Silver Spoon looked around, she felt sort of frightened, and she wasn’t too sure if she deserved the clemency she so secretly hoped she would get. She....for it was a “her” by which she referred to herself, at the time, wasn’t just nervous, scared, and stricken with the enormous will to shout out a retort. She had never been the best at retorting with her words, but after spending so much time with Diamond, her friend of the same social stature as her, the habit had formed. Not that she was so smart as her....after all, if she had been smart, she’d have realized the truth about herself, now a himself, and she (he) would have broken the bonds of servitude with her (his) so called.....friend.
Silver Spoon put the quill to the paper, unsure if he wanted to keep on writing. Somehow, writing this, as if an outsider, who anyone not familiar with the story would confound with just a casual observer, didn’t strike him as enough. He was writing this for everyone who, like him, felt like an alien into their own body. And not only them, but also everyone who felt like they didn’t belong. He pushed the page aside, and wet the tip of the quill into his mouth, slightly gagging at the taste of the ink that still remained there. He was going to be brutally honest, no matter how much it’d cost him.
He took some moments to formulate his thoughts, he wanted to be sure to provide a message of hope, and empathy, he briefly wondered on how to do it....it wasn’t the first time he had written, but it was the first time he told his story....at least directly, his characters always tended to be the ones despised by society, something which he had taken from his own feelings, at the time.
`The writing came naturally, all he had to think was, on how much this would probably help some other pony, somewhere, in the future. Besides that, his memories were vivid, and how couldn’t they be
Quill again to paper, he started on . Just one more text to the magazine for which he wrote.
As I stand here, eager to write my story, I do realize what it may bring me...while some ponies have correctly guessed , my background, and my status as an “non normal” member of society. Some of whom I had known through childhood, and which congratulated me on my success....something which I whole heartedly thank them for, this is my confirmation.
Readers who are interested in reading another story, which I write weekly, may want to wait for next week, where I will return with something that will be sure to entertain. This story here, the one that I’m about to tell, isn’t ficticional, nor is it simply “based” on the truth, it is the truth.
So let us begin, as we explore my foalhood, and early teenage years.
Transgender me (or how I realized what I was, and why there was nothing wrong with me)
I hadn't quite realized what I was yet, by the time I started school. It just wasn’t important to me, or to anyone else, what my gender was. I was, to put it simply, just the regular filly, shy, introverted, sulking around in corners. I wasn’t sociable and though I suppose I could try to provide an explanation for that, the truth is, I haven’t one. At the time, I just kept to myself.
The thing most fillies and colts already know by that age, that there are good ponies and bad ponies, wasn’t something I had learned yet. I had lived an incredibly sheltered life. I rarely, if ever, left my house, and who and what I played with were strictly monitored. I was given plenty of dolls of foals, and pink and other brightly colored pieces of fabric to play with. Even my walls were painted a sick, salmon colored pink. It makes me gag even today, and if anything I’m glad at the relative (though still painful) discrete tone of pink my parents had used at decorating the room.
That room was my whole world, and then I was pushed to the outside world, where, no matter how hard they tried, my parents couldn’t stand and watch me 24/7. All those other ponies, all the ideas, the body contact, it was like a whole other sort of universe I had been missing out on. It was quite a shock! And though I love my parents dearly, and still talk to them today, I can see, with the hindsight provided by my stallion hood, that their attempts at sheltering, hindered me slightly.
There weren’t few the ponies that asked me if I wanted to play with them. I hadn’t been seen anywhere before, I was a novelty. I always refused, and eventually the offers to come and play stopped coming.
Nopony is happy, while alone, we are sociable beings, and, I oh so foolishly started hanging around with the wrong pony. Her name doesn’t matter, even more so because she is quite a high profile character nowadays, but if I had refused the company of the common filly and colt, who just wanted to play, I fell right into her schemes.
I’m not saying this to deflect the blame. I had plenty of opportunities to put my hoof down, come and say, that no, I wouldn’t participate in the mindless teasing. But I didn’t. I suppose I was connected now only by friendship and companionship (she was my only friend after all, I had separated myself from everyone else), but also a bit of fear. What I realize now is that she wasn’t hanging around with me because she liked me, she had simply picked out a weakling, someone to serve her. Filly what’s her face, that is....me, was perfect, I had no other friends to rely on.
I felt pretty bad about the teasing. I’ve never been one for pain. Not a sadist in any way, shape or form, I had to smile, and I could only hope that my shaky smile and look of doubt on my eyes, were some sort of small comfort to the ones who were being pushed around.
Our teasing knew no bounds, if she sensed a weakness, she and I would attack, we must have made a lot of ponies cry, and who know how many fortunes I made to therapists? I, just a small pawn, being moved around, still hadn’t had the courage to do anything, to stand up to her.
I learned quickly that any sort of difference in the playground makes you a target, it makes you somewhat of a moving bullseye to which she and I would aim insults, straight at your insecurities. Whatever the thing you felt, the thing which made your eyes poofy, and your mood sour, you had to hide it. To make things worse, my own feelings had begun to surface, which made me terrified of what the other filly would do to me if she found out.
That was the period where I was most vicious, I thought that if I hurt other ponies enough I could forget my problems. I took almost pleasure into seeing other ponies being mocked. It was an awful thing todo, and it still makes me cringe to this day, but it kept the negative attention of my only "friend" away from me. I feel pretty bad about it, but at the time, it looked like I didn’t have a choice.
Whenever I’d return to house, mom would ask me how things had went, and my dad would too, and I’d just lie through my teeth, by saying I had had a nice day. Despite the fact that with each passing day my enthusiasm seemed to diminish and my smile got more and more shaken they seemed to believe me, and why wouldn’t they? I had never lied to them. There was nothing I had to hide.
