A Little Bit of Truth

I was a person on the edge of breaking, as fragile as a crystal glass but expected to be strong, to never break, to live on. I wanted nothing more than to stop hurting
so much, to stop feeling so disconnected and out of place. But it never ended. My pain became a part of me, my depression as well. I remained hidden, verbally
assaulted by friends and certain family members. No one in my family is understanding and they are as friendly as a venemous snake. LGBT friendly they are not. They
barely ever saw me yet my name was always being spat out of their mouths. Talking about the freak in the family, the butch girl who always sat alone in a corner trying
to avoid the judging eyes and hurtful words. To them I seemed to be nothing other than some weird little dyke that never fit in not matter what. Unless I was mistaken,
I was some stain on their ''perfect'' piece of shit lie that they call a family. I tested the waters with my cousins once, we were all sitting in the living room,
sipping some weird vodka concoction that my cousin made, I brought up LGBT folks in general and what I got back was less than hopeful. Nothing but homophobic spew. I
asked about trans people and recieved the same thing, promises of assualt, hatred, transphobic remarks and shit. It broke my heart, even if I didn't get why. I felt
torn, always too over obsessed with LGBT rights (especially gay and trans rights) and not getting why, so upset because I thought my cousins would understand but being
raised by the bunch of assholes in my family will poison anyone.

I blamed myself a lot for any and everything. I was angry all the time and I had stuffed my trans indentity so deep down that I had completely forgotten and every
obvious sign, flew over my head completely. I could go one forever wth all the sadness and anger. I lost count of all the times I sat in my room, trying to free a
sharpener blade from its holder so I could slice open my arm a few times and feel nothing for a little while. I thought I was going to die...I thought that someday I
would just end it all. But I never did and I have no idea why. Sometimes I think back on all that and it saddens me to my core. So much hurt could have been avoided
if I had just let myself live my life in a way that made more sense. Worn the clothes that made sense. But that would have been an issue for my mom, she got so upset
when I went to the mens section and had told me on several shopping trips that I needed to learn how to ''look and act more femenine in public'', she refused to
let me wear my desired clothing. Graphic t-shirts were allowed because they were gender neutral enough for her tastes other than that it was off to Penningtons. She
bitched at me for being too picky, for not knowing what to do because I constantly complained about everything there being too girly, too femenine, not my style. I
was at fault for being into clothing that wasn't ''okay'' for females. She was always so frustrated with me as if she had failed or something. I know this isn't the
case, my mom loves me but she never tells or shows me often. It made me feel so guilty, I felt like I was a defualt. I felt as if I shamed her to no end. I still
feel like that sometimes. Guilt is my most prominent emotion, even if I am not at fault for anything. She still doesn't understand me and I honestly think that if
my stepfather hadn't have spoken to her after I came out, we wouldn't be speaking anymore.