So he wrote back, unfazed, saying that we should go out sometime, and that I'm hot.
Naturally, I'm assuming he doesn't know what FTM means, etc etc....
I was almost tempted to write back, saying what FTM is, so he has no false ideas about me.
But then I wondered. Am TRYING to set myself up to fail? Honestly?
I don't know.
And for the girl who asked, here's a brief outline of sex change operations for FTMs.

Mistaken Identity. But thats everyday life.
I added a gay boy on myspace who will be going to my new school down in FL next year.
And he sent me a message, flirting, asking if I was gay, suggesting we hang out sometime, etc etc.
And then I didn't want him to have any preconcieved notions about me.
So I messaged him back, saying hey, yeah, I am going to CBHS next year, hanging out would be cool.

And here I sit. Two weeks after he moved across the country.
Sitting in his clothes, breathing in his cologne.
Listening to Bright Eyes because I am far too melancholy to listen to his favourite Madonna cd.
I wanted to be him
I wanted to be with him.
And I was so overwhelmed by the emotions I felt towards him, I couldn't even tell him I was a FTM.
He would have accepted me. I used to joke and call him my gay guru. He accepted everyone, loved everyone.

I want to move from here
Not so I can leave you
but so being

gay

will not be something I am discovering
but something I am
with no path to question it
or mistakes for you to question me
to be somewhere that my fears
are undefined
by a tangle of knots
I twisted myself
to keep
the secrets at bay

I watched him from behind
and couldn't help but wonder
if he would kiss me in the
dark
the way you used to
as though you felt
my shame
and hid from it as i did
because it was better for us
to pretend we were happy
and in love
than ever question those
doubts
you could feel in my gaze

and you held me as i slept
not because
you loved me
but because you feared i
would flee if you did not

I actually just want attention right now.
Lame, I know.
I'm just really depressed and happy and content but aggravated.
I'm a kaleidoscope of emotions.
And all of my cds are at my friends house.
:(
And I want to listen to Oasis and veg.

you scream those names
as though you possess the

power

to change
what i could not

perhaps the force
of your hate
will deconstruct every

safeguard

I have ever built
I will not cry over your outbursts
I will not even protest

I never deserved this pain
but I'll take it
just one more day
in vain hopes

tomorrow
when you answer

So yesterday I took what I feel was a big step towards passing as a male. I cut my hair off, as seen in my avatar. Let it be known that I already frequent the men's section at Hollister. However, my family has no idea that not only am I their son/nephew/grandson, rather than Julia, their daughter/neice/granddaughter/sister, i'm a GAY man! . So when I arrived home with....very little hair, all hell broke loose. My grandmother cried, my mother called me a "fat old dyke", and it was made clear that I was not permitted to make any more decisions anymore because I am "irresponsible". Worst of all, they are insisting I dress in very feminine clothes when I leave the house, so I will not be mistaken for a boy. but that was my intent! . I've been reduced to carrying a large purse to take a change of clothes. If I hear one more homophobic or genderphobic taunt thrown out by my gramma I'll snap. I've spent all day hiding in my room because I don't want to face them.

I knew I was different when I was 4. Oh preschool, what a lifechanging abundance of self discovery you are.

Since the time I punched David Bernstein in the face for calling me a girl, till the day I bawled myself to sleep when I got my first period. Breasts were a problem for me too. They're large! Cumbersome! They move! They serve me no purpose! Every step of puberty was another where I internally fought my very body. So I told myself what I thought I needed to hear. You're just too frumpy. If you were pretty, you'd be happy with how you look. So I dieted. I primped. I combed. I shaved. I waxed. I became the girl of every heterosexual boy's dreams. But it still wasn't right. I couldn't understand why I looked in the mirror and wanted to destroy the very cocoon I had built for myself. Deep down, I wanted to wear cargo shorts, mandals, muscle shirts, swim trunks. But this made no sense to me. I liked boys! I couldn't be a boy. Even the sound of my own name made me cringe. Julia. Naturally, my parents saddled me with a feminine name complete with ribbons and bows.