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Did they tell you
you would come undone
if you try to touch the sun? - Amy Ray

Fear

We all know what it is... that deep fear in your guts, the terror of rejection and pain and misunderstanding. Why does it have such a hold over me? Why can’t I just be myself, the rest of the world be damned? I know what the playground taunts are like, I know what the adolescent rejection is, I know what being different means. I know the consequences, and I’ve dealt with similar ones before. What makes this so different? What makes changing my self-definition this time so scary?

My heroes as a child were Robin Hood, King Arthur, and Tom Corbett: Space Cadet (a 1950s book series). I didn’t give a damn about Little Red Riding Hood. I wanted to be strong, and brave, and tough like the knights, yeomen, and space cadets I read about. I wanted to be strong most of all. After I moved across the state, I decided to not ever cry again, because I spent months sobbing at night over the loss of my childhood home and friends. I stopped crying. I stopped showing any emotion that wasn’t anger or laughter. My friends that I made after moving saw a one-dimensional projection of me.

Now my best friend congratulates me when I cry, which isn’t often. It’s still rare when I break down and sob, but I’m getting better. I realize that even the toughest men cry. Even my dad cries (sorry to break this to the world, pop). So... I can cry. What do I cry for? My grandpa moving. Failing my driving test. My best friend saying she loves me no matter what. Those are the sorrows and joys that are worth my tears.

But I have to wonder, why was I so scared and unemotional in the first place? Everyone has been hurt, teased on the playground or lost friends for some reason. Why did I take it so much farther? Society taught me that real boys don’t cry, that they’re tough. And I always wanted to be a boy as a child. I detested being identified as a girl, until it hurt too much to constantly chafe against that societal restraint, and I gave up. Parts of my boyhood stuck with me, though, and I became unemotional in public. Underneath the still waters I present, however, I was a vortex of pain and longing. Longing to finally belong, to be at peace with myself. How I could do that as Beth I wasn’t sure. Maybe I can’t be Beth anymore.

...psuedo-finis...