I am... | An Open Letter

'Lo, ev'ryone. This is an open letter-slash-rant-slash-vent to my family and anyone else who needs to know. I don't know when they'll read it, if at all. I'm also making this my official social "out" post? Or something. I watched an...amazing video by Jessie Gender. It's painful. It inspired me to make this post and stop giving a damn.

You should watch it, too, no matter if you are Left or Right or Whateverthefuckery. 

To start

I don't really remember when. I was very young. I just remember having an "alter ego" named Elian—specifically, Elian Hollow. He was originally known as, in my Halloween-obsessed ways, Child of Halloween, or ChoH. I remember describing him as "everything I wanted to be". Tall(er). At the time, I suffered from really bad internalized racism, so I said he was white. But, more than anything...he was...he. 

I spoke to Elian. I gave him accounts online, some of which I still have, email addresses, and even wrote letters to him that I would write back as him. I lived in a sort of mental split as if I were two people, two genders, in one body. 

At the time, which was around 2006 - 2008, I was...struggling. I'd even call it suffering. I was at the (first) lowest of my existence (I'm currently at my second which has lasted faaar too long) and was probably going through the last remnants of puberty. I was...severely suicidal. Sometimes I couldn't even lift my head from how extremely depressed I was, and I hated. I hated...everything and everyone—especially "God". 

But maybe that's a story for another time...

My epiphany

I've had therapists for most of my life. I was in my late twenties when one of them listened carefully to what I explained about Elian. She finally said, and I paraphrase, "It sounds like you may be transgender." 

Mind you, I have been told before that, from other peoples' points of view, I could be transgender. I think in 2012 someone mentioned it in a comment. Because of the internal duality I had for the longest time, I identified as genderqueer for several years and went by they/them. 

But this time, in 2019, I remember exactly where I was when I realized how right that was. Maybe it was because I was more knowledgeable about what being transgender was at the time compared to 2012. In any case, I knew it was true. 

My history, my desires, my discomfort with my body...

It was a huge epiphany, let me tell you. And it was such a weight lifted from my shoulders.

My letter

Dear person reading this letter...

My name is Mar Qaroll. I am less than a week away from my 32nd birthday and I am a panromantic asexual transgender man.

To Mom

Mom, this is something I've wanted to tell you for a while now. I think I vaguely remember telling you that I was pansexual once, but in any case, ta-da! You officially have three boys. Part of me really is sorry, as I know having a daughter means...a lot to you. I kinda feel like I let you down...though I don't know why. But I love you so much, and I hope you can accept me as a man.

By the way, Ibrahim has known for a few years now...I came out to him first. He took it easily...but I don't really know how he truly feels about it.

I don't know what else to say other than...I'm sorry, but this is who I am. 

To Dad

Yeah, so. This happened. I imagine, I hope, you understand why it took me so long to get a letter of any sort to you. I understand if you're angry, disappointed...all of that. You'll probably mourn, more than you probably do already because I'm not a Muslim. Well, believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg. There's one more thing I haven't told you...and I'm not ready to tell you or Mom or Ibrahim about that, yet.

In any case...yeah. You have another son.

I know...you may/might/maybe never feel/felt like your two biological female children are...disappointments or something. We both denounced Islam, we both have mental illnesses, and we're...not who you probably thought we'd end up being at this time in our lives. Regardless of what's the truth, this is something I've thought about since I was very young...and I'm sorry.

But this is who I am. 

To conclude...

In the past few years, maybe two or less, I've tried to come to grips with who I am as an individual, as a flawed, disgusting human being. What does it mean to be Mar? Is it to wonder, to think, to be an individual, to be a storyteller, and to deviate from the norms of society...plus a slew of other things? Beats me. I'm still learning to accept myself...and believe me, it's been metaphorical hell. I've gone through and still go through severe self-hatred and disgust, even more so now that I've gained weight and even found out I'm obese for my body type...and since I'm not Muslim anymore...

