Everyday Trans-man: Personalities Of Dysphoria

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Hi I am Damien Skye Knight Aka Raven/ Koraki. This is Comic 3 of Everyday Trans-Man

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Dysphoria has become this dirty word in the trans community. This is the face of my dysphoria.

 

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By Damien Knight

Finding myself in the mirror of my past, am I free at last?

When she haunts my dreams can I ever be me?

Saturday I spent my afternoon with my Step-mother and My father at Chuck-e-cheese. For the first time in ages I had a deep heart to heart with my step-mom. For me, despite all I went through, this was the woman who raised me and she is my mom so here on out I will refer to her as such.

I admit I had been harbouring some anger at perceived rejection this past month due to scheduled and canceled visits but the reality was every time we wanted to meet just was not optimal. I always have a way of making more of things than what they are. Those who know what I went through would understand why.

I did not bring up what I felt because once I was alone with my mom and we were talking I realised how petty it was in the grand scheme of things. Still the questions she asked could never be fully answered in one sitting. No one can fully grasp what my life was like but still I feel like I have to try.

I mentioned in my post  Pinocchio- To Be a Real Boy I knew I was a boy since I was a very young age. At 6 years old I told my dad that this world had to be a dream and that I would wake up as me one day. I cried when he told me I was a girl. I constantly asked why I couldn’t use the men’s room. These were all cries for recognition from a child who had no way of wording: “I think I am Trans.” I don’t fault my dad for not remembering these things. I really don’t fault them for incidents they do not know about.

As I got older I formed an Alter ego, or more like he fractured from the girl I was forced to be. I gave him the name of the first boy I envied. Eddie. He didn’t care for this name and renamed himself Raven. I don’t blame Eddie Gang for telling me he had no desire to go by the name of someone who tormented us. Either way during pretend I used Eddie Gang, and his voice as an outlet. It was just a game, I could be a boy during play and it was harmless. I was a ghost.

This wasn’t the only way I ghosted. My step-sister, she’s gorgeous, rambunctious and unapologetically tomboyish. Growing up everyone commented on how much of a tomboy she was while I would buy Black shirts and men’s Jeans and sneakers. They would fret that she wasn’t allowed to cut her hair meanwhile I ordered the stylist to “cut it like a boys.” While they gushed over her being a tomboy I hung out with a crowd of male friends. I was a ghost. A ghost in plain sight.

Every photo where it is obvious I wore clothes I loved I looked male. I loved when I was mistaken for being a boy and my dream was to go back to Disney world dressed as a boy and to use the men’s room. I constantly fantasized this. I saw many therapists none who I told the truth. I told them my suffering abuse and that was honest but I didn’t display my inner turmoil. I didn’t divulge wanting to die because I couldn’t stand one more second as a girl. That I was cutting to try and remove the body I wasn’t suppose to have.

My biggest fear growing up was admitting my feelings for girls. I always had one close “Girlfriend” growing up. Every girl should have a “bestfriend” but for me these girls meant more. I usually had a crush on the girl and knowing I couldn’t dare express this I opted to befriend them. I only dated one girl growing up and because she still isn’t out about her sexuality I will not expose her.

It was scary feeling these things. I was sure God must hate me, and my family would too. For these reasons I was vocally homophobic in later years. I was afraid that gays were going to hell after all. When I was younger I simply defended friends accused of being gay by assuring they were not, rather than saying “So what if they are?” When I got older I spoke out against gay marriage (Bush era) and condemned them and in so doing myself to hell. The self hate is very real.

Speaking of self hate could you imagine that beautiful red headed child in my first photo would hate themselves so much they would tie bed sheets around their neck? When I was 14 I hated my face. I would scream, cry and claw at my skin. I swung between feeling comfortable as me to hating my life and everyone around me. I slept hours on end waiting for the nightmare to end. I chopped my own hair off many times. I would slice my chest. The chest my sisters mocked for being so big praying they’d shrivel. I threw myself at men. Men I secretly envied.

I felt apathy towards others but more over I despised myself. