Letter I wrote to my parents... suggestions?

So, I'm going on a school trip for a week coming up and I decided to write my parents a letter to leave them while I'm on the trip. However, it's still very long, and I'm not sure how I should construct and introductory or concluding paragraph. Any ideas on where I can shorten it or for constructing the final two paragraphs would be much appreciated. Also any comments you guys just happen to have on it. Thanks!

Spoiler

When I was younger, I was a very outgoing and friendly kid. You know that. Sure, I may have never had a certain friend group I ever stayed with (I tended to wander from group to group) but I was always with somebody. In fourth grade, when the classes combined, our group formed. It was good for awhile too. There was Hannah and Jessica, and then Hunter, Konner, Elliot, Jason, and myself. It was great. We all got along well and we had a lot of fun.
All the way up until middle school, at least. Jessica left to go be with Maggie and the other girls, and after Hannah broke up with Hunter, she left as well. This just left Konner, Elliot, Jason, Hunter, and myself, which always felt odd to me.
Middle school itself was pretty rough, right from the start. I had some minor teasing here and there about certain things that I did. I had had it for basically forever really. But I quickly learned what I could do and what I couldn’t do. I was sick of it and thought, “Well, maybe if I hang out with boys more… maybe then I’ll finally start acting like one.” So I joined up with a bunch of sports. While practicing or playing, I’d watch what everybody else did; the way that everybody else acted. I thought if I watch them enough, then I could mimic them. I’d be able to fit in that way. For a while, it worked, too. I didn’t have any more teasing. But this just added to my simmering problems.
I guess I should probably start from the beginning. It really started way back in kindergarten. Even back then, I was closer to girls. I had been a friend of everybody, but particularly girls. I always played with the girls, which is one aspect as to why I was so good at playing house. I also believe that I had a natural affinity to it, but who’s to say now? Even when I played with cars, it was though I was still using dolls with the girls. I built a town out of legos and all the cars had their specific houses. They’d all interact with one another in an assortment of ways, a rather large contrast to the noises and sounds that boys typically make with them. Now, I know, all of this is stereotyping, but just hear me out here.
As I grew up, the play evolved to an extent. I was still friends with a lot of girls, but I never had anyone who I’d say was close. Trae and Dayne were about as close as I’d ever get to anyone. This, I have no idea as to why. I was just never the type of person that people got close to. I don’t know if it was something about me or just my wandering nature. I’m just not sure. Either way, by second grade I was still playing house with the girls, just at recess now, rather than dressing up in a dress and heels in Mrs. Curry’s room.
After my fourth grade year, Trae and Dayne, who I was extremely close to, moved away and I took it rather hard. I didn’t know what to do. So I just started reading. Then things started happening, and I went from bad to worse. We started getting talked to about puberty, and they’d separate us into girls and boys and I still remember the feeling of confusion I felt toward it. I didn’t understand why. Although now I know that I knew better, I had envisioned that it’s something that you could choose what happened to you. I hadn’t pictured boys even slightly different from girls and I was extremely confused. However, I never liked voicing that I was confused or lost so I kept my mouth shut for the time being. I noticed things about my classmates changing and I just thought that soon I’d be asked what I wanted to be and I’d reply simply: a girl.
However, that day never came. It was quite a devastating blow when I found out that it wouldn’t. Even worse was when I realized I was the only one who felt this way, really. Sure, some people were a little scared at the changes, but no one was really dreading it. At least, that’s how I saw it. So I tried to be happy about it. I tried to convince myself that it would be a good thing. That whole saying, “If I make them all believe it, maybe I’ll believe it too,” was what motivated me. So I acted all excited about how much I knew my voice would deepen from listening to dad. Yet it felt wrong inside. It always did, and I never understood why. Not until the Thursday at outdoor ed, skit night. This night was extremely rough for me and I’m sorry that I withheld it from you for so long.
That night, something changed within me. Something just snapped and I lost it. After the dance, after I sat staring at the fire, I couldn’t take it. I was tearing up and people just kept asking what was wrong. So of course, I ran away. Whenever I cried in front of people, I got teased or got asked what was wrong. In some aspects, that was even worse. I never could deal well with being vulnerable. The campfire was optional and I thought it’d help, so I went down there. My cabin mates had opted to stay in the cabin from the beginning. Thus, they were already up there after I ran up the hill. I don’t really remember much for a while after I left the fire. From what I’m told occurred, I started tossing my stuff around and tearing up. Then I started swearing. I’m not proud of it, one bit. Good little sixth grade me, never uttered hardly a bad word ever, and I said everything, multiple times. This shocked everyone. They kept trying to calm me down and I refused to be calmed down. I didn’t want them anywhere near me, so I kept lashing out whenever they got close. But I didn’t have much strength, compared to the others, and they got me relaxed enough. Then I went out to retrieve my water bottle. This is where my personal memory picks back up. I grabbed my water bottle, and went to the cabin, got ready for bed, and cried myself to sleep.
