10 years ago today, I came out as a transgender boy named Ollie. Freshly 17 and excited to start my new life, I thought I had finally figured out why I was so distressed.
For some odd reason that is still unclear to me, I absolutely loved looking like a boy, and I really did feel like my internal self was reflected on the outside for the first time. Turns out, all of it was a lie. Even though doctors and mental health professionals told me and my parents that absolutely I need to do this for my well-being, it was all a deep, powerful lie.
I sat there in the outpatient clinic, after spending 6 days there for being suicidal, feeling vindicated that my parents were being told to just trust the process. “They wouldn’t dare go against the professionals, right? Will they deny science and medicine to go on ignoring my true gender identity? They just don’t know me. Only I know myself,” I thought.
I can only imagine how baffled and increasingly hopeless my parents must have felt. I didn’t have enough empathy for them to stop. I continued. Rapidly. 3 years later my breast tissue would be getting scooped out of my chest, and my nipples cut off, reduced in size and sewn back on.
I don’t know why God let me cause so much damage to myself. The journey that I started seems pointless now. Like there really was no great valuable lesson to be learned from it. No silver lining. I just am left with a disconcertingly deep voice and zippertits that can’t feed my children.
Why? Why is this satanic ideology still holding on? It’s so obvious to us detransitioners. You cannot change your sex, and one should never try to. Can we please move on from this nonsense, so that I can too?
