Sam Dylan Finch

I used to be the one that pushed everyone away out of fear that I was too demanding or too toxic or “too much.” But I’m finally at a place in my life where I understand just how important it is to lean on your support system — and so I’m committed to not running away anymore.

For years, I didn’t know I was hearing voices. When it started to happen, it felt like someone else’s thoughts were being inserted into my mind, shouting at me, undermining my reality — impossible to control.

Dating while trans is scary, especially when you’re starting to “pass.” What are his expectations for my body, if any, and what if I’m not what he had in mind and he rejects me outright?

Have you ever lived somewhere and thought to yourself, “I’m not home yet”? That’s what my body has felt like the last 24 years of my life — a mere point in time; a temporary condition. Looking in the mirror was the equivalent of sleeping in a stranger’s bed. I felt like a visitor in my own body.

A thousand Bach violin concertos swirling around my crib, imprinting those melodies on my brain, had not changed the fact that I was meant to be a cellist. And a thousand “she’s,” beginning from the moment that I was born, had not changed the fact that I had grown up to be a “he.”

One thing I’ve noticed about mental illness is that it’s a mess of contradictions. It tells us one thing, urges us to do another. We have one desire, but then act totally to the contrary because… reasons.

I spent many sleepless nights worrying that being transgender meant that I would live a troubled life.

It would’ve been a whole lot easier if the writing fairy had dropped out of the sky and told me what to do, instead of wasting months and months trying to figure it out. So I’m writing this with the hopes that I, your writing fairy, am saving you a hell of a lot of time by giving you this advice upfront. Here are some pretty basic tips that have helped me to improve on my craft.

You were on the back burner — I thought you were Type 2, manageable, no big deal — which goes to show just how deeply I’d slid into denial. But there’s no denial here anymore. Just statistics and medical terms floating around in my brain, reminding me that I can’t afford to forget you, that you’re too “severe” for that.

Imagine a scenario in which these highly-evolved dinosaurs, instead of destroying an entire village and kidnapping women (SNORE), were actually gentle giants that brought sexual liberation to a village of patriarchal, shitty human beings.