Of course, the shocking news of the last night rushed through the camp like wildfire the next morning. For the next few weeks, I had a heightened sense of fame, not that it was what I wanted. I couldn’t even remember it that well. What is there is dim and fuzzy. But, I had to have a reason for it. I thought of the dance the previous night, where Maggie wouldn’t slow dance with me at all, and I chalked it up to that. I let it slip out that I had a crush on her and that was that. It made sense to everybody. No one suspected that I realized something that night that would continue and persist to always be there; the feeling of utter displacement. A complete and indescribable feeling of wrongness. I couldn’t deal with it myself, and I had never heard of anyone else feeling like I felt, so I assumed it meant that something was wrong with me. I thought that I was abnormal and that no one would ever believe me because normal people didn’t feel like this. Normal people didn’t feel like something when it clearly contradicts what reality says. I couldn’t deal with being alone with my thoughts
Thus, I amped up the reading. I had discovered that I could read and I suddenly wouldn’t be myself anymore. I could become the characters rather effortlessly. I would spend hours like this, simultaneously myself and others. I loved it. It was the perfect escape. I wasn’t doing anything bad; in fact, I was doing what most parents dream their kids would do. Then, it got out of hand. It went from a leisure activity to a necessity. I couldn’t stand to be myself anymore. I hated every fiber of my being, everything that made me me. I was too emotional, too sensitive, and too weak. I wasn’t like the boys. I couldn’t relate to them. I was turning into one and that’s not what I wanted. And the people I had always felt best with suddenly didn’t want to be around me, all because I was a boy.
The result was that I lost the measly social life I had. I isolated myself as much as I dared. I didn’t want anyone to realize just how “different” I was. I drew away from new friendships, created a circle of friends just so no one would suspect something was wrong. Although I enjoyed them and they were helping me fit in, I left sports because they just got to be too much strain. I was always on all-male teams and it just made the ever persistent feelings stronger. It’s not that I didn’t like baseball. It’s that I hated being on that team. It was always uncomfortable for me. I remember wishing that I were with the girls when they’d leave early. That they’d turn around and talk to me and we’d go out on that court together, and I’d be one of them and it would all be okay. But that never happened, never could have happened.
By this time I was in extreme denial. I didn’t want to accept my feelings. I felt crazy. I felt alone. I couldn’t deal with it by myself but I couldn’t tell anyone. As a result, my tendency towards perfectionism became ever more acute, which only enhanced the self-hate I felt. I hated feeling like a girl because in my eye it signified a problem, yet I couldn’t fix the problem because it was a problem and my most powerful will was to be the perfect person. I wanted to be the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect son. I tried to do it. But I fell short in every category. I was always the good student. But even now, the grades are dropping to my dismay. It’s ever so slight; you’d have to know how I’ve done in the past exactly to even realize it. I’m still getting A’s on the report card. But the assignments are more often B’s and C’s. I’m starting to lack the motivation to stay at the level I was performing at.
I don’t want to try anymore in relation to much of anything. I do just enough to get by to avoid suspicion. I don’t have the energy to maintain the friendships I do have. Some have fallen apart because they just weren’t worth it. Others… I know I don’t put enough effort into them. Yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t care. That tells me that they’re better off without me. I mean… I’ll never spend the time with them that I should because I focus on other things. I’ve ingrained it into my head that guys aren’t supposed to show emotion so much to the point where I distract myself with something else instead of even maintaining friendships.
I’m constantly making goals and then making new ones as soon as I achieve them. I never take time to celebrate what I do achieve. I got a two on my vocal solo for solo en ensemble. It’s not what I felt I should’ve gotten and I was in the process of beating myself up over it. (band teacher) stopped me in the hallway and told me to calm down and celebrate the fact that I got a 2 on my first time. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve had a 4. Of course, I didn’t see it that way. Even after that I continued to beat myself up over it. And the same goes for everything on the clarinet. I had played through the solo multiple times and I had it down and I just screwed up on it. I wasn’t happy with what I got and beat myself up for it. I got a 24 at state forensics and was angry at myself for not getting a 25. (forensics coach) did the same thing (band teacher) did, except he reminded me of how much I had progressed through the whole thing. But all that I could focus on was how much I messed up.
