You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.

Today, I feel like I've made some sort of progress with my parents, as well as coming to a strange realisation myself.

It started as soon as I got home, and my mum asked when I'm going to Sweden, and said once more how she feels I should have mentioned it or asked, because this is probably the last year they could have had me. I, like the good son I am, said I can come back next year, but mum pointed out that I'm not even good at being here when I am here. I didn't answer because I'm not fond of lying more than I have to.

Somehow, it moved to my transition, as always. And while my parents have a terrible understanding of how transgenderism works, believing that no matter what I do, I'm still a girl, they're immensely relieved that I can't start hormone treatment immediately. They seem to think it's a tablet, and I've never heard of it being tablets, which shows just how much they've bothered to research this.

I found out that the reason mum didn't say goodbye to Moony was because she'd been crying for four hours and looked a mess, as she casually told me before informing me that that's how she'd been falling asleep for several nights, which made me feel like a fantastic kid.

I got told once more how the brain doesn't fully develop until you hit the mid 20s, and my mind is still prone to risks. They actually likened it to my brother insisting on getting so drunk he could barely walk. As if I'm not thinking at all about this, as if I haven't spent literal years and many a sleepless night fretting over details and scenarios.

They assume it hasn't occurred to me that job interviewers may treat me differently because I changed my name. But if a placement discriminates against LGBT* minorities then I don't want to work there.

They think that if I'm not allowed in the disabled bathrooms in public (because apparently you might be told you aren't allowed?) and I try to go to the mens, that I'm breaking the rules because I'm a girl.

But what McDonalds or chain coffee store doesn't have disabled bathrooms?

And if I tell people what I am, they're still always going to think 'she' and correct themselves to be politically correct, but essentially they will see me for what I am, so who am I trying to kid? By taking hormones I am conforming to the societal views of gender that I so despise.

Except that isn't true. I'm taking hormone treatment because I feel sick sometimes when I see curves where there shouldn't be any. Louis Tomlinson can get away with a feminine figure while still being seen as male, but I can't.

I was also informed of how selfish I am.

I've been told by many that I'm not selfish at all, that I'm actually selfless, but apparently, as I'm starting to consider, my parents have been saying how selfish I am for years. It's not how they raised me, but it's happened.

And that's worrying, because if I believed myself not to be selfish, what else about me isn't true? Or is this just more things my parents think they understand?

And yet, despite all that, I actually feel okay. I've got a good free weekend ahead of me, and I've convinced my friend to be a dungeon master for an eventual game of Dungeons and Dragons. It feels like a step in my nerd-life to take on the joys of a roleplaying board game. I'm going to finish Game of Thrones at last soon, and then embark on comic books or more of those games, or something, and actually just have a nice weekend.

Who knows, maybe I'll even book an appointment on Monday and ask my GP to refer me to a psychoanalyst while telling her of my name change. I think that maybe if the GP contacts the hospital I was born at, maybe they'll sort out the problem that my title and gender are different. At least for the next few years.

In truth, I feel better than I have for a while. I'd become used to my home life being horrible, to it being totally unbearable, but it isn't, not right now. I think I'll be okay, somehow. But then, I'm always okay.

List 10 things.

In my classroom the other day, there was a homework on the board that I believe connects somehow to Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo. But it looks like year 7 work - that's around age 11/12 I think, for anyone out of England. It's been a while.

So the homework was to list 10 feelings or words that you feel explain your relationship with your family. I was a little shocked by the emotions I got on first impact, so I thought I'd play this game, see what I would write if that were my homework. See what my teachers would have to read.

1. Dysfunctional.

2. Untrusting.

3. Misunderstanding.

4. Wrong.

5. Tense.

6. Built on untruths.

7. One-sided.

8. Useless.

9. Out of my depth.

10. Out of place. 

Okay. I think what we can see from this list is that when I'm tired I get more honest, and that there's something seriously wrong with my family relationship.

I can't help but wonder what my teacher would say, like, if they'd take my aside and ask if I'm okay, if I need someone to talk to. Any maybe I do. I haven't spoken to Richard for months because I can't afford it and I thought I was fine, and my name has gone through, I'm fine there. Until I get through my GP sending me to a psychoanalyst or something, there's not much I can do.

I guess we'll see. There's a lot of time for all that. Sort of.

