I was at a point in my life where everything was falling apart. My family relationships were very strained, my love life was... well broken, and I was having an identity crisis on multiple levels. On the one hand, meeting my father had proven fruitless. I had only met the shell of a man that was once my father, and I was facing the harsh reality that my questions would never be answered. On the other hand, I had reached a point with my gender confusion where it was affecting my ability to function in life. I was so depressed I wanted nothing to do with anything or anyone. I spent many days in bed, crying and having thoughts of how sad everyone would be if I died. The only happy moments were when I was alone and able to dress like my true self. It wasn't nearly what I truly wanted, but it was just enough to get my mind off the misery for awhile.
I had left my first job, and was in and out of other jobs that I had no interest in, I was only there to mask the pain I was feeling and keep myself busy. Eventually, I couldn't do that anymore either. I stopped working and ended up on the street for a few months. This was my first encounter with homelessness. My grandfather caught wind with what was going on and got me a job and set me up with a place to stay.
The job was working in a machine shop, getting berated for no reason by a boss with a Napoleon complex. Of course that wasn't in the actual job description, but it happened so often it might as well have been.
I had been buying clothes again and dressing up when I got home. I started telling friends and dressing around them.
Then I finally got the guts to tell a family member. I talked to my aunt about what I had been struggling with my whole life. She was I guess half-surprised. I don't remember much of the conversation but it was a good first step. I do remember her asking if I wanted my Mom to know. I said yes but I didn't want my Mom to know right away. A communication breakdown occurred and led to the full outing of my secret. Now everyone knew.
I decided to start dressing at work. Which was a mistake. My boss made my job there a living hell, making me do tasks that were not in my job description and to put it quite plainly, inhumane. It reached a point where I couldn't bare it any longer, so I quit and tried looking for a job presenting as a woman only to face rejection making me bitter with the world. I became so oppressed and depressed that my femininity retreated back into her closet.
I became a recluse, only allowing my closest friends and family to visit me. I wasn't making money...so I wasn't paying rent. As you might expect, I was eventually evicted. I went to live with my aunt and her family for awhile. I remember being there for only a few weeks and breaking down in front of her. Pouring my heart and frustrations out. She consoled me, and tried to inspire me to do something better with my life. But I was so broken on the inside it was difficult to rekindle any aspirations.
During that time, I started cosmetology school. I was able to present as a woman, but due to some legal reasons had to put my legal name on all of my paperwork and schoolwork, leading to confusion among classmates, teachers and clients receiving services in order for me to practice in regards to what they were supposed to refer to me as. Additionally I wasn't working, which led to some stress at my aunts house. I was just still so depressed I couldn't focus on so many things. Especially when I wasn't really able to fully transition the way I wanted to. I just wasn't ready... for anything.
I ended up receding back into the closet yet again. Reverting back to my male self and digging into a deep depression. I started lashing out at everyone. Even my aunt, my closest ally. Things slowly deteriorated and I ended up on the street again after a short stint of staying in a hotel room. It was the beginning of winter in 2012 and I was approaching the darkest moments of my life.
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