Elliot and I were talking about this awhile ago. I was talking about the standards that I hold myself to. I mentioned how I felt as though I wasn’t good enough even though I was pushing my limits. His reply was that I had already body slammed them off of a cliff. Somewhere along the line, I put my sense of accomplishment into the wrong things. Probably around the same time I went into denial. At the same time that I have an insane desire to be flawless, I want to retreat into myself and never come back out.
It’s not easy dealing with this. For some reason, something that Dad said still lingers in my mind. If I remember correctly, it had to deal with how mature I was. He commented on how I didn’t always have to act like the adult. I was still a kid and could act like a kid. The problem is that I don’t know where that kid went. That young and carefree kid that I used to be is gone. I’ve grown and experienced too much to ever be that kid again.
I remember as well, in a conversation about why I felt compelled to do the dishes that had occurred between us, that Tiff said something along the lines of, “what do you have to feel better about?” when I shared a shred of truth and said that doing them helped me feel better and distract me. The truth is that it’s true. Dishes became another form of escape because it was so mind numbingly monotonous. I could focus on cleaning them or sing along to songs and I’d be okay more often than not. However, I felt that I couldn’t share this. It was of no fault to you. It was more along the lines of me not ready to accept it. Accept everything, really.
There’s another thing I need to mention. Well, several things, really. They’ve been happening for the past couple of years, but more active through the past year. I’ve started calling them crashes. Mostly because I’ll be going along fine, feeling good, and then I’ll suddenly nosedive and want nothing to do with anyone. I get so dysphoric (uncomfortable about my things in relation to my body/gender role) about my body and so self-deprecating during these crashes that it becomes unbearable. I stop talking to pretty much everybody. I never want to go out. I don’t want to have any contact with anyone. I just want to sit by myself. Lately, the crashes have started becoming more intense, more persistent.
It’s been rough. Dysphoria skyrockets, I hate even looking at myself, and am liable to burst into tears at any given moment. Sometimes, it’s felt as though it wasn’t ever going to get better. I would always be stuck in this stage where I always hate myself for one reason or another.
Over the years, I’ve gotten good at hiding my emotions. I haven’t always felt like it, and often when I’m at school I don’t use the energy to actually cover them up completely. I sit there and do nothing. I don’t talk to my friends and I don’t participate in class; all I do is sit there and mindlessly walk from one class to another. Then at home, I try to do homework that I couldn’t focus on during school. Quite often, I still can’t focus on it and instead just sit there on the floor fighting back tears.
I know that I brought up a counselor with Tiff when I unsuccessfully tried to explain all of this previously. Both the school counselor, Miss. Markham, and I think it would be good. I’d prefer someone who would specialize in LGBT, particularly in the Gender Identity side of things. A lot of this is influenced by how I perceive my gender, and as much as I would love to start transition as soon as possible, I also know that I first need to work through the problems that I do have. However, I’m also almost positive that I’m transgender, despite my many nights of wishing and praying that it would just go away. I tried to blend in and live with it but I just can’t do it anymore. It’s slowly destroying me, eating away at my sense of self. I fear eventually that the reason and logic that I cling to will evaporate and it will end up killing me. There have been a few times in the peak of a crash where the thought has crossed my mind.
I don’t say any of this to scare or worry you. Trust me, if I could, I would let things alone as they are. I don’t want to continue to suffer emotionally like this. I don’t want to deal with name calling at school, or how everyone is going to react to me. I don’t want to do it, yet I know there will come a time when I have to face it. I haven’t thought lightly about this. Also, I’ve been experimenting with pronouns and a name with my friends. It’s validated my feelings because I know that I don’t have to fake a smile when someone says she or her. I don’t have to fight back the feeling to cringe away from someone like I do when they say that I’ve become such well mannered young man. The name, if it’s decided that transition is the healthiest path for me, I want to be a family decision. However, I’ve grown fond of a rather uncommon name; Luvina. It’s derived from the Latin word Lumina, meaning surrounded by love. Thus Luvina means surrounded by love. It’s just a little reminder that I’ll always have someone who loves me to stand by my side; a physical post it note that tells me that I’ll never truly be alone, despite how alone I may feel.

