A story about... me.

In fifth grade I found myself shuffled into a new school like a card from another deck that had been picked up off the floor,
And during recess, with the bustle of students surrounding me like a foreign hive, I broke down and cried until the sun dried my eyes and my insides,
To this day there is a shriveled part of me that remains forever lodged inside my heart curled around the wounds that came from caring too much about what others think of  me,
Because I am a Man
But when I was boy my peers thought that because I didn't act like they did that I was a girl
as though being a girl is somehow less than human
as though caring about others was wrong
as though loving others was wrong
In kindergarten, I kissed every single girl in my class on the cheek
because I thought they were all beautiful
and I was punished for it every time
In highschool I thought that I needed to hide the parts of me that stuck out, so I tried to shove them back inside me until, without realizing it, they came out the other side
and the worst part was that while part of me that knew that
in doing so
I was only letting people's ignorance hurt me
I was unable to stop
and it was never enough
I kept brushing up against people like sandpaper, something they didn't try to understand, and why my presence offended them I never could find out--or even decide if I should care.
In middle school I was a bully to a kid who stuck out the point where, if he opened his mouth, he made a fool of himself, and I thought that by pointing out what he was doing wrong I could fix him
as though curbing him to fit society would work
and I regretted it so much that I stopped talking to him until I knew I could hold a conversation with him without turning into something I hated
But the most ironic part was that the root of the problems I had with him was that I could see and understand what everyone else saw about him, but that he never tried to understand enough to compromise with them
Just like how almost no one had tried to understand me enough to compromise with me
I had always been the one who bent
Where that kid, in his inability to change became a person who held grudges until they choked him silent, I began to let my defenses melt
I left high school,
I left the words and the judgements of people who were so closed minded they forgot how small their world was, and my judgement of them, I left that too
And with the weight of fear slipping from my back I knew
That I would always care
That I sat on the edge between letting people rule me with their judgement and the ability to understand and connect to people
Because caring about what everyone thinks and feels means caring about what everyone thinks and feels about you--
even if you're head thinks they're wrong.
And while my childhood was made up of not being good enough, and not being male enough, and not being female enough--
I grew up enough, just enough, to see that their definitions and restrictions only served to slam doors in their own faces...
and that they were kids, and the ones who were to blame were the adults who never taught them how amazing someone is who cares for you and about you with no ulterior motivation, and has no reason not to care besides the debilitating and crippling pain of being judged, but does so anyway, because they can't help it.