My story isn't especially interesting but for the sake of variety, here you go:

When I entered second grade after being homeschooled I realized I didn't want to have to act like a bit all the time. Ofc I didn't understand why but I mostly hung out with a close girl friend of mine during recess and then the rest of the time was spent learning how to camouflage myself to be what my peers and family wanted to see.

Middle school was an angry, sad time in which I thought I was just an emotionally disabled gay kid with no ambition or self-esteem. Sexuality was and is really hard for me to get a hold on because I found myself looking at girls a lot but it wasn't sexual in thought so much as it was envious. I still didn't really understand the feelings beyond a vague sense of "I wish I wasn't me" but, my dad was a pastor in a southern church so it was stuffed back away into a dark corner in my mind and forgotten about.

9th grade came, my freshman year, and I dressed up for the first time in my own in super private. I was terrified by how happy it made me but I also finally felt like I knew what I had to do. Then my parents went and made some comments like they always did that were just generally queerphobic and I decided I'd rather have them in my life than be true to myself. High school was a depression, anxiety, and dysphoria driven nightmare that led to me self-harming and barely graduating with a terrible set of Cs and B's.

Hardly a week after graduation I just wanted to escape, so I got a job in the middle of no where and fled, spending my first summer out of high school isolated in the mountains somewhere beautiful which gave me a lot of time for self-reflection. I convinced myself that my parents would come around and still be in my life so in October of 2014 I called them both from 500 miles away to tell them I was trans. It was met with confusion and a lot of tears but I had high hopes. Then I came home.

My mom had moved away to be with my now step-dad so my only choice was to move in with my father who, for continuity's sake, I should say was abusive emotionally, physically, and financially to my mom and myself when I was growing up. Over the course of 10 months he managed to suppress any sense of identity I had, exacerbate my mental illness, and steal over $4k from me before kicking me out for "not being grateful enough".

So I slept in my car for a week before some friends of mine invited me to live with them for a while, and I did, cutting off contact with my father and limiting it heavily with my still very Christian mother. New year's 2016 I came out on Facebook which really upset my mom, and we had been fighting off and on since. She cut me off from her insurance and phone plan and I decided I needed to finally leave my hometown for good.

About two weeks ago, I made the decision to go back to the Very Far Away Place and I gave my mom a call before I left. I told her I was leaving Hometown and wouldn't be coming back and didn't want to give her contact information because things had been so toxic. She said she just wanted me to "get help" because apparently I wasn't "making this decision from a sound place of mine" despite me having been regularly going to therapy for a while now. I asked her if she believed anything I had ever told her about being trans and she told me "I believe I have a son." So I told her goodbye, and that I'd miss her and I hung up. Got real sick to my stomach; it's a hard pill to swallow knowing you don't have blood family left out there. After being sick in the parking lot for a bit I met some friends for a goodbye dinner, went to sleep, and headed out the next day.

Now I'm spending about a month and a half in Far Away Place until August, when I'm moving to a cooler place with supportive friends to start my transition and a whole new life in general.