I am a youngest child of two, but I grew up an only child as my brother was always at school. But when he was home, he would annoy the hell out of me. I was told to ignore him. My father would argue with Addison and, occasionally, they would hit each other. I was told that my father and brother were play fighting. I was told that I had to go to primary school. My brother said it was going to be fun. I thought going to school would be fun and games.
I was wrong.
From the first day of school, I was bullied, for being the "allergy kid" which is something I can't control. I was teased, laughed at, I felt horrible. I had a few friends but multiple bullies. One friend, let us call Casey, would hurt me constantly, but she was one of my only friends I had, so I lived through it. I was told to ignore them. I thought the rest of school life would be easy.
I was wrong.
Grade two, my father is in hospital for a leg infection. I was devastated, I was crying myself to sleep. I was told that he'll be okay, and this is a one off event. I thought that would be the only time he would go into hospital.
I was wrong.
Grade three, he was in a car accident. He squashed two vertebrates and broke his thumb. In the same year, Casey gave me a blood nose "on accident" I still stayed friends with her. I thought this has to be the last time me or my father got hurt that badly.
Once again, I was wrong.
It was a few weeks after my birthday, in grade four, my father had a stroke. The stroke affected the whole household. Dad was acting weirdly; he was a different person. We took him out of the hospital for 1 day, and it was torture. We took him shopping and he would constantly poke me as he thought it was funny. After he was out of the hospital and living at home again, I hated him from the bottom of my heart; I didn't see him as a fatherly figure any more. He would scare me and kick me constantly, as he thought it was funny. We would get into arguments like no tomorrow, as he thought he could make me do whatever he wanted. At the time, I was also studying Baha'i, a Persian religion. If it wasn't for Mum, I would have stopped my religion, as Dad hates anything that isn't a atheist, straight, cis, man. So, I'm f*cked as I'm none of those things. I thought that school would be my escape from all that sh*t.
I was wrong.
Near the end of grade four, my friend referred to me as a "she". Something went off in the back of my head, saying "Hang on... I'm not a she." I didn't say anything to anyone, as I grew up with my father saying that there's female and male, and males are always right. So, I believed that there's only male and female. I had to wear dresses, I hated it, but was too scared to say anything. I thought I would grow up, having to stay female.
I was wrong.
I went into grade six, head up high, feeling ready to go into high school. My teacher was horrible. At graduation, I was performing with one of my few friends and the teacher told me "If you mess up, you'll disappoint your family." and in the performance, I was so nervous about messing up, I messed up. I almost broke down on stage, as I thought Mum was going to disappointed, as that's what my teacher told me. Mum wasn't, my brother wasn't, but Dad was. After that sh*t storm of a night, I thought high school was going to be a fresh start and I'll have fun.
I was wrong.
In Year 7, I started to get anxiety, and stopped coming to school at least once a week. I slowly started to come out, as lesbian first, then bi, but most of year 7, I said I was Lesbian. One recess, I was asked if I was boy, girl or demon. In a class, I was asked who I was attracted to. I said both and neither, as I didn't want to come out yet. He said, "Are you f*cking Bisexual or something?" and every laughed. That's where I started to feel depressed. I thought that my anxiety and depression was going to fade, like it was a phase.
I was wrong.
Near the middle of the year, I told the school councillor everything. I got sent TO CAMHS which is a mental hospital, based in a old building. I felt like... An outcast. I saw it as a mental asylum for the mentally ill. I had a councillor I saw every week to every fortnight. The councilling hardly worked. I thought I was seen as a freak at school.
And I was right.
It was September, and I couldn't stand life, so I started self harming, but that wasn't enough. End of school, my father and mother were going to be separated, they thought I would be upset.
They were wrong.
Mid January, I just had a massive fight with my father and I had enough. I grabbed the pills and tried to overdose myself. I thought this was the end and I could finally be free.
I was wrong.
I thought year eight I could have a good year. I would come out as trans, then be happy.
I thought I could have one good school year.
I thought I could be happy.
But I was wrong, and have been since.