Well....there was one thing. The elephant in the room. I’d look into the pink walls of my room and hold out a urge to bend over into a fetal position and try to fill my own vision with any color, some other, something else than pink.
I would feel as if the walls were closing in on me, taunting me, telling me how much of a girl I truly was. After all, if I wasn’t a girl, why was everything I owned pink? The amount of suppressed sighs of exasperation and screams of frustration, which I withheld due to fear of someone hearing me, were in the billions, if not more. I eventually lost count.
I was, even at that time, a boy, it didn’t matter that I hadn’t come to realize it yet, or hadn't told anyone, I was a boy, a colt, eventually I’d turn into a stallion.
The feelings that trespassed my body, the feelings of self hatred, confusion, simply loathing....they weren’t very healthy. And the worse part was, I had no idea of what I could do to figure out what they were.
Which is a lie, but it was a lie I told myself very often. There was always a place I could go to....but it was a risk.
Now, I’m not that old, I’m barely past my teenage years, and even I know how much the system evolved into the few years since I’ve done my transition. The information was around, I could always look into the library, but it’s now much easier, the issue is much more well known, and teachers (from what I’ve heard) are now instructed to be on the lookout to questions like the ones I had.
It took every single piece of courage I had ever pulled to go out into the library, and ask around. I was petrified at first. I started out to go and get a few books that were in no way related to the subject. Just to ease the suspicions if anyone were watching me. There isn’t a Librarian – Reader confidentiality agreement and I almost didn't say anything. When I finally asked for it, It was through whispers My voice dropped to no more than the volume of the one from a mouse. A very tiny mouse. I felt as if the whole world was watching me at the moment.
The books I was given were huge, dry, bricks, intended for medical students. They were full of medical information that I, at my young state, barely understood. All I could retain was that it was something that had been plaguing other ponies since times primordial. I still laugh at the words I had used to ask the librarian for the information. “Something about someone who wants to be something they’re not”. Luckily she, genre savvy as she was, managed to understand what I was looking for.
Once I actually had the information, my life went back to pretending I was....a normal filly. Which was hard, but at the same time, the incentive provided by the thought of what would happen if the filly I hanged around with discovered the truth about me, provided for good motivation.
I was a coward. It was what I was. I started to understand just what those other fillies and colts were going through as bullied them. I had had empathy before for them , but now It was all too easy to see myself in their place. Their teary faces haunted my nightmares, leaving me to wake up and see those wretched pink walls, which just made me more disturbed. I felt like I had to be honest to myself, but there was still the matter of how I'd "come out, to everyone".
I started by cutting out my mane, in an act of defiance, I was sick and tired of having to look at it, and tie it all up, every morning, in front of the mirror. It was an abrupt decision, I normally kept it long, and tied up in knots, but I just didn't feel too eager to continue having them around. It was hard to cut them up, I was nowhere near flexible enough to do it, in a normal day, but I was determined, this would mark the beginning of the new me. I got it down to a pretty short length. It was a small victory for me, one I cheered on for. Even the grounding I got wasn’t a detriment. As soon as she saw my new mane style my mom started up the yelling, she screamed, and screamed, but, honestly, there was nothing she could do, a mane doesn’t grow back in hours.
The next day, despite the snarky comments my so called “friend”, directed towards me, I held my head high. I was beginning to realise the true path to what I wanted for myself, and she wasn't part of it. Any other day I'd probably whimper away in shame, but not that day, I felt great! I still didn’t look totally like a colt, I still had the features of a filly, but at least, some small part of me felt like it was in control of myself.
It may seem silly, and by no means is the lesson one ought to take from this story to be “Cut your hair”, but that act of defiance kick started my whole change. I finally stood up to the other filly, and she was furious, but now, being just one, she didn’t stand much of a chance of making anyone submit in fear. After a brief period of hesitation (I had bullied them myself, after all) I got friends, slowly at first, and then more and more until I was friends with everyone. Though I had always offer to play with the fillies, I spent most of my time hanging around with colts. Everyone sort of thought I had just developed a fancying for one of them. But that wasn’t exactly the truth....
I observed them, I looked at how they behaved, and mirrored them, I took the best traits, the ones I found most desirable, from every single colt I could hang with. And the day I finally came out, I handled it with calm and tact. It wasn't easy, it felt as through my stomach would eat through me, and I was shaking pretty badly. But I managed to get a hold of myself. I didn’t whimper away, scared, and submissive, I stood my ground.
Tears didn’t move me, threats didn’t move me, the questioning of my loyalty to the ones who had given me life, a cheap move, if I may say so, didn’t move me. I was sure this was a point I wouldn’t...and in fact, couldn’t, back down on.
I never did stop loving my parents, and as I said before, we still talk. They eventually came around to the idea....despite the time it took them. To most every other student in the school? It didn’t matter, what or who I was, I was still me....just a he, instead of a she.
I incorporated bits and pieces of the story and my feelings over the years into my stories, it seemed to work, they were shockingly popular. What started as something on the school newspaper, and then moved on to local print, eventually got me my financial security. And I spent most every bit I did not use for food and rent, on getting myself the help I needed to achieve my vision of myself.
It was a hard road, but I’m happier for having taken it, I had never written the story, in first person. I was afraid it would hurt too much...but now....now I see that my experiences may help some other pony, who’s sad, and scared, and feeling the same I do. If so, please seek help! And to anyone reading this, transpony or not, take care.
The success of that particular issue, was mind blowing, even for him, he had expected some sort of feedback, but it just went over his capacities of replying to anyone who wrote back to him, and then some more. His most popular stories, that he had thought were jaw dropping in their popularity, hadn't gotten even half the attention, this one thing got.
People were admiring his courage, his struggle, and asking for advice, it warmed his heart, Everything had turned out fine for him.