I tried to forget that I was a girl. I turned to substances and alcohol in order to numb myself, help me to forget how to differentiate between what was reality and what was a facade. Peter Gabriel said “In Your Eyes” that the grand facade soon shall burn; I tried to burn my own facade several times many different ways and I never was successful at doing so.

I tried to forget that I was a girl. I tried to forget that I was transgender. If I could tell all of my friends one thing it would be that I am more than just being transgender. I will gladly answer your questions, and furthermore I will give advice to those who are truly in need of it. But I will not be your experiment, and I will not be your “one trans friend,” because I am so much more than that and it has taken me twelve years to realize it. I tried to forget that I was a girl but so many of you wouldn’t let me go. Or rather, just simply the idea of me that you used to know. But I was never a girl, I was never Stephanie. I was always a cisgendered male, and the body underneath my clothes should not have to determine that.

I tried to forget that I was a girl. I am afraid of what the future ahead has in store for me, but I am hopeful that it will be bright. I used to believe that the light at the end of the tunnel was a train, but now I know better than that. I have seen the light and although it often inevitably flickers on and off, even when the darkness comes you can choose to light a candle. I tried to burn my candle out forever because I didn’t believe there would ever be a light. But there is a reason I am still here, there is a reason behind my existence in this world. I just needed to tell myself that I am not a girl.  The world is beautiful and the beauty runs through me every day like purple rain. I am grateful that I get to watch the tangerine sun be swallowed whole under by the dark moon every night and see it get spit back out into the atmosphere each morning. When I see the dark blue velvet waves of the ocean dance in to kiss the rocks every time the tide comes in, I am instantly reminded that everything in our life is temporary. Everything is temporary, and forever never lasts, but our impact on the world after we are gone does.

“I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me… but it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life… You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure. But don’t worry… you will someday.” -American Beauty (1999)

 

To the Girl I Could Have Loved

Almost. A word that either overfills the brim of the cup or leaves it entirely empty. I almost loved you, but I didn’t know what the word meant because I didn’t even feel that way about myself at the time. I bought you red roses for the table on Valentine’s Day because I used to genuinely believe that materialistic objects equated to romance. Having absolutely no understanding behind the concept of self-love, I loved the way that you treated me like I was just an invitation to a free meal.  I wrote so many poems about how I felt that I ultimately forgot how to write about anything else except for you. I was the one who knew who your favorite author was, all of your hopes and dreams, why you really wore the red lipstick that perfectly coated your lips. But you settled, you settled because it was much easier than facing the fact that you were in love with me. Once I had finally moved on, you then decided that it was necessary to make countless attempts to hold the role that you previously held in my life. Somewhere in between friends and something more, but never something more because that was a cross you just weren’t ready to bear. When people would ask me about you, all I would taste was the blood on my tongue when I would bite down. Bitterness, that used to be coated over with sweetness from the infatuation towards you, the bitterness that I was drowning in.

You called me up late one night a couple months ago and you told me that you were in love with me and that you always had been. It was easier for me to tell my friends and laugh about it, pretend that I didn’t care in the least. But, we both knew that I cared. It just didn’t make me feel the way that I had two years ago when you were physically in my presence, back before she tainted my heart. Words through telephone wires had never sounded so much like a hurricane. I guess we listened to too much Lana Del Rey when we were together, because I saw the darkness in you and you saw it in me. Therefore, the majority of the time we spent in each others company was spent emotionally draining each other. You never could stand me whenever I wasn’t sober and looking back on that, I think it’s because I could be free and you could not.  Other times, you were too free for me and someone should have told me you can’t lock up a bird in a cage and expect that bird to not want to be free. When you had my heart, your brown eyes were the most beautiful shade of gold I had ever seen. But after I took my heart back for myself your eyes were just brown, and I realized in that moment that they always had been. I thought you were the one, but you were ultimately no good for me. With you I was a mixture of sadness and brokenness, and you couldn’t even try to save me because you were too busy trying to save yourself. I went back to black with you a hundred times, but I never forgot about all of the colors I was missing out on.

Some days, I find myself missing you and I wonder who has your heart now or if there’s even the slightest possibility that I still do. Other days, you don’t even cross my mind, not even when I’m listening to the music that we shared together. It’s crazy how someone who you used to consider to be your everything transforms into nothing as quickly as the flick of a light switch changes the colors of a room. To the girl I could have loved; I love myself now, and I truly hope that you do too. I hope that you’re not settling for less just because sometimes what is less is what is easy, and I hope that you’ve finally finished that book you started writing back when you were my world. I don’t know how the weather is down there, but I hope that it’s warm even when your heart is cold, that you still think of me when you think of home. Who knows when I will see you again, if I ever will see you again. Sometimes you leave things in the past years before and you don’t realize until the present why you had to leave them there in the first place. I had to leave you behind because I had to find me again. So thank you, for being the one to make me realize that I had to start building the walls around my heart out of brick instead of cardboard.

I’ve had a lot of “almosts” but you were by far the most painful. You were the bullet in my heart that I carried around until I had the strength to pull it out and deal with the pain. And you still had the nerve to ask, who shot me.