This isn't going to be easy for me to write, but I think I'm finally ready to start telling my story. Thanks to Dante and the other Rejects for giving me the encouragement to do this. Without them I'd be completely lost.
Trans. A simple word. Yet it defines me and scares the living shit out of me at the same time. It also comforts me, giving definition to what I am and what I need to be. This isn't a choice or a whim, this is reality.
I did it! I finally did it! I told total strangers what I am! I'm so happy that I am about to cry, and I've done a lots of crying over this!
I'm Drew, but it's not short for Andrew. It's a take on the name I used to have not too long ago-but now that seems like forever ago. Another life. Another world. Back when I was called Andrea, named after my late grandmother. Damn I miss her but I'm glad, in a selfish way, that she's not here to see what I'm going through. It would probably kill her.
I'm the result of two horny teens doing what I'm sure some horny teens do, except they got more than they bargained for. Me. My mother's strict Christian family didn't approve of this transaction, but in the end my parents were forced to get married and "do the right thing". They will always deny it but I know they regret that decision.
My earliest memories are of being in pain, severe abdominal pain that would come and go. I remember trying to pray it away, kneeling in front of my bed with my mother holding my hand, asking for it to go away. It just got worse.
During the summer when I was six I was told by my parents that I had to go to the hospital to get my pain fixed, and I'd be there for a while. It was a scary place but the people there were nice, and after a while I got used to the funny smells and strange noises.
I wasn't told when I was going to have my operation, I just woke up one day totally lost and feeling strange. I was sore, and my legs were tied to the bed so I couldn't move them. I was strapped down, and wasn't allowed to look below my waist, but I was told there was nothing to worry about.
Eventually I went home, and the scars on my abdomen healed over time, thanks to the creme my mother would put on them every night before I went to bed. The pain was gone, and I was a happy kid. Then things began to change for me, gradually I started acting different and feeling different, but I couldn't figure out why.
When second grade started I was really feeling different, and even more confused. I didn't want to wear the long dresses my mother insisted on, I wanted to wear shorts like the boys did. I alienated myself from the girls I knew because I would rather play with the boys at recess, catching balls and running around, not sitting around talking about horses and makeup and getting married someday to Prince Charming. The boys didn't exactly like having me around, but they tolerated me. Even though I had a dress on I felt like I was one of them, and after a while I just stopped thinking I was a girl.
I stopped being a girl when I left the operating room that day, to give a hint of what's to come. I understand what happened now, and I accept that.
Dante was right, all of you are heroes to us.
Someday I want to be a hero too.