My name is A. That’s what I go by on the internet, at least.
Some know me as Angel (my birthname), some know me as Micheal and some know me as the 13 year old freak who got a boy’s haircut and looks like a “tranny”.
I’ve always been more boyish. When I in Nursery, we all had to state our favourite colours, what we wanted to be when we grew up and then dress up as our dream career.
All the girls said pink/purple/lilac and they wanted to be fashion designers/popstars/movie stars.
All the boys said blue/red/green and they wanted to be builders/spies/football players.
When it came to me (they were doing it in last names from Z-A so I was last) I chose yellow and orange. That’s right, not only did I not choose pink or pastel, I also chose two.
I stayed silent when it came to what I wanted to be when I was older. I had no idea what to say. But the teachers kept pestering me and I racked my little 3 year old brain for something to say.
A broad grin spread across my face as I loudly exclaimed that I wanted to be a
“BOY!”
Teachers looked at me funny as I walked up to the dress up box and picked up an oversized shirt and a clip on bowtie and ran off to play on the climbing frame.
Of course, they never brought this up with my parents and made us all take off the costumes before they picked us up. It wasn’t as if this girl with her curly hair in plaits and a Pink Ranger t-shirt actually wanted to be one.
My parents did find out,however. I had told the mother about it during bath time. They took away all the hand me downs I owned that looked even a teeny bit masculine and I was forced to wear skirts and dresses for Reception and the whole of Key stage one and Year Three.
When I was in Year Four and everyone had supposedly forgotten this incident, we were to start taking swimming lessons at school.
While changing, I listened in to a conversation this one girl who was complaining about something. As we later found out, she had to borrow one of her brother’s trunks (those tight versions of boxers) as all her underwear was in the wash.
I stared in awe at this amazing underwear and vowed that the next time I saw them in a shop I would buy them.
Luckily, the mother took me underwear shopping during that weekend. I found a box of them that was power ranger themed. I showed them to the mother who quickly whisked me away from the boy’s section (she was finding underwear for my little brother too) and bought me a couple pairs of those horrible girl boxers that gave me wedgies and were uncomfortable.
I cried for weeks about how I wanted boxers.
Fast forward to the start of Year 8.
The summer beforehand I had spent in Africa with my family and because of how terribly horrible the father was to me, I forced myself to wear dresses and tankinis and *shudder* bras. I got extremely depressed that summer and when we got back I started to self harm.
Anyways, in Year 8 I noticed that I could choose what to wear and I decided to buy a looser school polo and jumper to hide my chesticles.
I also bought a pair of trousers from the boy’s section in Asda, which angered the parents very much.
One day, I decided to try binding like the transguys in those movies. I didn’t see myself as a guy, I just didn’t want chesticles.
I bought some bandages that were self adhesive (but only to other bits of the bandage, it didn’t stick to skin) and had some stretch and I binded with those for a day and loved it. I knew people could see the bandages through my shirt and I knew about the odd looks I was getting but I felt so free and didn’t give a damn about them.
The next day, I was caught using them and I got yelled at. The parents called me so many names (one of them I actually cut into my skin during a shit ton of depression a while ago) and I got hit a bunch too.
They sent me to school wearing a bra that day and I felt horrible.
A couple months later I got a second hand, cheaply made chest binder from an organisation. I wore it all the time and never let my parents notice by coming downstairs wearing my jacket or wearing my loose jumper over my polo.
People probably noticed me becoming less self consious about myself but I didn’t care.
My parents found out about it at the end of March and I hid it away, afraid that they’d cut it apart.
I managed to get them to buy me more the next week after I got my hair cut shorter (for the record, they made me take off the binder and wear one of my sister’s dresses when I went to the unisex barber) .
I now have 2 working binders that leave me so flat that I can swim in them, a binder that is really thick and ripped at the side and my original binder with the elastic stretched out so much that I use it as a normal tank top.
I want to tell you guys this, you can still be a girl and not want boobs.
As long as you identify as female, people have to respect that.
Not everyone grows out of being a tomboy. Not all of us actually are tomboys. Some of us are trans, but all of us are trans*.
That’s right, every single one of us falls under the transgender umbrella for being non-stereotypical.
I fully support all LGBTQIA+ people and their families (as long as they’re accepting) and even though my entire family shun me and hit me, I will never stop being myself.
I dont self harm as much and I barely ever think about suicide anymore. And even though I’m just a depressed and slightly suicidal kid telling other depressed and slightly suicidal kids that suicide isn’t the answer, I know that if I can stop someone from commiting then I can stop myself from ever doing it too.
And for those who want to know, the binders I bought are here:
http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Fashion-Lesbian-Tomboy-Chest-Breast-Binder-Undershirt-Cotton-Tank-Vest-Tops-WFR-/391019946718

Even though they’re cheaply made, they bind like the chains of hell and are known to get double d’s down to pecs and make my 32B’s look like a prepubecent boy’s chest.
Good luck people, happy summer, be yourself and never change for others!

(In case you’re wondering, I’m Asexual and Panromantic which means that I like people for their personality or in other words I’m attracted to people, not genders)