And They Lived . . .

by Steven Salvatore

“The one thing that I’ve learned is that there are no rules, only the ones you impose upon yourself. If you feel comfortable, that’s all that matters.”

I used to think I was a shape-shifter because some days I would feel more masculine, others more feminine, and sometimes in-between or something else entirely.

“Do you ever feel like you still don’t know?” I ask. “Sometimes, but I think that’s normal.” “I don’t know what normal is. I don’t know what pronouns I want to use. Right now, I feel most comfortable with he/him, but maybe that’s just a comfort thing. I don’t even know if I like the term nonbinary, because it’s like, I do sometimes feel like I exist within the binary, but it’s not stagnant, you know? More fluid, like genderqueer, which is a term I think I like. But … I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to have anything figured out right now. Or ever.” “That sounds … horrifying,” I say. “That’s life, Gray,”

“There are no rules, Gray. And there’s no pressure to be anything other than exactly who you are at any given moment.” That sounds nice.

“Combine that with trying to figure out how I fit into the nonbinary spectrum, because some days I feel very genderless and fluid and unmoored, and others like a bear of a man, and I don’t know.”

“Do you ever question what you’re doing?” she asks unexpectedly. She’s let her guard down, putting away her fake theatricality for a moment. “All the time,” I say, then add, “and not at all. I think it’s unrealistic to not question your own choices as you create. But I have to make mistakes in order to figure out how to correct them.”

Part of that path means having to figure out what’s important to you and what will help you grow versus hold you back. What your father says is not reflective of you but of him. What other people want from you is more about them than you. Don’t let anyone hold power over you. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out, and you deserve to hear that.”

Every day is a week, a roller coaster that never ends, just loops and curves around the same bends, over and over. I’m not strapped down, but I’m also unable to exit the moving cart. I’m screaming for help, but nobody can hear me.

“It’s something to consider. Also, it may help to think of your body dysmorphia as a separate personified being or creature. It could allow you to identify and separate it from yourself so that you can identify some of the compulsions to act on the way you feel and instead develop healthy coping mechanisms.”

I can’t control how other people treat me or see me. But maybe I can change the way I see myself.

I have to be strong for myself.

I have a lot of work to do on myself and for myself, to love myself, and maybe this is the perfect time to start.

All I’ve ever wanted was to feel comfortable, whole, normal in my skin.

the world judges and hates anyone who isn’t thin, cisgender, straight, male, abled, and white;

It’s funny how so many of us struggle with the same stuff: feeling like we’re not enough. Not good enough to be loved. Not beautiful enough to be worthy. Not talented enough to be accomplished. Not significant enough to feel important or seen. Without the proper words to tell another that we love them, that we hate them, that we something-in-between them, that they hurt us when they think they love us.

I’m learning every single day how to love myself, the skin and body I’m in, and that it’s okay to be a work in progress.