As someone who spends their time writing and creating stories, I struggle with mine. I’m still figuring this all out, still taking things day by day, but for as long as I can remember, there’s been a part of me that didn’t quite fit with the rest of me. It was like a puzzle piece that was somewhat shoved into a space, even though the edges were too sharp, and the middle was distorted. When I was thirteen, I realized I liked girls and boys. It was terrifying, as I wasn’t exactly raised in the type of household where things like that were easily accepted. So, I came out to my friends at school, but lived a lie outside of it. I had secret girlfriends, secret social media accounts, and I refused to come out to anyone remotely considered family because I was afraid that they would abandon me. (I have abandonment issues, but that’s for a different time and place.) After I “came out” as bisexual, it took about five years for me to drop the ‘bi’ part and accept that I liked women. This was before I understood that bisexuality didn’t have to be fifty-fifty. Regardless, up until the age of twenty-three, I was a regular lesbian. I was what some might consider a ‘stud.’
Now, here’s the hard part. I’ve recently moved away from home, living away from my parents and from old friends, and I’m in an environment where I have no choice but to be honest with myself. This new city and new home literally forced me to be myself, and what I discovered has altered every aspect about my life. So, remember I said I was a lesbian until the age of twenty-three? Well, I turned twenty-three last September, and around that time, I had a massive reality check smack me in the face. I was living a lie. I came out to one person, and it was a complete accident. Sort of. She somewhat pushed me out of the box I was hiding in, and I started the very long road to acknowledging, accepting, and respecting the idea that it wasn’t the sexuality that was wrong. It was the identity. And by that, I mean…
It wasn’t whether I liked girls or boys or everyone in between.
It was the fact I was doing so as a woman.
With that said, to whoever reads this or comes across it, I’m Trans. I identify as a man.
Crazy, right? Saying it, even on a computer, still gives me horrible anxiety because I haven’t crossed that bridge to full acceptance. I’ve only taken small steps, but they’re more freeing than any lie I’ve told myself over the past several years.
There are people who still don’t know, and there are people who know that don’t know how to treat me anymore. Then there are the wonderful people in my life who took it in stride and treat me the exact same. It’s freeing, terrifying, and nauseating all at once. But I wouldn’t change this. Not now. Not after finally finding myself.
I, Gabriel, am a man who likes people, who loves love, and who hopes that this journey will continue to bring me happiness and peace of mind.
