Dear Myself,

I couldn’t tell you who I’m writing this for, me, you or everyone. I don’t know, all I know is, I have to get this out there, even if no one ever reads it. I’m not important when you consider the grand scheme of things, when I think about it, only a handful of people give a damn about me. I’m hoping that maybe there will be a bunch of you out there that can relate.

I’ve had a few problems in my life I guess, but this isn’t about that, this is about the present, the now, the story. I’ve decided to write all this publicly, because maybe it will give me some sort of release. Some people that I once considered to be of most importance, won’t listen to me, and that breaks my heart a little, but that’s life I guess.

Have you ever felt like the person staring back at you in the mirror wasn’t you? Well if you have, I think maybe you and I aren’t that different. My whole life, something was wrong, and now I know what it is. For nearly a year, I’ve tried to become my full self, to explore how I really feel, after years of hiding it.

I don’t want this whole entry to be metaphorical, I mean, I know what I’m talking about, but you might wonder; what the hell is he talking about? I’ll tell you – I named myself Nathan, because I wasn’t born that way, I was born with a very different name, one I won’t divulge because that part of me is disappearing more and more each day.

As you may have already guess, I’m what the world labels transgender, but I don’t like to use that word, not because I have anything against it, just because I want to focus on being me, not any label that I’m given. I told the people close to me, I think most of them already figured it out. My girlfriend was already in cahoots, she knew from the beginning, we both did. I told my mum, and got the fullest support, there was just one problem… my dad.

My parents have been separated from 3 years now, and ever since the split, my father wasn’t very involved. Well, he was never really a hands on dad anyway, but my whole life, he’s always made me feel the most like me. You can imagine how hard it was when he didn’t accept me. I can’t quite decide if he’s being ignorant, doesn’t want to accept me, or thinks that I’m just going through a phase, as I’ve been told by numerous people.

It’s all fine and well to say phase, and I understand why people would think that, hell, I did. But he hasn’t listened to a word I’ve said. I trudge about the house in a baggy t-shirt and buttoned up jeans, with every shop keeper calling me sir and all strangers addressing me as he. Yet my dad, the man who makes a part of me, still calls me sweetie and daughter and daddy’s little girl, and it makes me sick to the stomach. I try to understand, like I think any person would, but there is only so much I can do. On my 18th birthday he gave me a bracelet, I took into consideration that he sees me a couple of times a year, but he knows me, and even as a long haired, gender confused female, I would never have wanted a present like that.

I don’t want anyone to think bad of me, to think me selfish. I thought the sentiment was great, but having your dad sit there and convince you to wear something, that at a touch, feels like it is burning you, is quite traumatic. I just wish I could tell him how I feel, but I can’t, so instead I’m going to tell all of you.


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