My best friends call me Ena, and they understand who I am. My mother, on the other hand, won’t and never will. I hide alone in my room, with the light of my screen glowing eerily against the dark. My sweaty hands run over the keyboard familiarly as I plan my escape. She would never understand - my mother - she embraces everything that I fight against. Her life’s work and values assault my identity and she finds my passions foolish. So on this summer’s eve, the full moon glistens outside my window, I pack the last of my treasured belongings and stealthily escape.
Save. Power Down. Close. Zip. Shoulder.
“Eluna! Come down here, girl! I have something to show you!”
“Coming, mom!” I grumble, pangs in my chest. I know she doesn’t mean it, I know she doesn’t know, but that doesn’t mean that misgendering doesn’t hurt.
I slowly walk downstairs, backpack in tow, there are balloons, and a cake - looks like they remembered after all.
“Congratulations!” the banner over the archway to the kitchen exclaims. My boxes and suitcases are by the door ready to go in my car, right where I left them last night. My siblings blow those little paper horns and the cake is cut into pieces. This party, a facade, as if the problems leading up to this moment never happened, as if everything were always peachy, as if they care. But maybe they do, I wonder as I hug the kids and grab a slice of cake, doing my best to play the part of the smiling daughter.
I can never know how much they’ll understand, or if they’ll ever even try.
“You can write from home, you know” my mom said in a last ditch effort to convince me to stay, “you don’t have to move so far away.” I looked at her with eyes full of pity, “I know, mom”.
I turned my attention away - trying to hide the onslaught of emotion - gazing intently at the icing left on my plate until it was time to say goodbye.
The journey has been long and arduous and probably always will be. You try living with your very existence bucking the norms. But good friends - chosen family, real family - they make it easier, and I feel like, for the first time ever, I’m going home.
Loud shrieks brought my attention back from within, and I saw familiar faces and arms flailing.
“They’re here!” I heard my best friend call to the rest of my soon-to-be-roommates as I pulled in the driveway of my new home. Fitz (Ryn’s adorable mutt) came bounding out, with Ryn, Ames, and Spaz not far behind.
We brought my things up and gathered in the livingroom with wine and pasta - two staples of this chosen family. Fitz snuggled lazily next to my feet, as we planned our futures and deconstructed the world.
Today, is the beginning, and who knows what adventure lies ahead.
It is okay to want your own happiness. It’s okay to care about yourself the most. You are not obligated to sit there and smile and swallow every bit of shit everyone heaps on you. You are more than furniture, you’re more than window dressing, you’re not their shiny toy. You’re human, and you have the right to say “That was shitty of you”. You have a right to protest your own mistreatment and set boundaries for respectful interactions. The rest of the world doesn’t realize you have this right, and they will act offended and appalled when you exercise it, but it is yours.Unknown (via ohteenscanrelate)