I’m back from my little trip. Back home from Edinburgh. The day I woke up at 4am to go back was a sad one. I wanted to stay, because I knew as soon as I’m back I’ll me misgendered again. I’ll be hurt again. I’ll be worried about not being masculine enough. Because in Scotland it didn’t matter. Nobody ever told me to be more manly. Nobody questioned me. I was just me. That was the most precious gift my friends could’ve possibly given me. I was free, at least in one sense.
But then I got home “SHE, HER, BIRTHNAME”
I can’t explain just how tired, how exhausted I was (and still am). I snapped. I wrote my best friend how disrespectful and incredibly rude it is that she misgenders me all the time. That even though she mostly uses my name, she uses the wrong pronouns. Especially when my sister is nearby. The person who causes people to hurt me for their own convenience. That all she does is complaining how hard it is, and that she’s trying so hard. She didn’t write me since then. It hurts. But that’s not the whole issue. When I told her about my trip to Scotland she immediately tried to stop me, telling me how insane I am for visiting people I’ve never met before. She didn’t wish me a safe anything. Not once did she ask me how I am. Not once has she shown any kind of interest in what I was doing. All she did was sending me pictures. Pictures of her and my sister on the lake. I feel betrayed. I was crying that night.
And I keep looking at all the pictures my friends and I made. I keep looking back at the fun we’ve had. The freedom.
Have I lost my best friend?
She hasn’t welcomed me back yet. I feel lost, misplaced. I know I was harsh to her, but the truth can hurt. It still has to be told. It wasn’t even a random message, it was my reply to her calling me disrespectful because I refused to go to the lake with her and my sister, because I refuse to spend time with the person who makes things harder than they already are. What the hell did she expect from me?
They have to stop. They all have to stop complaining how hard it is to not misgender me. They need to stop telling me how hard they try because they fucking don’t try at all.
I am the one having a hard time. I’m the one being in pain. I’m the only one who has the right to fucking cry because of this bullshit.