Dear Deadname

Deadname, 

Sometimes I miss your face. Your long hair, and your wild tendencies. For most of my life you were all I knew, you were my only option. But you were never at home in me. For 20 years you sat and festered like an open wound, rotting my sense of self away. I tried to make myself one with you. After all, you were put upon me at birth, and who was I to say that my parents were wrong in giving you to me?

It took me years of discomfort and shame for me to get fed up with you. Removing you has given me so much freedom, it has given me the chance to live authentically. Most of the time I can say I do not miss you at all. 

You inhabited this body with me for 20 years, you dominated the space while I was curled in the corner, letting you have the reins. You repressed me for years, and when I started to take up space it still took me a long time to eliminate you. I had to have no mercy for you in order to reclaim my body and brain. I had to be unforgiving and brutal so that I could transition and live a genuine life. 

Now that I have the opportunity to explore myself, I’d like to extend a hand to you. I want to say that I see you. I understand that you weren’t trying to hurt me, you were just pressure from the outside world. You were just a child, unaware of the other options out there.

We were called a girl, given your name, and it never felt right to me, so I resented you. My insistent gender defying thoughts were a constant source of guilt and fear. I was so ashamed and afraid of what people might think of me. So I kept myself hidden.

I still resent you a little bit, because you are more easily digestible for people. They struggle with me, they can’t swallow that this is who I am, that you were a parasite in my body, sucking me dry.

I know it’s not your fault, it’s the world around us that told me you had to be the one that was seen. That I was broken, a mutant, a deviant.

But I still felt hurt by you. I still feel hurt by you. So much of my life was given to you, and I just had to wait my turn, hoping that someday the world would be ready enough for me. I wouldn’t say that they were ready, but I got tired of waiting. I was done with your facade. Even though you were just a little girl in the wrong body and mind. You were probably just as hurt and confused as I was. But it’s my body and mind, and it was given to you.

You embodied this being for so many years, and you ran us into the mud.

I know it wasn’t completely your fault — you had trauma, a load of mental illness, and substance abuse issues to deal with. You were trying to find yourself, but you were never really meant to be there. But I’m still truly hurt and scarred by those years of self destruction. You could never accept me, so you tried to drown me out with whatever you could. Whatever substance, sexual partner, or shitty coping mechanism you could get your hands on.

Without you I’m taking care of myself.

I’m transitioning, taking my meds, I’m sober, and I choose relationships that fulfill me and take care of me. I couldn’t have done those things with you steering the ship. I’m sorry I had to kill you. I know you were innocent, but in order for me to thrive there was only room for one of us in this body and mind. The two of us were not fitting well in here, and I couldn’t take anymore time being silenced and beaten down. I don’t regret doing what I did, but I thought you should know that I see you.

You’re in a better place now, this wasn’t home for you. Rest easy. 

 

Love, 

Bobbi 

 

Photos (in order of appearance) by Dakota Varney, Nikki Burnett, and Kathy Fernandez.