About a week before my move I held a party at my house with my friends from school and they surprised me by bringing me presents. One of them was a trunk with letters inside them. Each letter was from one of my friends. They wrote them hoping I'd read them at the party so they could see me cry, but I tucked them away and said I'd save them for another time. They were of course disappointed, but quickly got over it.
So there I sat looking at this small pile of letters, sometime in the middle of the night, and started to read them. They made me laugh, smile and cry. That's when it hit me. I would most likely never see most of these girls again. I'd never go to school with them or talk to them- anything. It felt strange and at that moment the dam just burst. I broke into silent sobs, but the tears streamed down my face. I remember needing to talk to someone-anyone- so I tried calling a few of my friends. None of them answered, except for Nikki.
We talked for a bit, but not long. I think she was uncomfortable with the state I was in, but I told her I read the letters and I thanked her. After this I told myself to get some sleep and to get it together. My past was my past, now I have to look forward. It hurt to think like this, but over time the pain turned into a dull throb. I never read the letters again. I'm not sure why. I've looked over them, but never read them. I'm not sure if it's just to keep passed memories locked up or it's because I'm afraid of my reaction to reading them again.
Anyway after that I started school and probably had one of the most stressful years in my life. That's an anthill I want to burn. Along with the next year too. I'm not sure if I wrote about this, but my first school in this new place wasn't a very good one when it comes to caring for the students. If you had straight As and perfect attendance than they treated you very kindly, but if you were an average student, just bringing down the grade average. They'd rather you transfer school than help you out. Honestly, that was a load of batshit and even thought those two years were my toughest I actually learned something from that fuckin sanatorium. That school showed and taught me first hand that life can be cruel, brutal and heartless. If it wasn't for my friend Marta I might have come out of that school even worse than I had. My father once told me that while attending the school I'd become a lot quieter, meeker and even more shy. I still am those things, but it's not as bad. I've rebuilt some of my confidence and now I watch what I say a bit more closely.
After that the next two years weren't as stressful, but they were still tough. My mother left us, then I left my brother. I had a good awful summer last year and my hormones and emotions were so out of control for a good eight months after. Now though life's slowly calmed down. I still get the occasional blues, but it doesn't control me anymore. I've been looking into myself a bit and experimenting- kind of.
A few months back I found this channel on youtube-a blog- of this boy called Alex. Well a couple of videos into the blog I realized he was actually a she and this channel was her way of document her life. She was a FTM (female to male [don't remember the technical term]). This interested me greatly, because I'd heard of cross dressing, but I never though people felt uncomfortable in there own bodies. This got me thinking about myself, because I have more than once wished I could be a boy. I'm just not feminine. I hate my chest, but I don't hate my body. I've learned to accept my body and I'm slowly falling in love with it. That aside I was interested in FTMs and I was curious whether I was one. After a week of searching on the internet for more information, trying out compression shirts and just reflecting I realized something. I couldn't give a bigger crap if I were a boy or a girl. I don't mind being mistaken as a boy, nor do I care if I'm called a girl. My names pretty, but sometimes I'd prefer to be called Mat. It was thanks to this tiny yet mind blowing revelation that I started to accept my body. I'm still not a fan of my boobs, but honestly compression shirts make me look completely flat (almost), so that's my compromise for now.
Overall looking back at my four years they weren't the happiest, but now that I've gone through those raging hormones and some drama. I think I'll be able to handle it better next time I have to go through something similar. Hopefully.
Maybe, I'll see you around?
