Puberty is a funny thing. A rite of passage from childhood to adulthood. It defines our teenage years. The moment when your body picks a side. Male, Female, something else? To a cisgender person who has never had to question their gender it's simple. Boys become Men, and Girls become Women.



The answer is never so absolute when you're transgender. Part of you hopes the body won't persist in its evolution toward the inevitable betrayal of your soul. But it does. With a fierce determination it begins to distinguish itself form the relative androgyny of youth. For a young transgender girl each new development becomes a horror show stripping away hope. While most young boys beam with adorable pride over a tuft of peach fuzz gracing their upper lip, giving sight to a burgeoning manhood; I saw it, and my world ended.



Physical manifestations in staunch defiance of your gender identity would be enough to dampen the spirit of any young mind. Yet it was the unseen changes which affected me the most. An urge arose. A desire previously unknown to me. At a stage in my life full of acne, unwanted hair, and a cracking voice I began to feel an attraction--to boys.



Of all the places to be in the midst of an existential crisis over gender and sexuality P.E., was not it. I imagine that most boys in junior high school felt apprehensive at the prospect of being nude in front of others. I've yet to come across a person untouched by body image issues. For me as a transgender girl, sitting in a locker room full of similarly unadorned boys, it was a different matter altogether.



At first they saw me as one of their own. On a superficial level, I was. But a lone sheep among wolves never lasts. As they came to know one another, and the different cliques began to emerge, my uneasiness not only remained; but in stark contrast to the budding comradery, my awkwardness lit up the room like a beacon.



Shining as I was, drew the discerning eyes of those seeking elevation to the top of some primal food chain. Driven by their recent influx of testosterone no doubt. I felt like prey, and to them I was. By diminishing me, they'd position themselves as alpha males. They hated me. And after each shove into a locker, each unassuming foot laid in my path, and each strike against the back of my head, I hated myself. Each time they killed a part of me which I would never recover.



The focus of their depraved campaign against my sanity rested solely on one assumption; that I was gay. Whatever masculine facade I built up to feign normalcy in the outside world failed me in this place. Here I was, a girl, just trying to fit in. But it never felt right to allow these boys to see me absent my clothing. And with my new found attraction toward men, my eyes were prone to wondering. Lingering gazes that did not go unnoticed.



I hit the ground with such force, the punch which sent me flying seemed like a fond memory. Homophobic epithets cluttered my hearing. A physical blow accompanied each verbal assault. My vision waned as the tip of his boot found my skull. Just as my mind began to succumb to the barrage of pure hatred, and angel appeared. And I passed out.



A fellow student had come to my rescue. From across the yard he observed the onslaught and reacted without hesitation. To me it lasted several minutes when only seconds had elapsed. A teacher put a final end to the melee before any further carnage could ensue.