But what is the point of being alive otherwise? For me? What am I supposed to do? Put my faith in a being that doesn't even seem to care about me in "his own teachings/words" yet supposedly made me who I am at the same time? I demonize and hate and loathe and am disgusted with myself when I never asked to be this way. 

I never asked to be here, let alone in this body, with this mind, with these thoughts, with these beliefs, and with this fucking curse called free will.

I've gone more than half my life severely depressed. Mentally ill. And you know what? I blame it on me, most of the time. For not being strong enough. For not being devout or whatever the fuck-enough. For being weak, emotionally and mentally. For being selfish.

You don't know how hard I tried.

I will never....ever forget the day I stood in the Masjid alone, crying my fucking eyes out while praying, begging for help over a decade ago because I hated myself so painfully. I know how cliche that sounds, that someone who was struggling called to "god" for help and never got an answer left their old faith. But as someone who really went through that...I needed something. I needed a fucking miracle. I needed a fucking sign.

All I got was more self-hatred and fucking awful, mocking silence.

I never talked to anyone but my therapists about how I, during my time traveling to and from school and home, would stand at train stations waiting for the train to come and wondering if I should jump onto the tracks. I never talked about how I would see a car coming speeding and I wanted to jump in front of it. I never talked about considering taking my pills and overdosing in the bathtub for everyone to see. What, you thought I have a nurse and lockbox for my pills for nothing?

Now, you may be thinking..."You didn't ___ because of ___."

And you'd be right.

And also terribly wrong.

I didn't jump, let's say, not because I wanted to live, or because I feared pain, or whatever. 

I didn't jump because...what if?

What if everything I was taught to believe is real...is real?

If there's one thing I'm afraid of, more than another man attacking me, more of being eaten alive, more than dying painfully, more than being raped, more than spiders, more than the Unknown, more than being severely ill or injured...it's going to fucking Hell.

I know, Dad. Thank you so much for reminding me so kindly every other time I see you. I KNOW I'm going to Hell, thank you very fucking much. Don't you think I know that? Was I not partially raised by you?

But what I don't want is a one-way, inevitable ticket there, either. Supposedly, I still have "a life" ahead of me, whatever the fuck that means, so, y'know, what if? I'm terrified of the thought of even returning to Islam. There's this thing, you know, called religious trauma. Hoo, do I suffer from it. Google it, it's fun.

But...what if???

We as human beings, fickle fucking fleshsuits we are, do not definitively know in the modern day if God, or a god or gods or whatever really exists. We don't, and that's just the truth. There are no longer any true, definitive miracles anymore, not like there used to be in ye olde tales. And that's a goddamned shame. It'd really solve all of our problems if a definitive miracle happened in the Year o' Our Lawd 2024 by something that told us we're all wrong somehow...y'know, before the "Day of Judgement" when people like me, people who just want to fucking be left alone and have some semblance of normalcy and "life", will supposedly and inevitably, absolutely, irrevocably go to eternal damnation?

What a joke.

This has gotten pretty dark and venomous, but I'm...so...so tired. I just want to die, quite frankly. But not if Heaven OR Hell really exist.

I am a bitter, bitter...BITTER, sad little transman. I acknowledge that. I'm...trying to work on it, but you really don't know the meaning of how hard it is to find anything about all this shit that is Me to like, let alone "love". Disgusting. Me, loving Me?? This thing? 

What a joke.

Hence, I am still here.

Suffering.

Hating.

Existing.

Loathing.

And a bitter, bitter...BITTER, sad little transman.

At the end of all this, I'm tired, okay? I've dealt with this for too long to be defensive, to be awkward, to even give a goddamn. All I'll say is: if you have a problem with who I am, do-fucking-NOT come to me to talk about this shit. 

Take it up with your god. 

PS: I considered writing this in my Blackboxx Texts, but ultimately decided against it since it's...well, I dunno. Also, if this is your first post you've seen by me, hiiiii! 👋🏾