The Human I Am.

I have a lot of posts to get through, and a lot of them are fairly serious and not as whimsical as my Trek-related posts. But I'll get to them later.

Six days ago, a good friend of mine got cleared to go to Tavistock Clinic in London. It's where the trans* kids get sent before they're 18, where I believe they go somewhere across the road to Charring Cross. It's really near the station, too, which is cool.

There is only one clinic because that way doctors can't disagree over treatment, and it helps everything run smoother. Because of that, the waiting list is very long. Four months, more or less.

That said, he has it set, and is making progress. And he's my age, only older by a month or so. And I'm somewhere between elation, because god knows he deserves this as much as anyone, and self-discontent because I haven't got to a point where I'm willing to do that and risk everything.

I want to. It crosses my mind consistently, but my family is holding me back.

They do not agree with my name choice, or the very idea that I might actually change it. They see it as disrespectful towards them, because they chose my name for me, and raised me on it, and what's wrong with it anyway? (I maintain that nothing is wrong. It's a brilliant name, and one I'm somewhat sad to leave behind. But it has never been my name. Also it's very difficult for me to pronounce in Swedish, which isn't good.)

But the truth is, I haven't started actually speaking to the NHS about it because I'm scared. There's a big difference between transitioning by choice, on my own, and speaking to adults about starting treatment. Treatment suggests something is wrong. I know there is, of course. I've known there was something wrong for a long time, but this makes it properly real.

Gender dysphoria is now recognised as a legitimate medical disorder to be treated by doctors, but 'disorder' sounds wrong. It is, as it suggests, order gone wrong. I've been placed in the wrong biology, and that's fucked me up, but it doesn't help that it sounds like there's something actually wrong with me as a human being.

It's absurd, really, that I'm so worried. It's already real, I'm changing my name in two weeks, at Pride, and there's not much else I can do on my own. But I'm more scared of this, of getting started on something like this, than I have been over anything else.

I'm fine with having a therapist, with going to new places to find help, but I'm going to be psychoanalysed by two professionals, they're going to ask me questions to work out if I'm insane or not. They're going to try to work out if I'm serious about transitioning. I'm only just 17. It's only going to take two years or so once it gets going, and then I'll be filling myself with testosterone every week or two, and I'll start actually changing in my appearance.

That's bloody confusing in itself. It's only in the last four months that I've come to any sort of acceptance of this body as it is. I only just managed to shake the habit of only showering in the dark. I know all of that is down to Moony showing me that she'll never see me as anything but male, no matter what. I couldn't do this without her.

She promised to come to Tavistock with me whenever I need to, regardless of when it is. I don't know if I could go alone, and she rightfully says this is our battle, so we'll have to handle it on our own. We're the only people it's going to actually affect.

I guess I'm just a little shocked that someone I know is actually getting somewhere. It's at times like this that I remember how many people across the country feel like me, but we all feel alone despite that fact. Everyone has different ways of handling it, different ways to live with being trans* and overcome dysphoria, if they ever get it. I only get it towards my facial structure and my hips, since I got my binder. And my voice, sometimes. But other people get it much worse.

It's such unmarked territory, and it's easy to feel isolated and lost. That's kind of why I started this blog. I wanted to stop that. And all the page views I see each time I check make me think that maybe, somewhere, someone is feeling a bit better about themselves, or like they're not alone.

Moony has work most of this week, and my bloody grandparents are staying tomorrow night, sleeping downstairs. That means they'll be up when I get up for school, which is horrible. I'm going to have to put up with hearing how much I look like my mum, maybe comments about my clothing choice, my hair (not sure they approve of the 'mess is good' theory), and name calling.

In short, I'm in for a tough week. I just hope I make it through. Moony will be here in 12 days. I can do this.

I'm going to ask for Kevin to send an letter to my GP, to ask about getting the analysis thing. Over The Rainbow might be coming to my school next year to broaden everyone's understanding of LGBT stuff, which is what I've been asking for since Easter. It would be fantastic to see the people who make me feel so sure of myself in a location that I feel needs more explanation of who I am. As I've always said, there's no point asking to be accepted it the people I'm asking aren't sure what they're accepting.

