Invisible Boy

September 7

안녕하세요 동생, 형, 누나. 사랑해요.

Here's the thing. My parents desperately want me to talk to them about how I feel, what I'm doing, everything. In the same breath they tell me that I'm just pretending that I have dysphoria, that my self harm is the problem not the symptom, and that it's wrong to be trans and gay. And guess what? Because of that, I have no motivation whatsoever to talk to them. Not about myself, that is. We talk perfectly fine about TV shows and school and even our favorite Bible verses. Just so long as I don't mention gender or sexuality we're good. But, as my therapist used to say, I'm the elephant in the room. And they can only ignore me so long.

See, I'm totally fine with who I am. Happier, even, with my body than I have been since I became a teenager. I looked in the mirror just this morning and literally my first thought was, Wow, I'm the sexiest man alive. That sounds conceited when I say it, but you've gotta realize that I spent the last five years telling myself I was ugly, fat, and disgusting. I'm finally changing those thoughts. I have God to thank for that.

What I don't understand is how the same God who saved me from myself, who's infinitely merciful and good, could ever condemn someone because of who they are or who they love. I feel like there's a piece I'm missing. Something important that I'm just not attentive enough to notice. I need guidance. If any of you out there are LGBTQ+ and well versed in Christian theology, please DM me. I need help.

While I was in the hospital, I met this priest who was not only female, but a lesbian as well. She led a Bible study every Sunday afternoon, and when I left, she gave me this cute comic book Bible with her number written on the first page, in case I ever needed someone to talk to. She told me that I should always be myself. That I should never listen to the people who try to tell me I can't. That I am so smart, and wonderful, and that she prays for me every day. That's the kind of Christian I want to be. The kind who builds you up, not tears you down. The kind who gives you back the strength not just to survive, but to live. Unfortunately, not many people are like that. I'll miss her.

I spent this morning cleaning and listening to K-pop, and pretending I can dance. Lately I've had to fidget with my binder every half an hour to get it to work; it's an old, used thing I got from the TGRC closest to me, and now that I've been wearing it for a while (probably since February or March), it's all saggy and stretched out. I never pack. I don't really feel like I need something "down there" to feel like myself. But binding is a huge deal for me. I've hated my chest ever since I hit puberty. The fact that I'm a man with an E cup is something that's really hard to get over sometimes; there were weeks where I couldn't shower or get dressed or anything because my dysphoria was so bad. I would just hide in bed under the comforter, in my underwear, wishing I could just rip my breasts off, nice and neat, like pulling taffy. I had dreams of myself getting top surgery that were euphoric, but only made me more depressed when I woke up.

Here's the good news: I can take a shower now without having a panic attack. I can even look at myself in the mirror, and there's only one spot I don't like. But I still have a long way to go. Ideally, I'd someday love my body so much that I don't feel like I need top surgery to exist in day to day life. I'm holding out for that. Because you don't need a flat chest to be a man. Your gender is what's inside, not outside. And if people can't accept a man with boobs, that's their problem, not yours.

Thanks for reading, kids. I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. See you soon 안녕히 가세요 ✌️