“This year isn’t about making friends,” I muttered to myself as I packed my bag for school. After a shitty first year, I decided to keep my head down and study. Go to class, raise your hand maximum of twice, go to your next period. If someone asks a question, my name is Charli and what’s in my pants is none of their business.
“Hurry up *deadname*, hunny, or you’ll be late for your first day!” There it is. That stupid name that she knows I don’t use. But according to her bull crap I can’t be non binary. “Coming mum.” I shoved my binder and pride flag into my bag before running downstairs. “Do you want anything to eat my angel?” Mum asked me.
“I’m good thanks, I’ve got some cash I’ll just grab a cereal bar.”
“Ok hun. Have a good day! Oh and remember, no more of this Charli nonsense ok? You’re *deadname* and I’ve made sure your principle knows that.” Crap. My plan of simply studying and going by Charli ruined. “Yup,” I responded in a sarcastic tone. “Oh and don’t forget, you have that psychiatrist appointment after school.” Phoebe is my psychiatrist who helps me ‘fix my gender issues’. We meet every Monday 4pm-5pm, and I just grab a sandwich from the local store. We’ve been doing this since a week after I came out in the summer holidays. “Yes I know mum! Now I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now so I better run.”
“Ok, love u *deadname*!” Yep. You love the old me. You don’t love who I am. “Love you too mum,” and with that I walked out the large black door to wait for my 40 minute journey to school.