It was Rupert Graves' birthday today. He's 50. I celebrated by watching Different For Girls, which is a lovely film about him and his mate who transitioned to living full time as a woman with hormone treatment and surgery. It helped my slight dysphoria and I got to watch someone I have much affection for. Since Moony went to bed, I had to do something to keep my mind occupied.

My life as seen through my parents' eyes in pie chart form.

I don't make a habit of two posts in one day, but this seems necessary right now.

I just accidentally brought up the topic of my last post; my motivation. My mother said my motivation is not having to do all this next year. She's obviously wrong, because I'll still have exams next year, and probably for the next four years of my life.

It boils down to their belief that all I concentrate on is Sweden, Supernatural, Sherlock and Doctor Who. According to them, I'm a bright kid, and if I applied myself better, I'd get the grades I want. But it doesn't matter to them because it's my life and my choice. They're not angry about it, they just accept this about me.

This is a long standing argument based on the fact that I only really talk about the above (because school is uninteresting and I know they don't care) and my unexpected grade in my Critical Thinking exam back in January. I got 50 points out of 100, however the system works, and that is halfway to a D overall when added with the exam next month. To get the B Brighton wants me to have, I would have to be near perfect in my May exam. That clearly isn't going to happen. So I'm resitting.

When my family heard this, they assumed it's my fault and that I didn't work enough. Okay, perhaps I could have done a little more, but a classmate of mine revised solidly for weeks and got the same grade as me. The best mark anybody got was on the way to a C.

I tried explaining that the topic is difficult to revise for, as previously mentioned a few posts back, but they didn't seem to understand. They don't get how important I find getting out of here to be, and that I honestly thought the exam went well. I underestimated what was required of me, and I've learnt from it. I'm working on it.

But their lack of belief in me, or the belief that I need to try harder, is incredibly unhelpful. How can I rely on them for support if what I'm doing is never enough? Worse still, when I left to make tea because I couldn't stand it any more and I needed a comforting ritual, they were laughing.

So here is an accurate representation of what my parents believe me to be thinking about, and what I really am concentrating on at any one time.

  


Red Crayon: Sweden // Blue Crayon: Supernatural // Green Crayon: Sherlock // Yellow Crayon: Doctor Who // Purple Pen: School // Orange Highlighter: Trans* Crap // Blue Highlighter: I need to get out of here // Purple Pencil: Can I handle a job? I have to // Black: Friends/Social life // Blue Pen: Family-related teen angst // Gold: DYSPHORIA

It's not accident that the two highlighters are next to each other, or that the blue highlighter and purple pencil are side by side. Same with gold and the blue pen. They go hand in hand. And the gold is dysphoria because it stands out. It's unavoidable and unique to the other colours because dypshoria is unique to everybody. I'm so deep and thoughtful when I don't need to be.

The first is my parent's view, the second is the truth.


   

As you can see, they're right about Sweden. Or rather, Moony. Yes, I spend a lot of time thinking about her, but I feel entitled, since we're pretty much married.

But there the similarities stop. I barely spend that much time on Sherlock any more, or Who. Supernatural, yes. But fandoms are something I need to get by. School work rivals my time spend with or thinking about Moony, so it's clearly not something I don't care about. And Trans* issues affect me daily. I always have the knowledge that I'm going through something not many other people I know have, and it's a little isolating sometimes. It makes me feel like I have to get away, as shown. It makes me determined to get a job because I need to see the Uni places I am considering. I barely have a social life, besides hanging out with a mate I'll name Dean, since I keep calling him it by accident, and a handful of others every Friday at Dean's house.

And my family angst is constant. Hard not to be, since I'm living with them. Mum asked where I'd like to go in the UK, for a holiday since it's probably the last year we'll all be together. I told her Wales or Edinburgh, and by the sounds of it we'll be camping there and that means not much phone time if I want to have any energy left on my battery. I'll be alone with them, and it may be hell, but I'll be in a setting I've never been in and that may be enough, if I can get away regularly. The last time we went camping I was told I probably wouldn't be 'like this' if I'd been forced towards pink and barbies instead of Doctor Who and Star Wars.

I didn't group trans* crap with dysphoria because they feel different. Anything can trigger it, and it's horrible to cope with. It deserves it's own group.

So by telling me to focus more, my family have forced me away from revising to make this post, in an attempt to calm my nerves. I haven't had a therapy session since the day before I left to see Moony, so this is my only outlet.