Tree Bros and Boyf riends One Shots

My story

Hello, it's Kae. Today I want to talk about my story. I see a lot of people online who are struggling, so I decided to update this book one last time. 

I grew up in a suburb near San Francisco. I have always lived comfortably, as my family is upper-middle class. I never had too much trauma as a child, I got along with everyone.

In 4th grade, I started obsessing over being "popular". I went to a private Catholic school, and almost everyone there was the stereotypical "rich white kid". I didn't always fit in, as I had crazy, short curly hair and wore thick glasses. I have an eye condition called Lazy Eye, where one eye is stronger than the other. In order to correct this, I had to cover my strong eye with a patch for 5-7 hours a day. I was always ashamed of it, and cried over it frequently. It was then that I started to care about what others thought of me. From 4th to 6th grade, I was constantly obsessed with being seen as cool to my peers. I hung out with the popular girls, even though they were sometimes downright mean to me. In my warped perception, popularity was all that mattered to me.

The summer before 7th grade was when my problems started coming to light. I found myself in a new world, with intense mood swings and a constant emptiness. In addition to this, puberty was starting, and I became profoundly uncomfortable with my body.

I cut myself for the first time in the middle of summer, one July night. I didn't draw blood, just made some scratches. However, I felt better afterwards.

I have never regretted an action more than that.

I lived my life like a zombie, putting up a social and extroverted front. Inside, my emotions were warring with each other. It was hell. I was jittery and overthought everything, and began spiraling down into despair.

When school started, things only got worse. I had multiple panic attacks at school, and I gave up trying to be popular. I became an easy target for bullying, and the girls I once thought were my friends became my terrorizers.

It was around this time, I realized I wasn't straight. I told one person, and suddenly, everyone knew. That also became more bullying fuel.

At this point, I was tired of living. Every day, I would live with intense anger and sadness. It affected my family profoundly, and it hurt me to see what my actions caused. I began to see myself as a monster, and started to isolate myself in my room. My grades started slipping, as I couldn't focus or find a reason to care.

My mental health got so bad at one point that I began to write up suicide notes. However, I was too cowardly to go through with it.

It was fall, near October when my parents found out about my cutting. My mom's family has a history of genetic mental health issues, and I was predisposed to developing mental illnesses. I cried so much when my parents asked me if I was hurting myself, my eyes were sore for the next day and a half.

My mom started taking me to see a therapist, and things looked up for a while. I had an escape, a place to talk to someone.

Then my life started to fall apart. One of my friends stopped talking to me, and I became even more of an outcast. My body hatred was only getting worse, and all I wanted to do was sleep and cry.

I had started waking up at 4 am each morning to write this book, but that time would always start spiraling into thinking too much, then having a quiet breakdown, then self-harming.

One day, at a consultation, my doctor asked me if I was suicidal. I said yes, and she asked if I had a plan. I did, and I decided to tell the truth. I was promptly taken to the emergency room, and my parents searched my room and found a yellow rope tied in a noose and a stack of suicide notes. I had planned on carrying it out the following weekend.

I spent a week in a mental hospital. It was a good experience, as I met others there who were struggling with the same things as me. I soon became friends with the entire ward, and we held Psych ward prom (because one of the kids there couldn't attend prom). Being there was scary, but I knew that this was the best thing to do. There, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, ADHD, and disdainful bulimia. I was put on medication, and my parents withdrew me from the school I was at.

I spent the rest of the school year working from home. I was still far behind in schoolwork, but I managed to graduate 7th grade.

I bleached my hair and then dyed it pink, which wasn't allowed at my old school. This act of expressing myself set off a chain reaction. I began to realize the disgust I felt with my body was gender dysphoria, and that I did not feel at all like a girl.

I came out to my mom first, and she took me to get a haircut. Watching my hair come off was liberating, and I was so happy. Over that summer, I got my first binder. I felt so much more comfortable in my body, but I was still confused.

I switched labels a lot, trying different ones. I identified as genderfluid, then a trans guy, then bigender... it was a mess. Then, I found the label non-binary, and it fit like a glove.

I was still cutting, however, and at this point, it had become an addiction. I needed it, otherwise my mood swings would begin to take control. Cutting myself calmed me, and despite my parents' trying, I lacked the willpower to stop.

I went to the hospital a second time, and although they only admitted me for a night, I understood: this was going to destroy me.

As my self-harm was out of control, my therapist and I agreed on an intensive outpatient program. It was really difficult, and I often felt uncomfortable. However, it taught me many useful coping skills. (Tip: if you can't calm down from a breakdown, put an ice pack on your face. This activated certain chemicals in your brain which allows you to think rationally and stop crying. At first I thought the instructor was full of shit, but it actually works really well!)

I met other kids there, and another trans person as well. I began to feel like I wasn't alone.

We got a dog early summer 2018, and he quickly became the center of attention. He is actually registered as my emotional support animal (he helps me reduce the intensity of my panic attacks).

However, through all this, I kept cutting and having suicidal thoughts and urges. I honestly don't know what kept me going, as I felt like a monster. I would have intense flashes of anger, and lash out at people around me. However, I was not as on-edge as before. My psychiatrist upped the dosage of my medication, and that helped a little, but I was still experiencing intense depression and disliked my body.

Over the winter, things started to look up. I started feeling a little better. Though I didn't have many reasons to self-harm, I kept relapsing over and over again. My parents would find out, and it tore them up to see my harming myself. I knew I had an addiction, and it was destroying my relationships with my family and friends. I knew I needed to stop, and I began to find my strength.

February 2019 was the last time I self-harmed. I threw out my tools I used, and vowed that that would be the end. The first two weeks were hell. Without that outlet, my bad emotions became almost constant. However, I knew I was doing the right thing, and kept going.

Over last summer, I lost a friend. It was intensely painful, and I nearly relapsed. However, I stopped myself. That was one of the first times I worked through pain without turning to harmful coping mechanisms.

Over the fall, I began to improve. I started high school, and made friends. I became active in their GSA, and found my people. I also confessed my long-standing attraction to a friend of mine, and found out she felt the same.

While it has not been easy, it's been a year and two months since I last cut, and I am so proud of myself. I still experience urges from time to time, but they are less intense and I can work past them. I started going to a gender therapist, and am starting voice therapy after the Coronavirus dies down. I have been with my girlfriend (the friend I confessed to) for a little over 6 months, and I am really in love with her. I am no longer suicidal, and I actually enjoy living.

I know that when others say "it'll get better.", it often feels like a lie. I felt like that for a long time, thinking they were telling me that to stop me from killing myself. But it isn't a lie. I promise, even when you're at your lowest, you will conquer whatever demons you're working through. You will live, even though it is painful.

You will be okay, trust me.

Thank you for listening to my story.