!! This post isn’t to make anyone feel bad for me, the last thing i want is a pitty party !!

A common message i received along with “Youre a pos for shoplifting” and “I hope you get arrested” is 

“why do you shoplift”

Well, here’s the rundown. I dont know where to nearly begin. Like most, my father left my family when i was maybe one year old, possibly before that. My father figure entered my life around age 3. My mom suffers from severe depression and anxiety and refuses to take medication most of the time. As a family we had money, but none to splurge on nice things like the other kids. While their parents bought them justice and nike things, i had my grandma get me a couple outfits from walmart every year or so. That was my sweet splurge. My dad convinced my mom that he made enough money working for construction for her to quit her job as manager of hardees. her new job was to make sure dinner was ready for him when he got home, clean the house, do the laundry, and take care of the kids. 

At age 8 my step dad, my father figure, and the one who made the money in the house, got arrested from robbing his grandparents. He was sentenced to 6 years in jail. My grandmother moved into the house to pay for the bills while my mom became a bad alcoholic. every dollar my little sister and i got she would snatch eventually and buy bottles of vodka and drink that straight. slowly after two years our little splurges of walmart trips twice a year disappeared because all of my grandmothers money went towards bills, food, and for me to go to the local skating rink every two weeks to escape the house. i could have not gone to the skating rink but i spent everyday after school at home watching my mom. making her food, when she passed out to roll her on her side to make sure when she puked from too much alcohol that she wasnt on her back so she didnt down in her on upspit, and when she would frustratingly leave the house to go walk after her and keep her from spending the night in jail after going to mcdonalds drunk and throwing a fit. 

i wanted all the nice things life had to offer. i would occasionally snatch a chapstick and use it down to the core before i got another. or a nailpolish bottle once a year. at age 14 my dad came home from prison. he started working again and got us on our feet. i thought things were looking up. jokes on me. he grew to be abusive, only towards my mom and i. but my mom slowed down her drinking to only once every blue moon. he wouldnt touch my little sister because that was his blood, and im not. i would get daily chores that took most of my time while my 9 year old sister got nothing. She played softball while i ran track. I would wear shoes ive had for years from walmart while my dad took my sister to get expensive helmets, under armor softball shoes, and other very expensive things. I was left out of the fun. my shoplifting grew to shirts, face masks, and other small things they wouldnt notice, and i would go get them once or twice a week. my dad went to every practice and watched her play toss the ball. and would take off work to play outfield of every game. if you have ever watched little girls play ball, nothing hardly goes in the outfield. My parents didnt go to a single meet of mine, or my ffa banquet which i was elected vice president in my first year and got two different awards. While everyone sat and ate with their parents, i sat with my friends’ family while mine sat at home. 

In september of ‘17 my family kicked me out. I was 16 years old. I had no job, i just quit my job at mcdonalds due to bad managers. And i stayed with one friend for around a month, then another for 3 months. i had no money and thats when shoplifting grew a lot for me. it was very common. now im in my third home and i have things i never imagined me having. when i say “i told my mom im going shopping today” means my roomate (a good friend a grade under me) and i planned on going to our mall and such an hour away and shoplift our hearts out. 

I shoplift to have a chance to own nice things. Just because i was born in a bad home doesnt mean i dont deserve the things everyone else has. I dont lift to resell for money, just to make myself happier and to gift some nice things to my friends to see them smile.

As a trans man with severe dysphoria I hope you’re all aware of what a slap in the face you people claim to be. To say that being trans is fun, enjoyable, even something to strive towards is one of the most insulting things I’ve ever heard. To insinuate that transgenderism can be chosen is spitting in every single real trans person’s face. This condition is not fun, glamorous, exiting, enjoyable,and it’s definitely not something you can choose to be one day then drop the next.

Considering the small amount of people with this condition, it has a terrifyingly high suicide rate. That’s because it causes so much distress. Even people with mid dysphoria can tell you being trans isn’t fun even if they experience far less symptoms.

My severe dysphoria has left me constantly wishing I was dead. I rarely speak to anyone and haven’t spoken in public, except for when being forced or extremely nessicary, for 2 years as I loathe the sound of my voice. When my younger sister has her friends over I don’t leave my room as I hate being seen. I’m in so much mental distress that I’m constantly exusted.

Please for the sake of every trans person stop spreading misinformation about this condition. While some people with it can function almost normally in day to day life others, like me, live with constant suffering. There’s nothing fun about this. Being trans isn’t buying cool new clothes, choosing what neo pronoun fits you best, having both pants and skirts in your wardrobe, or enjoying when people can’t tell if you’re a boy or girl.

It’s taking extreme medical measures to close the disconnect between your brain and body and calculating how much each injection and surgery will cost. It’s hoping no one notices your trans so you can live a normal life like every other person. It’s wondering why when puberty hit you like a bus you were panicking instead of enjoying the new changes like all your same sex friends. It’s torture. It’s living the worst nightmare imaginable and not being able to wake up.

Please think about what your doing to real, dysphoric trans people

Sincerely,