Think about your hair for a moment. Really think about it. Do you color it? Cut it in a certain style? Tie it up or let it loose? Or maybe it’s too short to style. Maybe you shave your head. Why? Self expression is a cornerstone to culture. Humans have been in a constant push and pull between unity and individuality since the dawn of time.

I can never tell if I actually catch a glimpse of her through a crowd or not. It’s like she’s a ghost, intangible but undeniable. It’s so difficult to tell what’s real and what’s a figment of my imagination. Is her hair still blue? Did she change it? I feel my breath catch every time I think it’s her. A backpack, red and black through a crowded hallway. A shirt, bright blue accents on a black background. Her damn hair.

1929, ten years into the golden age of queerness in Berlin, activists sought to make homosexuality legal. A law made in 1871, at the very start of the German Republic, kept queer people in the shadows during the day, only to rule the nightlife. Queer people fought for marriage rights, the right to openly love whomever they chose, and to be able to dress how they felt most comfortable. It was a slow process, but a process that seemed like it was the beginning of the end for discrimination against homosexuality and gender nonconformity.

The only consistent thing about a neurological disorder is inconsistency. We don't see an allistic (or “not autistic”) person struggling and say they're "low functioning." We don't see an allistic person succeed at something and say they're "low support needs," either.

I, however, do not like pickles. And as soon as a pickle touches something, the taste is strong enough that it sticks. My sandwich, just by being next to the pickle, now tastes ever so faintly of pickles. And honestly, it’s not even that I HATE pickles, I just don’t like them, so the occasional twinge doesn’t bother me nearly as much as if I had been asked to eat the whole thing.

“We can make food at home,” my parents would say. I thought they were cruel. Now that I’m older, I think they were just as disappointed as I was. I have that same conversation with myself sometimes, where I am the responsible adult and wanting child all at once.

I was 10 the last time I went trick or treating. I went as a skeleton, and I needed to wear pretty much full winter gear over my body suit decorated with little foam bones. I wore boots because there was about a foot and a half of snow, and my street doesn’t get plowed often. I could only stay outside for about an hour before I was too cold to continue.

I have always found it strange that the world seems to revolve around romantic love. It’s uncomfortable to think that another person can have so much power over you. It may be because I am a survivor of an abusive relationship, but it feels older than that. Love songs were exaggerations, movies were overdramatic, and stories were just that: stories.

It all just seemed so impractical.

So many trans narratives, especially those written by cisgender (non-trans) people, are centered around hate. Self-loathing, unaccepting families, disapproving worlds, all are things we must face, yes, but they are not the only part of our story. My story is that of love, of learning who I am, of growing as a person.