Throughout childhood, I had also vicariously explored these sentiments in my art. No later than age 9 or 10, I even drew a little female character with a speech bubble saying she "felt like a man" (if I'd drawn a little boy saying he felt like a girl, it would've thrown a red flag for my parents; evidently I was smart enough to realize this). In retrospect, I'm amazed that I understood such things at that age. In a fifth-grade notebook, I drew male characters in ornate ball gowns, accompanied by the caption "I am beautiful". I also had dreams about it, conscious daydreams too, and those were even earlier; perhaps as early as 6-8 years of age, I fantasized about wearing dresses. Once in my adolescence, I doodled some feminized versions of video game characters. As I entered into adulthood, I had the distinct impression that I "didn't feel like a man," nor did I really consider myself such, but I didn't think about it often. In my late twenties, I began having dreams where I saw myself as a woman. They were not unpleasant.

Of course, my own series is the most powerful testament, although I was oblivious to it. It manifested in a number of ways, including overbearingly "cutesy" aesthetics, especial emphasis on the prolific female characters whom I clearly identified with, as well as many of the "male" characters being feminine or androgynous at best. Not to mention the emotionally-focused, deeply interpersonal aspects of the plot (that might sound generic, but I mean lots of warm, fuzzy, lovey-cuddly stuff). My crisis even caused a disconnect between me and my work, and God was so loving, so gracious as to mend that bitter rift.

I fought long and hard, but it was only when I stopped running from myself, looked back, and opened my eyes to the evidence that was there all along, that I could accept this and find peace and a sense of closure. Then, at last, my suffering ceased.

Pleading My Case

I've been estranged from you all for quite some time, in part because I was dealing with this. I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable, and I certainly wouldn't want to confuse your children. But I love you, and I always will. Unfortunately, my self-expression was muddled by my inner struggle, and this manifested in the form of sporadic outbursts. I'm sorry for that. I needed time to search myself, and heal myself. No, God healed me. But I had to learn to let go, and let Him. He put forgiveness in my heart, which facilitated the outpouring of love, and understanding, and acceptance that was necessary for my emotional healing.

Medical science advances rapidly, significantly even in as little as five or ten years; so I'm sure the medical community has learned a lot about this in the past three decades. But what happened, happened. My life could've turned out either way. I do not begrudge Mom and Dad for choosing the path for me that they did, because I believe, and indeed have seen what good can come out of trials; not only for myself, but also for others. Growth can only be achieved through suffering. If you do not suffer, you do not grow. Everything has a purpose, and I'm just excited to see what it is! I'm sure it could help a lot of people in that, being who I am and having suffered the things I suffered, I was still able to do all that I've done. Because I couldn't have done it otherwise, frankly.

As for that one doctor, the one who was really responsible for all this, the one who responded to my mother's plea not to hurt me by saying "Jesus Christ, who do you think I am?" I forgave him. God helped me. At first the thought crossed my mind to look for other people he "worked on" (as that was all he did, and botched at least one other child to my knowledge) and, if they were like-minded, to build a case, if not against him (as he may no longer be living), then against the hospital itself. Although I wouldn't be at all surprised if such a thing already happened sometime over the years, and I simply "missed out" due to the fact that my sex reassignment was incomplete. While I'm sure it's not the most horrific case of medical malpractice in the book, it was inhumane to say the least.

But then my dad and I were out riding and I saw one of those billboards: "Real Christians love their enemies." I said, "Thank You, God." Because that was a big burden lifted from my heart. I don't want to be a warrior, only a peacemaker. That said, having lived my life, how can I be anything but an activist? Though it wouldn't have been worth the emotional toll of proving it in court, I know I could've been entitled to compensation for those unnecessary procedures, and not only that, but possibly also functional disability. There's your "cognitive impairment," but of course no one was around to see just how remarkably I pushed through it while chasing my dreams.

To be clear, I do not blame anything on God; He only helped me. No matter who you are or what you do, you will always be judged by someone. You can't get away from discrimination, and pretending to be something you're not will only make matters worse. Another thing I've learned through this is that the goal of life is not to be so inoffensive that you never cross anyone, but the exact opposite: to fully flesh out in who you are, shatter barriers and surpass everything that came before you. The fact is that no one who ever made a mark on history did so without first doing their time in the crucible. But that just makes it all worthwhile.

