June has always been a bit difficult for me, partly because of the heat, but mostly because it reminds me of the internal confusion I carry. I’ve never known the luxury of certainty, of being sure who I am, what I want, or who I want to become. That kind of confusion is exhausting, painful even. What wears me down more than the uncertainty itself is the assumption that this struggle is somehow a choice. That I’m doing this for attention, for pity, or to feel “special.” I’m not. All I really want (need) is acceptance. On top of not fitting neatly into the gender norms people expect, I’ve also been clinically diagnosed with ADHD, depression, and anxiety. And no, it’s not just about “trouble paying attention.”, “being sad”, or “being shy.”. It’s having seven trains of thought all crashing into each other, splitting and spiralling into infinite directions until I somehow find an anchor. My brain feels like a battleground more often than not. Best way out is to become a bird, fly to New Zealand, befriend the kiwis, and conquer the world.
Sorry if it’s a bit too much, I’ve had quite a lot on my chest. Pride month, though a beautiful celebration, always reminds me that I don’t know so many things about my own identity.
