Letter To Anonymous

This one is dedicated to someone I don't know all too well admittedly, but confided in being hurt by presumably their mother. I've changed the names around because I believe they are owed privacy. This is primarily about my own stories, anyways.

TO ANONYMOUS.

I remember when my parents used to hit me when I was younger. Being a bit of a rapscallion growing up, I'd get into trouble and swiftly be beaten with either a broken clotheshanger, a belt or just a good old sandal or slap. Beyond just hurting physically, it made me distrust my parents more and more because I never told them how I felt about anything growing up in fear of getting beaten for saying some stupid shit they didn't like. Grew up not really showing emotions well and that stunted my growth as a kid, being even more violent, unstable, depressed, even leaning into rlly political territories (2016 lol) cause I felt I had nowhere else to turn to to express my dissatisfaction for the world. It wasn't until February 2017 when the concept of "child abuse" was taught to me when I realized why I felt so angry and violent and the layers at which I hated my folks.

So, naturally, I emailed my math teacher about it after a particularly bad incident involving a solid metal ruler.

Next day, I was worried that she'd see me and make a big fuss publicly. I remember walking down the hallway that morning, on the lookout for her hoping she doesn't see me. Alas, she saw me, but instead of making a big fuss, she hugged me. Simple as, told me it was going to be okay and that she was gonna help me.

Next few days were odd. Sometimes during recess or during class I'd get called to the office to talk to local police officers about what life was like for me and my siblings. I told them everything, thinking things were going to get better and I could safely tell them how I felt. The only thing I asked was that I was kept anonymous.

Unfortunately, it is still fuck 12 and ACAB and whatnot, because the police notified my folks that I had ratted them out and that they were ordered for a small court hearing (spoiler alert it turned out fine they got off with a warning). The coming days were not easy. I remember being screamed at, the whole family turned against me as they all believed I was gonna rip the house in half and get us all taken away. The gaslighting, fear and anguish I went through during that week would drive someone more rational than I to suicide. A week went by and I was still effectively grounded and ostracized. I hated it so much that one day I gave up and decided a new plan.

February 21nd, 2017, my dad got home from work and I hugged him and started bawling my eyes out. I didn't let go, I couldn't. I told him everything I felt, my fears, why I did it, all of the shit I told you just now amidst sobbing. It culminated in the rest of the night, all of us sitting down as I spoke to my parents with the honesty I was too afraid to show for years.

It has been over 7 years since that evening, and they have not laid a finger on me or my siblings once. They grew, changed for the better, and I am not ashamed to say I love them anymore. 

Growing up abused like you and I did can be hard, they say it's for our own good but in truth that is a generational cycle that our parents were taught growing up by our grandparents. Although I can never fully understand the pain you undergo as a trans woman in modern America and a victim with completely unique experiences, I urge you to sit down, try and talk with your folks when they're not angry or upset, and try. Try to tell them why they should stop and why it only makes things worse in the long run. Try to break the generational cycle of mismanaged anger, tell them how it feels and don't be afraid to be vulnerable when it comes to how much it hurts when they do things like this. 

Every life, yours included, has the potential to be a success story. Some never feel like it's impossible, a task so insurmountable it'd take 7 prayers a day and donating bandos to your local Masjid for Allah to listen and help you. Some never so much as a glimpse of that opportunity, taken to the immaterial heaven that can't be fathomed in this life. I'm just a guy at the end of the day who doesn't have every answer you seek, so I can not determine whether or not they'll listen now. But keep your head up, never give up, and be who you believe you were always destined to be. For all you know, the tragedies you face in the present tense are an earnest conversation away from a faint memory in the past tense. Never stop being yourself, cause it's *you* who will be able to call yourself a success story, not just whatever whomever yous you as.

That's all I wrote. I know it isn't a one-size-fits-all solution, I just want people better than where they are. Take care if you read this and felt a personal connection through the pain you may have suffered in a past life.