Hi there!
As you might have seen in the summary, this fic deals with transsexuality and the issues that come with it.
Unfortunately, in my experience - and that of others - I have noticed that this is one of those topics that does not get the attention and acknowledgement it deserves.
Because of this I decided to write my very first fanfiction about it.
So, this story is for anyone who is in any way interested in reading about going through life as a transsexual person.
I hope I managed - and will continue to manage - this topic with the respect and understanding it deserves.
Please feel free to leave behind any comments and suggestions.
prologue
Looking back on it she isn't sure when it all started.
Hell, she's not even sure if it's possible to figure out.
Because really, how in the world does one pinpoint an exact moment in time that changed everything?
Santana certainly has no clue and often enough she can't help but wonder why this is the case.
After all, she has seen and read the stories.
Stories about people experiencing shocking and traumatic events, being abused and neglected to be forever changed and sometimes damaged beyond repair.
The thing is though, those things have never happened to her.
She's had a great childhood, a wonderful family and even more fantastic friends. She's never had to wish for anything and she couldn't feel more loved by those around her.
She has all these great things but still...
Still she is different.
At least, she feels different.
Because the whole sixteen years she's been alive she's never heard of anyone feeling the way she feels every day.
So, try as she might, she does her best to figure out why this seems to be the case. It frustrates - and angers - her to no end to not know why this is all happening to her. And often times she can't help but think how completely unfair it is that she alone seems to be having this kind of a problem.
Especially since she can't seem to figure out what exactly she has done wrong to get this way.
Sometimes, on those rare days that she actually feels happy, she dares thinking all this might not be happening because of her own wrong doing. And in those seldom few seconds, when she lets her mind run free and her doubts disappear, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe - this has always been a part of her. That maybe she was indeed 'born this way'.
Those moments are short lived however because every time reality comes crashing down upon her once more and she is left with this sad feeling again.
Unfortunately, lately - now that she is older and much more aware of her problem - this is a very common occurrence.
Nowadays she spends most of her free time in her bedroom. Locked away from the world and almost obsessively searching for all the answers she knows are buried somewhere deep inside of her.
Today seems to be no different as she currently finds herself sprawled out onto her bed, her eyes closed and her brain working over time.
Trying to figure out the timeline of when all this started happening, she thinks back to little moments in her life that made it especially clear to her that she is different.
One of those moments happening just a few days ago.
She remembers it clearly now. She, Brittany and Quinn looking at the football team doing their training drills after having just finished their own Cheerio's practice. She recalls listening to her friends swoon and giggle over the stupid catcalls the boys threw their way and their even more moronic smiles.
Just thinking about it now makes her do an involuntary eye-roll.
The motion quickly turns into a disgusted cringe however as she thinks back again and realizes for a fact that she herself copied her best friends' actions.
She hates having to fake her way through social situations like that.
She doesn't like lying to her friends one bit but most of all she detests the feeling of somehow being untrue to herself.
But, like not knowing when and how this all started, she's even more unsure about what being true to herself would even entail.
Last year, during one of their sex ed. classes, the topic of homosexuality was briefly brought up. Afterwards she wondered if maybe 'I'm gay' were the words she had been looking for all this time.
After much deliberation - and some thorough googling - however she decided that, while she suspected she liked girls the way she was supposed to like boys, the term 'gay' didn't exactly fit the way she felt about herself.
Because after all, other gay girls didn't think the things she did right?
They weren't jealous of guys the way she was. They didn't lie in bed at night fantasizing about being different that way. They didn't do the things she sometimes did.
Right?
She didn't - and still doesn't - think so since on the online forums she has visited no one uttered a single word about that.
Honestly, it makes her feel weird and like she's somehow wrong in feeling and thinking the things she does. So, since the last thing she wants to be is weird, her usual solution when she gets these urges is to repress them.
But no matter how hard she tries and how in control she usually is of everything, she can't seem to keep this particular thing inside for too long.
Somehow she always ends up here again, alone in her room. Ignoring the outside world and being swept away by her own thoughts.
Sometimes she cries, sometimes she screams in her pillow and sometimes - like now - she just lies on her bed, refusing to move for the rest of the day and wishing to just go numb and not feel anything for a while.
Most of the times however it all leads back to the very same thing.
Eventually she always gets so fed up with feeling so fucking sad all the time that it's never long before she's up again and rooting her way through her closet. Desperately searching for the few items that have the power to make her feel just a bit better.
It normally doesn't take long for her to find them.
And it takes her an even shorter amount of time to rip off her dreaded cheerleading costume and slip into one of her bigger sized sleeping shirts and the baggiest pair of jeans she owns.
She always hesitates at the last part though.
Standing there in front of her closet, in these slightly too big clothes, with a pair of socks in her hand.
A pair of socks that she grabbed for all intent and purpose of stuffing them down the front of her pants and into her panties.
Now - still on her bed and looking back on those moments - even thinking about doing something like that makes her feel fucking ridiculous.
It fills her with a sense of shame to know that she requires something like this to be happier, because really, who the fuck does weird shit like that!?
Nevertheless, before she can get even more mad and frustrated, she stops and forces herself to recall something else.
After all regardless of how weird or wrong or fucked up she knows it is, there is something else she also knows.
She knows that in those moments when she looks down and sees her body like that, she's the happiest she has been in a long time.
So she indulges herself.
Every free afternoon after classes, cheerleading practice or glee club and before her parents come home she hides herself away and undergoes her small transformation.
Then, after she's done redressing herself, she usually just ends up doing things such as homework or some reading. Things that on themselves aren't really spectacular but still feel really good because she herself feels as close to good as she can get.
Unfortunately she doesn't let those moments last very long most of the time though.
Because even though she only does these things when she's sure her parents won't be home for a while, she's still terrified of anyone walking in on her.
She can't even begin to imagine what she would do or say if such a moment would occur and someone would find this out about her.
Be as it may, she barely understands what's up with her own self, so she sure as hell wouldn't be able to explain it to someone else anyway.
This too, besides trying to find out what was the cause of this all, is a big concern of hers.
She often tries to find the right words to describe exactly how she feels but somehow she still always comes up empty.
She tries not to think about it too much though since she's not even sure she should ever tell someone about it and it just ends up making her sad again. She has enough things to worry about in connection to all this and the last thing she wants to do is put a label on herself that she can't back out of.
No, she decides while getting up from her bed, first she will have to figure everything out for herself.
And then after that, hopefully there won't be anything left to tell other people because she still hopes to be able to resolve all of his as soon as possible.
Until then though...
Until then - just as she's doing now - she will keep on reaching for those items in her closet. She will keep putting on those clothes. And she will keep shoving those damn socks down her pants with a blush on her face.
Because for now, she's done worrying.
For now all she wants to do is not feel bad anymore.
And now, just for a little while there's one thing she's sure she will be...
content
Hope you enjoyed reading!
Let me know what you guys think
Ciao,
A