Fag

2025-6-29

Content Warning: Slurs, Talk of Bullying/Abuse, Conversion Therapy, Coming Out, (Sexual) Assault, Suicide Mention

I am under the notion that the best way to express my gender and sexuality is through slurs: "queer", "fag", "dyke", "tranny", "fagdyke", and to some, "transsexual". Of course, one may argue that all words used to describe someone in the lgbt community may have been used as derogatory way or as slurs, and to that I agree. However, I describe myself in this way, because for the longest time, slurs were all I knew.

I grew up in a small town in the middle of California, which was a very red area. Most of California is, outside of the Bay Area, Los Angeles, and San Diego. My town was so small that even people in California don't know about it. EVeryone know everyone there. Which means everyone knew when one turned out to be a queer. or a fag. or a dyke. or a tranny. It was common for people to not to tell anyone besides close friends, and even that was risky, because if that friend's parents family, you may never be allowed to hang out with them again, as it was with many of my friends.

I risked my life in a small town, coming out as queer to close friends at around the age 11, and then coming out to essentially the whole town at the age 13 as trans and queer. It is probably the most dangerous thing I've ever done, and I didn't even realize that until later. I was dealt as rough hand after coming out, with bullying, non-accepting parents (although they've come aropund and even come out themselves now), banned friends, and even an accidental conversion therapy, unbeknowst to people.

Shockingly the conversion therapy wasn't the worse. My parents did not send me, at least not on purpose. They were described a "girls' group" by our pastor's wife, with other people in attendance. And there was other people in attendance, around once a month. Most of the time it was me, sitting on the couch, tears running down my face with a bible in lap, be told to choose between loving God or being Trans. And she did this for a while. It was terrible. She would tell me the whole time that if I didn't fix this, being trans, I would go to hell. And I did believe it, and would pray to God that he would fix me. And she would pray with me. This went on for a few months, before I rejoined basketball, and could no longer be apart of "girls group".

Alas, by the time I had finished "conversion therapy", the whole town knew. Not that I didn't want the to, I told everyone. Even with the threat of hell, I still thought I would be okay. That didn't stop others from trying to knock me down. I had my youth pastor pull me aside, called me a pedophile (I was 14), and banned me from using the bathrooms at church, except the singular gender neutral disabled bathroom, which was always down a locked hall because I was the only one who would possibly use it. I had multiple friends tell me they couldn't hang out with me anymore, unless I stopped being a queer, to the point the parents had the principle make sure we never hung out. I was constantly told I needed to prove I was what I said I was, had boys try to pull down my pants to prove I was born a girl, all while calling me a dyke for the way I was dressed, and a fag because I looked like a boy since puberty. I had drinks thrown at me out of cars, with a drive by "faggot" shouted from the window.

At the time, I wanted to kill myself, not knowing the amount of people who probably also wanted to kill me. But I didn't; I tried, but I didn't. I had friends and a couple of family members who helped me, call me by actual name, and used the right pronouns. One of my friend bought me my first binder, while another friend would always notice when I shaved my face and tell me how handsome I was. I had a family member ask me if she spelt my name correctly on a cup, and was never referred to me by name after that day. When my family finally came around, they stop talking to other family members who didn't accept me, and made it clear that that was the reason why.

I am no longer living in that town, I am no longer going by my old name from that town, and I am so much happier. My family not only accepts me, they embrace me, and would lay their own lives down to keep me safe. I've been on testosterone for almost 3 (4?) years now, my mother is encouraging me to get top surgery asap, because she was reminded by a trans coworker, and my name has been legally changed since I was 18. My partner, who is also trans, loves me, and my friends who stood be side during the worst of it are still my friends to this day. I've had some shit expierences as a queer fagdyke tranny transsexual, but my life is better. Even with the current state of the world, life is better.

I'm sorry this particular heavy, but with pride month coming to close, I've decided to share my story, all of it, for the first time. I hope it helps someone else going through something similar, and that it may show that there is hope. That there is something outside of ideology of that red town, or city, or state, or country, that will love them and embrace them for who they are. Queer Existance is Resistance, and We Protect Us. I love you, my queer family.