Moving On

This doesn't have to be a sad day. It can be happy... because I'm happy. I'm happy because I was living in hell, and didn't know why, and when I figured it out I felt like all the weight in the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I'm sorry for being a coward and not coming out with this sooner. I guess I was afraid that you'd all gang up and throw me in a paddy wagon or try to stage an intervention or something. But nothing could have helped me except addressing the core of my issue - the fact that my outward persona and inner self were mismatched. Nobody could rightfully expect me to just stay in the closet forever. I am who I am, and I was desperate to move on. I was born who I am; I didn't choose to be who I am. I chose to stop suffering.

When I was 14, I thought my religion inhibited me from being myself, and that my parents wouldn't love me anymore because of it. Over the next 15-16 years, that bottled-up energy festered and slowly became twisted into something soul-destroying. When I finally acknowledged, accepted, and released it, I felt like a new person. And I was. I literally, physically felt the power in my release, a new sense of empowerment such as I never before experienced - like a dam opening or a volcanic eruption, even before any tangible changes had occurred. And that's because the first and greatest change of all had already occurred within my own mind: the enthusiastic acceptance of my real self, that had in fact been manifesting through my creative expression from the beginning. I was filled with an exuberant new passion, a desire to excel and make a name for myself like never before; to be an inspiration, an encouragement to others like me, where I couldn't be if I wasn't who I am.

What does the future hold? One thing is certain: God looks out for me. He always has. I love Him with all my heart, and I always will. In the darkest depths of my suffering, I felt like I had lost everything, and had nothing to lose by totally turning my life over to God. That was the point when things started getting better. It was God Who revealed the truth to me, piece by piece, all the while assuring me that He loves me just as I am; and believe me, I needed that assurance. It was nothing less than an act of divine mercy. The catalyst was forgiveness, and it was my mother who perceived my bitterness and said that I needed to forgive. I didn't even realize that was my problem. But a few days later (this was around November 2018), I felt unctioned and visualized the faces of every person who ever hurt me - whether they meant to or not - and absolved them one by one, verbally addressing them by name wherever possible. Immediately, I felt as though weight had been lifted from my heart. I suppose it's difficult for non-religious people (and probably even most religious people) to understand, but my worldview is God-centered and I hold to it.

I did not do this on my own. I had no forgiveness of myself. It was Jesus Who put the forgiveness in my heart when I let go and let Him. Where in subconscious self-denial I had thrown up walls in defense, God's mercy penetrated the stronghold in my mind and rescued my soul from death. His warm, radiant love melted my heart like snow. I read the Bible every day month after month where I hadn't before, focusing mainly on the Upper Room discourse in the Gospel of John and those epistles that focused mostly on love and kind acceptance, rather than judgment. Most notably, something from 2 Corinthians: "Consider this very thing, that you sorrowed in a godly manner: what diligence it produced in you, what clearing of yourself... what vehement desire, what zeal, what vindication!" I held that hope in my heart more dearly than anything, that God was working beneath the surface to bring renewal to fruition through my suffering, even if I couldn't see an end to it... because apart from God, I had no hope. By faith and perseverance, I saw its fulfillment when that old adage rang true: "The darkest night is just before the dawn." From there, a crescendo of intimate revelations led to the final epiphany that changed my life.

The course of my thinking has been reversed entirely; every aspect of my personality has been transformed in full. Now I thank God for this movement that's working to promote awareness and acceptance, instead of burying my head in the sand. There was a time when I just wanted to die and go to heaven; now I can't wait to see what God would have me do for the world. I have my own views and interpretations of scripture, philosophy and psychology, but in everything I strive to be a blessing to those who hear me. Because people need to be encouraged, they need to be uplifted, they need to be inspired. It's not a coincidence that I was born in this day and age, and that I possess the qualities that I do (for better or worse). My work touches people, I already know that. They've told me. It's touched me, too. I knew coming out would have repercussions, but I also know that it can make a positive impact.

In Closing

This issue had its roots at the very beginning of my life. Who could have known that except for my own mother and father? I only thank God that they loved me enough to understand. Yes, they knew who I was the day I was born, but I took nothing for granted. I prayed that God would help them understand, and my prayer was answered. Through this, I've had the opportunity to experience their love for me in a way that wouldn't have been possible otherwise, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Moreover, I'm grateful for the way they protected my feelings for all those years. I'm sure that doctor did his best to intimidate them, and I also thank God that they stood up to him and prevented him from completely and utterly ruining my life.

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