 

Thanks! I wrote up some paragraphs and changed up some things. I'll post the more than likely finished copy once I have access to a computer. But I've also encountered a problem. I mentioned what I'd like my name to be changed to and now I don't know if I should sign it with that chosen name or if I should use my given name or a combination of both, i.e. "Your child, Blake (Luvina)" or vice versa. Any thoughts? I'd appreciate it! Thanks!

 

Hey guys! So here are the intro and concluding paragraphs, respectively.

Intro: "Don’t panic. Everything is okay. I just felt that a letter was the best way to convey what needed to be said. I’m not able to think as clearly whilst speaking and then I stutter and my mind goes blank so I decided a letter would be best. This letter in particular is going to be about a couple of things. One of them is about how I am transgender. I know I am, and I’ll explain why in this. I did a terrible job explaining it previously and really should’ve created something to look off of then so I would’ve been more prepared. But that’s not all that this is about. It also pertains to some other emotions and psychological difficulties I have and still am going through."

I say don't panic here because the last time I left a letter for them, they thought it was a suicide letter and started freaking out before they actually read it. Trying to alleviate that thought this time around.

Concluding: "I guess I just needed to get this wrote, and get it out there. It’s getting to a point where I’m realizing that I can’t nor should I do this on my own. I can’t take hiding myself, hating myself, just to keep the peace anymore. If I have to fight a few battles, then so be it. I know that it won’t be easy, it’ll be incredibly difficult. But we’re always told to be ourselves, right? Well, this is me. I know I have some problems that I need to work through still. I’m just done feeling alone all the time, like nobody cares, wanting to think that I’m alone, when clearly I’m not, nor should I. Also, if you’d like, I could give you a book that I possess which is from the perspective of a trans child, a 6th grader. It’s titled Gracefully Grayson; yes, the very same Gracefully Grayson I used in my forensics speech. It’s a very easy read, and was extremely helpful for me to read, as it was like reading my own feelings for the first time. I would particularly recommend Chapters: 1, 2, 10, 11, 18, 19, 23, 27, 30, and 36. Also, pages 187-188, 192-194, and 213-214 are also relevant. I’ll leave it on my desk."

I thought that maybe adding a source that they could look over before I return would be a good idea. If you're interested, here's the entire letter with all of the adjustments I made to it.

