Upon meeting a young boy working at Wendy’s, taking orders and preparing food, you wouldn’t know from the smile on his face and warm greeting that he was suffering. He had GID (Gender Identity Disorder) along with an unrealistic knowledge of sex change operations. GID is a conflict between a person’s physical gender and the gender he or she identifies as
(PubMed Health). This young "boy" was me. Being a male and identifying as a female was not easy for me. Looking down and seeing the wrong parts made me feel sad. I’ve been battling with my family, myself, and society over these feelings.
Feeling like a girl trapped in a boy’s body was something I could always relate to. Growing up, I was more attracted to dolls and dresses than footballs and jerseys. When I would think of my adult self, I would see a woman. This led me to wonder about what it would be like to be a girl. Having cousins that were girls, I would always go to their house and play barbies. Sometimes, we would play dress up, and I always enjoyed myself. As I grew up, I noticed the differences between girls and boys, or gender roles as some might call them. I was immediately disgusted with my sex. I wanted to be a girl. I wanted to wear pretty clothes and have fancy hair. I wanted my big Disney wedding and my white knight. Being a boy in the south, all of this was very controversial.
Upon entrance to high school, a new wave of guys fashion became popular. I was finally able to experience the colors, tight pants, and hair care that was once forbidden. It was exhilarating to finally feel more like my inner self. However, slowly realizing that I was lacking a cultural part of female sexuality, breasts, I felt low again. So I decided to save up for some, by getting a part time job at Wendy’s.
Working at a fast food restaurant isn’t always fun, but I was making money. One slow night, a co-worker approached me and asked about my sexuality. I explained that I was gay and considering a sex change. With a confused look on her face, she asked “Why? You would still be a guy, you’d just be a guy with boobies.” She went on to say that I would be unloved in God’s eyes. She theorized that God made me male and wanted me to pursue life that way. and that. I felt alone and like an abomination. I had never felt like I was incapable of being loved by God. She was the first person to make me feel self conscious about having GID. While also leaving me feeling like I would just be a boy in a girls clothing.
I didn’t think the operation would leave me resembling a man. I wasn’t sure what the surgical outcome even was. I had never questioned the functionality of the parts. I mostly thought it would work the same as a naturally born female’s would. However, I was wrong. There are many things that define a man and woman, and simply having a sex change wouldn’t make me fully female. The then current advancements were not up to my personal standard of how I saw myself as a woman. I would want to give birth, and breast-feed. Also, I wouldn’t feel comfortable with taking hormones everyday. This left me felling very disappointed. So I confided in my mom.
When I told my mom I wanted sex change, she was not very energetic to comply with my wishes. She wanted nothing to do with me or my lifestyle choice. In her eyes that once showed so much love, I now saw hate and anger. This led her to come up with and agreement. The understanding was that I was to remain straight male forever, and I was not to act feminine. I was not to have any connection to the lifestyle. Of course, I refused at first, trying to maintain my identity. As a result, she saw it in my best interest to provide me with a suitable punishment. I was banned from the internet, not even for school projects. My cell phone was taken away, and I was monitored at school. My friends were to be approved by her, and there was to be no TV.
When my dad found out I wanted a sex change, he went off. Telling me he didn’t approve of this gay shit. Asking me if I wanted people to hate me, and if I wanted to go to hell. I had never cared too much what he had to say though. Having cheated on my mom, and his mistress, he wasn’t exactly in the running for father of the year. Not with me anyway. I would just nod my head to keep the peace. I only saw him once or twice a year and there was no reason to have my cell phone taken away again. He was “noble,” by his own definition, supporting his mistress children because they didn’t have a “good daddy” like I did.
As I looked in the mirror and tried to make myself feel better about the whole ordeal, I noticed the many aspects of myself that confirmed my gender as a man. I hated all the things that made me male. I hated the reflection staring back at me, resembling my absent narrow minded father. The lack of love and innocence I hated my religion and parents for making me feel unloved, but most of all I hated myself. I didn’t want to be this way. So I stopped. I threw away all my connections to the life style, all of my tight clothes all of my make up, everything. I decided to live my life from that point on with no physical aspirations. I decided to live by the bible the best way I could. After all I had no choice. I had no money and nobody that I could have depended on.