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This story is pretty much just me rambling/trying to justify my transsexualism. So if you don't want to read a really shitty, essay-type thing with an unsatisfactory ending, I suggest you leave. And yes. We really did call ourselves the "******** Generation" for a while, however nerdy it be.


Epiphany: We were never the right sort of boys or the right sort of girls. The "******** Generation," as we've learned to call ourselves, was entirely out of scope of the norm. Weird. Twisted. Wrong. The girls always beat the boys up during recess, but the boys didn't mind; they were masochists at the age of nine, they liked it. I shopped in the boys' section of Kohl's and Sears, and nobody cared because we were too young to know about Hollister or Abercrombie factory-ripped skinnyjeans and fitted hoodies. Too young to realize what separated boys from girls aside from the obvious, which was taught to us by the subtle whispers of our siblings and Texas' inadequate sex education program. Nobody cared what separated us. Gender, race, social status: all of those were nil in our eyes.
Then I moved to Florida when I was ten.
School, prison. The two were synonyms in my eyes. On my eleventh birthday, I had my only friend spend the night. I didn't care about class (I stopped that after I moved); just spent my time in school drawing pseudo-depressive pictures of whatever came to mind. ******** Generation, Tampa - Population: 1. All the others were gone except for me, one-thousand miles away, but they might as well have been one-million. It was around that time that I was taught to be feminine.
For all it helped, my new friends should have just given up. We spent our days pretending we could see the future and talking about the new episode of "That's So Raven" or whatever it was we watched back then.
Then I went to middle school and didn't see them again.
And I met my lesbian friend and my grunge friend. The lesbian liked to hit me and the grunge kid thought I was a freak, but they were - and still are - my friends. I might've thought I was cool; I don't remember what I felt back then, but looking through photographs from sixth grade I saw that for at least one year in my life I really looked like a boy. Sometimes I wish I could look half as masculine as that now, but then I remember what it was that I looked like: skinny arms, skin taut over cheekbones, wild hair pulled back, men's clothing. Is that really what I want now? The degree to which I'm underweight prohibits me from any form of bodybuilding for at least the next five years so, yes, maybe that is what I want.
'What do I want?' is a tough question to answer, because I can't settle on just one answer. I want to be a guy.
I.
Want.
To.
Be.
A.
Guy.
But I want to dress up. I want to keep my skirt and my fishnets. Why? I don't know. Maybe I've let my mom get to me. I can't really tell anymore what part of me is her and what part is me.

None of this happened in sixth grade, but I can trace everything I feel back to around that time. Back farther, even, to the first time I had a crush on a girl, who was also my best friend. Because we liked to roleplay as people from manga, and we would usually be the two love-stricken MCs. And maybe that's why I started to fall for her. I was only nine, but I knew it was weird, twisted, wrong to have a crush on your female friend. I'd taken showers with her, slept in the same bed as her, done everything with her. Adults would have said we were like sisters, but I knew I didn't feel sisterly towards her. And maybe that's what contributes to me thinking I'm male; justification to myself (to my mother?) that I like women. And that inherently makes me more masculine.

I've never particularly enjoyed being female. Some girls say they're "female and loving it," but I don't understand how they can love it. Sometimes I can't understand how men can love being men. Maybe I just don't know how people can love themselves right now, because I've spent a long while hating myself to a degree. Just the whole concept of being "beautiful" or "sexy," as my mom would have me be - however vehemently she protests that she would love me any way I am (as long as I'm not something she disapproves of, of course) - beautiful, sexy women are just people I enjoy looking at. And that's why I wear makeup and style my hair, and don't shop in the boys' section of Kohl's or Sears anymore. Despite what people say, having men honk or whistle as I walk down the street doesn't lend me any self-confidence.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, so I'll just wrap it up: this should have been an explaination for why I feel I should be male. I'm not really sure if it turned out that way, but if it's confusing to you, that's only because it's equally confusing to me. I think maybe I'm trying to justify myself with 'solid evidence' of things that make me 'masculine.' Maybe I'm doing it because my mom doesn't know any of this and says there's never been anything masculine about me. I don't know what makes me tick, and I don't know what makes anyone else think they do.