Spoiler

Dear Dad and Tiff,
Don’t panic. Everything is okay. I just felt that a letter was the best way to convey what needed to be said. I’m not able to think as clearly whilst speaking and then I stutter and my mind goes blank so I decided a letter would be best. This letter in particular is going to be about a couple of things. One of them is about how I am transgender. I know I am, and I’ll explain why in this. I did a terrible job explaining it previously and really should’ve created something to look off of then so I would’ve been more prepared. But that’s not all that this is about. It also pertains to some other emotions and psychological difficulties I have and still am going through.
I guess I should probably start from the beginning. It started way back in kindergarten. I was a very outgoing and friendly kid. But even back then, I was closer to girls. I had been a friend of everybody, but particularly girls. I always played with the girls, which is one theory as to why I was so good at playing house. Even when I played with cars, it was though I was still using dolls with the girls. I built a town out of Legos and all the cars had their specific houses. They’d all interact with one another in an assortment of ways and carry on a specific dialogue, a rather large contrast to the noises and sounds that boys typically make during play. Now I know, all of this is stereotyping, but just hear me out here.
As I grew up, the play evolved. I was still friends with a lot of girls, but I never had anyone who I’d say was close. Trae and Dayne were about as close as I’d ever get to anyone. This, I have no idea as to why. I was just never the type of person that people got close to. I don’t know if it was something about me or just my wandering nature; I’m just not sure. Either way, by second grade I was still playing house with the girls, just at recess now, rather than dressing up in a dress and heels in Mrs. Curry’s room.
After my fourth grade year, Trae and Dayne, who I was extremely close to, moved away and I took it rather hard. I didn’t know what to do. So I just started reading. Then things started happening, and I went from bad to worse. We started getting talked to about puberty, and they’d separate us into girls and boys and I still remember the feeling of confusion I felt toward it. I didn’t understand why. Although now I know that I knew better, I had envisioned that it’s something that you could choose what happened to you. I hadn’t pictured boys even slightly different from girls and I was extremely confused. However, I never liked voicing that I was confused or lost so I kept my mouth shut for the time being. I noticed things about my classmates changing and I just thought that soon I’d be asked what I wanted to be and I’d reply simply: a girl.
However, that day never came. It was quite a devastating blow when I found out that it wouldn’t. Even worse was when I realized I was the only one who felt this way, really. Sure, some people were a little scared at the changes, but no one was really dreading it. At least, that’s how I saw it. So I tried to be happy about it. I tried to convince myself that it would be a good thing. That whole saying, “If I make them all believe it, maybe I’ll believe it too,” was what motivated me. So I acted all excited about how much I knew my voice would deepen from listening to dad. Yet it felt wrong inside. It always did, and I never understood why. Not until the Thursday at outdoor ed, skit night.
Middle school itself was pretty rough, right from the start. I had already been dealing with some minor teasing here and there about certain things that I did. But I quickly learned what I could and couldn’t do. I was sick of it and thought, “Well, maybe if I hang out with boys more… maybe then I’ll finally start acting like one.” So I watched what everybody else did; the way that everybody else acted. I thought that if I watched them enough, then I could mimic them. I’d be able to fit in. For awhile, it worked, too. I didn’t get teased anymore. But I was denying the most crucial aspect of myself. An aspect that I wouldn’t really understand until that Thursday. This particular night was extremely rough for me and I’m sorry that I withheld it from you for so long.
That night, something changed within me. Something just snapped and I lost it. After the dance, after I sat staring at the fire, I couldn’t take it. I was tearing up and people just kept asking what was wrong. So of course, I ran away. Whenever I cried in front of people, I got teased or got asked what was wrong. In some aspects, that was even worse. I never could deal well with being vulnerable. The campfire was optional and I thought it’d help, so I went down there. My cabin mates had opted to stay in the cabin from the beginning. Thus, they were already up there after I ran up the hill. I don’t really remember much for a while after I left the fire. From what I’m told occurred, I started tossing my stuff around and tearing up. Then I started swearing. I’m not proud of it, one bit. Good little sixth grade me, never uttered hardly a bad word ever, and I said everything, multiple times. This shocked everyone. They kept trying to calm me down and I refused to be calmed down. I didn’t want them anywhere near me, so I kept lashing out whenever they got close. But I didn’t have much strength, compared to the others, and they got me relaxed enough. Then I went out to retrieve my water bottle. This is where my personal memory picks back up. I grabbed my water bottle, and went to the cabin, got ready for bed, and cried myself to sleep.
Of course, the shocking news of the last night rushed through the camp like wildfire the next morning. For the next few weeks, I had a heightened sense of fame, not that I wanted it. I couldn’t even remember it. What I do remember is dim and fuzzy. But, I had to have an explanation for it. I thought of the dance the previous night, where Maggie wouldn’t slow dance with me, and I chalked it up to that. I let it slip out that I had a crush on her. It made sense to everybody. No one suspected that I realized something that night that would continue and persist to always be there; the feeling of utter displacement. A complete and indescribable feeling of wrongness. I couldn’t deal with it myself and I had never heard of anyone else feeling like I felt, so I assumed that it meant that something was wrong with me. I thought that I was abnormal and that no one would ever believe me because normal people didn’t feel like this. Normal people didn’t feel like something when it clearly contradicts what reality says. I couldn’t deal with being alone with my thoughts.
Thus, I just read more instead of free thinking. I had discovered that I could read and I suddenly wouldn’t be myself anymore. I could become the characters rather effortlessly. I would spend hours like this, lost in their world. I loved it. It was the perfect escape. I wasn’t doing anything bad; in fact, I was doing what most parents dream their kids would do. Until it got out of hand. It went from a leisure activity to a necessity. I couldn’t stand to be myself. I hated every fiber of my being, everything that made me me. I was too emotional, too sensitive, and too weak. I wasn’t like the boys. I couldn’t relate to them. I was turning into one and that’s not what I wanted. And the people I had always felt best with suddenly didn’t want to be around me, all because I was a boy.
The result was that I lost the measly social life I had. I isolated myself as much as I dared. I didn’t want anyone to realize just how “different” I was. I drew away from new friendships, created a circle of friends just so no one would suspect something was wrong. Although I enjoyed them and they were helping me fit in, I left sports because they just got to be too much strain. I was always on all-male teams and it just made the ever persistent feelings stronger. It’s not that I didn’t like baseball. It’s that I hated being on that team. It was always uncomfortable for me. I remember wishing that I were with the girls when they’d leave early. That they’d turn around and talk to me and we’d go out and play together; that I’d be one of them and it would all be okay. But that never happened, never could have happened.
By this time I was in extreme denial. I didn’t want to accept my feelings. I felt crazy. I felt alone. I couldn’t deal with it by myself but I couldn’t tell anyone. As a result, my tendency towards perfectionism became ever more acute, which only enhanced the self-hate I felt. I hated feeling like a girl because in my eyes it signified a problem, yet I couldn’t fix the problem because I couldn’t admit to anyone that I wasn’t as perfect as I so desperately wanted to be. I wanted to be the perfect student, the perfect friend, the perfect son. I tried to do it. But I fell short in every category. I was always the good student. But even now, it’s starting to get to be too much. I’m lacking the motivation to stay at the level I’m performing at.
I don’t want to try anymore in relation to much of anything. I do just enough to get by to avoid suspicion. I don’t have the energy to maintain the friendships I do have. Some have fallen apart because they just weren’t worth it. Others… I know I don’t put enough effort into them. Yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t care. That tells me that they’re better off without me. I mean… I’ll never spend the time with them that I should because I focus on other things. I’ve ingrained it into my head that guys aren’t supposed to show emotion so much to the point where I distract myself with something else instead of even maintaining friendships.
I’m constantly aiming for the sky and setting new goals when I reach those. I don’t take time to celebrate my achievements. I got a two on my vocal solo for solo en ensemble. I beat myself up over it because it wasn’t a perfect score. [band teacher] stopped me in the hallway and told me to calm down and celebrate the fact that I got a 2 on my first time. It could’ve been worse. Of course, I didn’t see it that way. Even after that I continued to beat myself up over it. And the same goes for everything on the clarinet. I wasn’t happy with what I got and beat myself up for it. I got a 24 at state forensics and was angry at myself for not getting a 25. [forensics coach] did the same thing [band teacher] did, except he reminded me of how much I had progressed through the whole thing. But all that I could focus on was how much I messed up.
Elliot and I were talking about this awhile ago. I was talking about the standards that I hold myself to. I mentioned how I felt as though I wasn’t good enough even though I was pushing my limits. His reply was that I had already body slammed them off of a cliff. Somewhere along the line, I put my sense of accomplishment into the wrong things. Probably around the same time I went into denial.
It’s not easy dealing with this. For some reason, something that Dad said still lingers in my mind. If I remember correctly, it had to deal with how mature I was. He commented on how I didn’t always have to act like an adult. I was still a kid and should act like a kid. The problem is that I don’t know where that kid went. That young and carefree kid that I used to be is gone. I’ve grown and experienced too much to ever be that kid again.
