Curate, connect, and discover
TW: Grafic Topics
Growing up is so weird because what do you mean my mother is a bio essentialist.
Granted I should’ve seen that coming with the Wicca stuff and the “divine feminine” and the needing to know all my friend’s bio genders and blatant misogyny to other women but like, I’m trans. She named me Sean because it’s my dead uncle’s middle name. She helped me learn how to dress masculinely. Why is it now I’m getting told to “ditch the facial hair” and that I “shouldn’t start testosterone now” and I “should tone down the eyeliner”.
Mamá you filled my head with stories of you being goth in the 90s and showed me the metal cds you got then. Why can’t I do that? Why do you have to look and me and see nothing but a mess of emotions? Will it still be that way when my voice drops? When my facial hair grows in? When my name is changed? How “inate” are these traits you’ve put on me? And why do you keep them there? You don’t even know who I am and you act like you know everything. You don’t.
Growing up is weird bc what do you mean my mom is a narcissist?
Everyone said my dad was one, and they were right, because I ended up being one too. The all-importance, the thinking you can do no wrong, that masculine snark that everyone takes as confidence, I thought it was his, and it is his, it’s mine. It’s the one connection I still have with my dad, my window of understanding of who he is and was, and why he made those decisions at my age. Why I’m never going to be like him
But Mamá what you have is worse. Your narcissism says you can never be wrong. That I in my 19 years of life can never know as much as you do. But if I told you of the clubs and the drugs and the queers I love and the friendships that I hold dearest to my heart you’d never trust me ever again. The shame you carry with you is harder than any shoe thrown in a frightening joke. Mamá I know you lie about my dead uncle. And I know it’s not on purpose, he was absolutely like me. He partied so hard and loved so feverishly that you didn’t know the full extent until he died. He had to die for you to know him. I know he hid from you the way I hide from you, out of self preservation because your way is the all knowing, the divine, and god forbid you learn the nuance of life
Growing up is weird because what do you mean my mom is bisexual
She told me about it when I was 12 and came out to her. She was the first person to explain trans people to me. Maybe that’s why she hates me being trans, I don’t do it in her definition. I was too young, I was too feminine, and even now the heels and the skirts and the wigs and the endless eyeshadow pallets are a testament to how I’m not the “right kind” of trans. Does she know it’s not because I’m secretly going to “switch back” to being a girl. Does she know that I do drag. Does she know about my three drag dads. Does she know about the trans women I cry to when she says I don’t have my life together. Does she know why.
Mamá I will never tell you why. I will never tell you about being groomed and trafficked and drugged with a fake prescription and doing all the house work for a woman I was terrified of. You met that woman. I said she was my roommate. But even if you knew the truth you wouldn’t have helped me. You would’ve shamed me. That’s all you ever do, that’s all you’re ever filled with, and no matter what happens to me it’s all you have to offer now. The shame for my clothes for my hair for my body if you ever saw it for the parts of me you can’t see and never ever will
Growing up is strange
Because what do you mean my mom is abusive too
She was never supposed to be that
Mamá do you know that I want to die?