Growing up Black and autistic in a household teetering on the edge of chaos was a delicate dance. My mother, a woman with a galaxy of dreams dimmed by life's harsh realities, saw my quiet world as defiance. "Talk to me, Humble!" she'd bellow, the sound sending chills down my spine. But words wouldn't come, wouldn't translate the technicolor landscapes playing behind my eyes.
My only solace was the worn rainbow jersey my friend had snuck into my closet. It was a rebellion in disguise, a splash of color in a world painted in shades of grey. When nobody was looking, I'd pull it on, the soft fabric a silent hug. It felt like a secret language only I understood, a code that whispered, "There's more to you."
School offered little respite. The other kids, a kaleidoscope of giggles and chaos, felt like aliens from another planet. Social cues landed on me like meteor showers, leaving me bewildered and bruised. Lunch breaks were spent huddled in the library, nose buried in books about faraway lands, where maybe someone understood the symphony playing in my head.
The label "weird" became my shadow. It clung to me like a second skin, fueled by whispers and pointed stares. I yearned to be seen, truly seen, but the fear of rejection kept me cloaked in a shroud of silence.
Puberty arrived like a cruel joke. The changes happening to my body felt like a grotesque betrayal. My chest, a battleground of burgeoning curves, felt alien, a constant reminder of the girl I wasn't. Longing bloomed, a yearning for a body that felt like home, a reflection of the boy trapped inside.
Discovering the word "transgender" was a revelation. It was a key unlocking a hidden chamber within me, a place where the pieces finally began to fit. That newfound understanding, however, brought a fresh wave of fear. Coming out felt like stepping into the unknown, a tightrope walk without a net.
The journey that followed was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Rejection stung, yes, but it was met with unexpected pockets of love and acceptance. The chosen family I found in the LGBTQ+ community became my anchor, a kaleidoscope of vibrant souls mirroring the rainbow jersey I cherished.
There are still days when the shadows creep in, whispering doubts about my worth. But now, I face them head-on, armed with the knowledge of my own strength, of my right to exist as my authentic self. The boy in the rainbow jersey has grown, weathered by storms yet standing tall.
This testimony isn't just my story; it's a call to arms for the LGBTQ+ community, especially those who feel unseen or unheard. We are a constellation of vibrant stars, each unique in our struggles and triumphs. Let's find solace in shared experiences, celebrate our differences, and create a world where the rainbow shines brighter than ever.
This path of self-discovery might be paved with tears, but ultimately, it's a journey towards the light. Remember, the boy in the rainbow jersey found his courage. Maybe, you can too.
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Tracy and I believe you should be so proud of yourself for your inner strength and courage.
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