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I've always been a tomboy. When I was young, I always played with the boys. Toy dinosaurs, soccer, biking with the guys.
None of the girls liked me.
Nevertheless, I still dressed like a girl because when your 6, you don't really get to choose your own clothes. At least, I couldn't, anyway. I had very long, straight brown hair that everyone loved. I was pretty, creative, fun-loving and friendly.
But, boy was I one hell of a trouble-maker.
I ended up in the principle's office at least five times a week. We actually got to know each other quite well. He always let me sit in the most comfortable chair in his office. It didn't help the my rear was always raw from the spanking I would receive once I got home and my father found out that I'd cut another cut with the scissors or punched them in the eye. And it all only happened because I was bullied from very early on.
I got to the age where it was wrong for me to still be playing with the boys, so my parents kept me from visiting their houses and riding our bikes around together. I was forced to converse with the girls.
Yuck.
I always felt more comfortable in the group with the boys. They were so much more fun. The girls just wanted to paint their nails when I would rather be getting dirt under mine from jumping around on the playground. But, what can you do.
When I turned eleven, I decided I was tired of the whole separation thing. I had been isolated from any social goings-on on any grounds, and tied off from the outside family. School wasn't going well and my grades were falling. It must seem really stupid to you that I would add something to my plate that could cause me even more trouble
I started calling myself a boy. I had no idea what a transgender was, but the concept somehow grew in the front of my mind. I still looked nothing like a boy, though. So, when I turned 16 I finally convinced my mom to let me get my hair cut.
She cut it 2 inches.
After a long progression of cutting and snipping, I had finally gotten the haircut that I had so long desired. The boyish trim was very becoming, and fit me well. Men's clothes followed suit. I was finally happy again. I was blossoming into a full-on
dyke.
Or, so my mom called it.
Dyke. Lesbian. Tranny. Or whatever.
So here I am. I know I'm not a boy, but I want to be. I know I would be so much happier.
If you've read this far, you must care about my story a little bit. Please, I need advice.
What do I do?
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