I Love My Mother, but She Doesn't Love Me // Little Advice?

As some of you who follow me may know, I am transgender. And, as a transgender guy, there comes all sorts of things with it. Number one is a closer friendship with all my friends, due to the fact that I have told them my deepest and most well-kept secret. Number two is the intensification of dysphoria as soon as I accept to myself that I am transgender and there is nothing else. And, finally, number three, was coming out in June to both my parents at the same time.

Nobody takes their child as a thousand shades of gray. Most parents, in my opinion, tend to see their children as something untouchable, something like a pup or a kitten, naïve and happy and not wise at all. What would they know? Why would they doubt something that you cannot even imagine exists? But they do think. We think. I thought for myself and I was unhappy for the longest of times about my body and it wasn't until one and a half years ago that I realized why exactly did I hate my body.

It was more than I could chew at the moment. Ignoring it wasn't easy, but I managed. My parents can't cope, as well.

Two days ago I had a fight with my mom and it was really, really nasty. Before I even came out, my mom had this thing where she hid my band shirts and the clothing I had that she didn't like. She cried when I dyed my hair. She didn't talk to me for two weeks. She also cried her poor eyes put when I told her I as pansexual. She still doesn't look at me the same after I told her I'm trans.

But the fight we had two days ago really angered me. All my shirts were missing and I went to her wardrobe and there they were, hidden on the upper shelf. And I was eally mad and I confronted her about it. She tried to ignore me, making pointless arguments and such, but the I just stopped and it went something like this (please, take notice that my mom doesn't know ANYTHING about transgender people. Nothing at all. She doesn't even understand the difference between sexuality and gender):

Me: "Why are you trying to postpone the inevitable, mom? What's the point of hiding my shirts? Of banning me from cutting my hair? Is it really so hard for you to realize that you're not only hurting me, but you as well?"

Mom: "Girls should have long hair. When I was your age, I loved to have my hair long, and I never could."

Me: "Mom, I'm neither you, nor a girl."

Mom: "Yes, you are!"

Me: "No, I'm not!"

Mom: "You are! You are a girl! You have a cunt and you can't change that! Ever! That's never going to change! You're a girl, and I don't want you to disguise yourself around the streets! What are you gonna do? Get surgery?!"

Me: "Yes. First, I'll do hormone treatment, and then get surgery."

Mom: *taken back, she starts to cry* "You'd mutilate yourself? How are you going to get a cock? You'll always be incomplete!"

Me: "I'll be happy."

Mom: "Well, I won't be."

Me: *after a pause* "Then don't expect me to come on Christmas when I leave home."

She started to cry really hard when I told her, but then she turned to me, shrugged, and said "I'll be very sad." and I just couldn't understand why it was so damn hard for her to simply UNDERSTAND that it's not the answer? That I don't want to lose her? That I don't want to lose my family over being me?

When I told her about me being pansexual, she ended the day hugging me, telling me that no matter what, she'd always love me. And when I reminded her of that, my mom said "I told my daughter that. But now it seems you're not my daughter."

I told her some bullshit I can't even remember myself and gave her "more time to start facing things by herself" and she promised to go to a psychologist so she could understand. But I left the kitchen feeling weak, invisible and invallidated. And all I can think about when I see my mom is her screaming at me that I can't change a thing.

And it scares me to death to think that I won't ever be able to. I feel stuck. I want to take some scissors and chop all my hair off. Dad said I could do it on September, but they'd told me I could do it this month. All I can think of is that I will grow to be who I'm not and my anxiety creeps up on me all the goddamn time.

I want a haircut. I want boxers. I want guy pants. Male jeans. I want to use my binder every day. I want to sing with a deeper voice and run my hand through my chin and feel stubble. I want to have a good fucking wank with a real dick. I want to take off my shirt at the beach and not have any dysphoria. I want to sleep at night.

But I also want to have a good relationship with my sister, which I haven't had since I was around five. And it's been thirteen years. I want to make my father proud every sile day he wakes up, and make him realize that all his hard work was something. That all he did for me was worthwhile. Qnd I want to sit beside my mom on Christmas dinners, and for her to call me 'son', 'mi niño', 'mi principito' and such. Not 'daughter', 'mi niña', ''mi princesita'.

I know it will take time. I can bare that. What I can't bare is leaving and for my mom to cry and lament and curse ME when all she had to do was UNDERSTAND. She's my mother. She birthed me. We play card games and we watch musicals at the cinema and she cleans my room when she shouldn't and she taught me her mother's recipes. She's my MOTHER.

And when I hurt her, it hurts me. 

Thinking about FOREVER leaving brings me so many emotions, and sadly the first one that I think about is absolute, unlimited FREEDOM. And freedom comes in the form of cutting my hair, wearing the clothes I want, publicly kissing a girl and wearing a suit and tie to dinners. 

I love my mom. I really do. I just don't think she loves me anymore.