Max

Being young enough for Minecraft but too old for Fortnite

Being alive for 9/11 but not remembering it at all cuz you were like 2

Seeing reruns of 90s shows when you were really little but being to young to really remember them

Feeling betrayed by Butch Hartman

Listening to the bops of ~2009-2012 in middle school gym class

Growing up through the transition from clunky PCs for nerds and flip phones to smartphones and sleek and easy laptops

Pictochat

So this is going to become a rant as it goes on. 

On January 2nd, 2019, I finally got a double incision mastectomy, or as known online typically, FtM top surgery. I am a trans man, a year on testosterone injections and 5 years out of the closet. 

Top surgery is a wonderful thing, it gives men like myself the ability to feel comfortable in our own bodies, to not hate our chests. I wore a chest binder every day for 4 years, only taking it off when I got in bed to sleep for the night. There were some nights where I would sleep with it on because dysphoria was so terrible. Every time I would lay down on a couch or bed, my chest would bunch up and create what I liked to call a uniboob. I would notice it and would sit up immediately to adjust and push everything back to where it belonged. I love to workout and run, it makes me feel so much better. However binding restricts your breathing, and it was impossible for me to run more than half a mile without being so out of breath because of my binder. I would still push myself more than I probably should have, but its what i had to do to feel like I was normal. This ended up causing me 2 bruised ribs, and damaged lungs. 

In January 2018 I took my first t shot, and my life really started then. I felt more me than I had since I was 10 years old. I anxiously awaited the first voice crack, the first facial hair, and my skin texture changes. I was very lucky in that by 6 months, i already had more than peach fuzz, and my voice had deepened quite a bit. Every day I felt better about myself, but my chest still caused me many problems. 

I started the process of Top Surgery in November 2018, and everything became a massive whirlwind of information, doctors visits, and calendar marking. Then the day came. I took a shower with the soap they gave me, got dressed, and had my wonderful mother drive me to the plastic surgery office. They checked me in, had me put on a robe, put in my IV, and then suddenly I was opening my eyes to the sounds of the nurse talking to my mother. 

I don’t remember much of that day, but I do remember the car ride being a pain and scarfing down pill after pill. That whole first week was the same thing day by day. Wake up, empty drains, prune juice, sleep, wake up, have lunch, watch youtube, check in with friends, and go to bed. Yesterday I got my tubes taken out and I saw my chest for the first time, and I was ecstatic. But… I wasn’t prepared for my chest to look the way it did. While my surgeon did an amazing job with scar size, nipple size and placement, there was still something wrong. 

I looked like a corpse. 

My nipples were black and purple, shriveled, and sewn on like some sort of frankenstien’s monster. I was swollen and bruised beyond belief. My surgeon mentioned to me that I shouldn’t judge anything yet, as I had a long while to heal. I went home and I couldn’t stop staring and looking at my chest. I was a mix of happy beyond my wildest imagination, but also getting used to my new body. 

My chest felt like, what I can only describe, as when you cut a toenail too short and push on the tip of your toe. My scars itched, and my whole chest was numb. It was as if someone placed an icepack on it for a little to long and all I could feel was my muscle twitch. I felt so, so defeated. It was as if I was a ghost, not being able to feel the warmth of my own hand over my heart. 

This is why, for the life of me, I cannot understand why someone would choose to be this way. Coming up with fake genders, faking dysphoria, all for what… to be popular? I saw a therapist for many years, only for him to confirm that I suffer from a mental disorder that causes my brain to act differently than it should have. I had to fight to be myself, both with family and politically. If I could choose for all of this to go away, and to be born as a biological male, I would do so in half a heartbeat. Being transgender has put my life on hold. I’ve been bullied, ridiculed, lost family, lost friends, attempted suicide, ended up in a hospital bleeding out, and somehow survived to see the next day. 

My identity, and my disorders, are not some slogan for you to put on a tumblr post. My fights are not for you to put “it/its” in your instagram bio. My struggles of looking in the mirror to face who I am, is not for you to yell “GENDERFLUID” at Pride. 

I am not a soldier in your fight, because I have won my war. Those before me fought for me to live, and I will continue to fight for the next generation. Not for those who fake a mental dissorder for oppression points online. 

Sincerely Yours,

me, shovelling popcorn into my mouth with tears in my eyes: