Eighth grade was awful. I had to spend the year in a new house and start over at a brand new school. Of course other people facing my same situation might have tried reinventing themselves. I thought of that. But when you are only one town over it's hard to become someone else.
So I arrived with my male facade intact.
This was the first year I became truly depressed. I was cranky, short tempered and my grades went from a few As and Bs, mostly Cs, all the way to a string of Fs. I did no homework most of the year. I made a couple friends, mostly guys, but some girls who I kept at a distance by saying dirty remarks and giving them the occassional slap on the ass. I played the part of an unambitious, macho asshole very well. It wasn't hard. It soon became a natural defense mechanism that I would use for many years to come. I got away with it too. The girls who I was so rude too always laughed it off and never took offense. They found me to be an asshole for sure, but I was funny and I never pushed it too far. Of course pushing it too far was never my intention. I pushed them just far enough.
A few months into the school year and my future looked bleak. If I didn't at least attempt to try, there was going to be consequences. I'd be held back in the Eighth grade and once again I'd have to go through the motions of fitting in and tricking a whole new group of kids.
It was suggested that I see a therapist and even though I was 100% against the idea, my parents and the school were the one's making the final choice in the matter. And, just like that, I was in therapy.
The therapists office was small. The waiting room had a pile of magazines to flip through. The sound of the clock ticking away the seconds was heard just above the small noisemaker beside the closed door. I hated this. What if this woman in the other room can see right through me? What if she notices the way I walk and calls me out? What if she just outright asks me if I wanna be a girl?
What do I say?
The door opened and with a quick goodbye to her previous patient, she came over, said hello and invited me in the room.
Butterflies were once again in my stomach. I tried fighting them back.
I sat down on a futon and the older blonde woman sat across from me with a gentle smile on her face. She began with simple questions and I gave short answers. My mind wandered and the butterflies fluttered.
I noticed her dress. It was a long maxi dress with a floral print. She wore a thin sweater over her shoulders. The outfit was complimented with bold costume jewelery. Her shoes were gorgeous embroidered black heels. I couldn't stop stealing glimpses. I was giving myself away.
About fifteen minutes into the hour the butterflies became an empty feeling. The questions were getting more personal, she was digging deeper. "Are you depressed?" She asked, her smile changed into concern. "I'm not sure." I whispered. She assured me that no one could hear anything I said. She told me I was her last patient of the day and that the waiting room was empty. "Anything you tell me is confidential, and if I tell anyone I'll lose my license."
Five minutes passed and the pit grew deeper. She was asking about moving, about the new school and all I could do was stare at her high heels, answer yes and no.
"What did you like better about your old school?" "Friends, I guess." Of course that wasn't true. I was one town over. I saw my friends all the time.
It was about 30 minutes in and the pit in my stomach wasn't going away. It was worse than the butterflies. It grew deeper and I felt more and more empty. I looked at the clock. I'd wasted a half an hour and if I didn't say something soon I knew I'd have that pit in my stomach all night, maybe longer.
I kept telling myself "Just say it. Only 30 more minutes. Let it out"
My eyes watered. "You can tell me whatever is on your mind." She said as she handed me a tissue.
I took the tissue and held it tight, rubbing it between my fingers, feeling the fibers tear apart.
"I think I am depressed." My body was shaking and I couldn't control it. The tears in my eyes latched on to my lashes. "It's about being...." My voice cut out on me.
"Are you Gay?" She gently asked. "No.....I don't know." I replied. "You can be honest here. and you don't have to be certain of anything. If you want to talk about a feeling you have, go ahead."
My flushed red cheeks cooled for a moment. My body shook a bit less. "I don't like being a boy." I barely noticed a tear roll down my cheek. "I hate being a boy. I want to be a girl and it's so overwhelming." And just like that the secret was out. My body was peaceful.
We discussed my desire to be a girl for the next 30 minutes. She was more than understanding and extremely knowledgeable. By the end of the session I told her every feeling I had and every dream for my future.
I left and securely packed away my secret. I couldn't wait until my next session.
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