I remember, too, in a conversation about why I felt compelled to do the dishes that had occurred between us, that Tiff said something along the lines of, “what do you have to feel better about?” when I shared a shred of truth and said that doing them helped me feel better and distract me. The truth is that it’s true. Dishes became another form of escape because it was so mind numbingly monotonous. I could focus on cleaning them and I’d be okay more often than not. However, I felt that I couldn’t share the whole story. It was of no fault to you. It was more that I wasn’t ready to accept it. Accept everything, really.
There’s another thing I need to mention. They’ve been happening for the past couple of years, but more active through the past year. I’ve started calling them crashes. Mostly because I’ll be going along fine, feeling good, and then I’ll suddenly nosedive and want nothing to do with anyone. I get so dysphoric (uncomfortable about my things in relation to my body/gender role) and so self-deprecating during these crashes that it becomes unbearable. I stop talking to everybody. I never want to go out. I just want to sit by myself. Lately, the crashes have started becoming more intense, more persistent.
It’s been rough. When the dysphoria skyrockets, I hate even looking at myself and am liable to burst into tears at any given moment. Sometimes, it’s felt like it wasn’t going to get better. I would always be stuck like this, hating myself.
Over the years, I’ve gotten good at hiding my emotions. I haven’t always felt like it, and often when I’m at school I don’t actually cover them up completely. I sit there and do nothing. I don’t talk to my friends or participate in class; all I do is sit there and mindlessly walk the hallways. Then at home, I try to do homework that I couldn’t focus on during school. Quite often, I still can’t focus on it and instead just sit there on the floor fighting back tears.
I know that I brought up a counselor with Tiff when I unsuccessfully tried to explain all of this previously. Both the school counselor, Miss. Markham, and I think it would be a good idea. I’d prefer someone who specializes in LGBT, particularly in the Gender Identity side of things. A lot of this is influenced by how I perceive my gender, and as much as I would love to start transition as soon as possible, I also know that I first need to work through the problems that I do have. However, I’m also almost positive that I’m transgender, despite my many nights of wishing and praying that it would just go away. I tried to blend in and live with it but I just can’t do it anymore. It’s slowly destroying me, eating away at my sense of self. I fear eventually that the logic I cling to will evaporate and it will end up killing me. There have been a few times in the peak of a crash where the thought has crossed my mind.
I don’t say any of this to scare or worry you. Trust me, if I could, I would let things alone as they are. I don’t want to continue to suffer emotionally like this. I don’t want to deal with name calling at school, or how everyone is going to react to me. I don’t want to do it, yet I know there will come a time when I have to face it. I haven’t thought lightly about this.
I’ve also been experimenting with pronouns and a name with my friends. It’s validated my feelings because I know that I don’t have to fake a smile when someone says she or her. I don’t have to fight back the feeling to cringe away from someone like I do when they say that I’ve become such a well mannered young man. The name, if it’s decided that transition is the healthiest path for me, I want to be a family decision. However, I’ve grown fond of a rather uncommon name; Luvina. It’s derived from the Latin word Lumina, meaning surrounded by light. Thus, Luvina means surrounded by love. It’s just a little reminder that I’ll always have someone who loves me to stand by my side; a physical post it note that tells me that I’ll never truly be alone, despite how alone I may feel.
I guess I just needed to get this wrote, and get it out there. It’s getting to a point where I’m realizing that I can’t nor should I do this on my own. I can’t take hiding myself, hating myself, just to keep the peace anymore. If I have to fight a few battles, then so be it. I know that it won’t be easy, it’ll be incredibly difficult. But we’re always told to be ourselves, right? Well, this is me. I know I have some problems that I need to work through still. I’m just done feeling alone all the time, like nobody cares, wanting to think that I’m alone, when clearly I’m not, nor should I. Also, if you’d like, I could give you a book that I possess which is from the perspective of a trans child, a 6th grader. It’s titled Gracefully Grayson; yes, the very same Gracefully Grayson I used in my forensics speech. It’s a very easy read, and was extremely helpful for me to read, as it was like reading my own feelings for the first time. I would particularly recommend Chapters: 1, 2, 10, 11, 18, 19, 23, 27, 30, and 36. Also, pages 187-188, 192-194, and 213-214 are also relevant. I’ll leave it on my desk.
Your child,
Blake

I'm just not sure about the length. It's long and I don't know how to shorten it down or even if I need to. My other problem I run into now is where to leave this to ensure that they'll find it. Any suggestions on that front? Thanks guys!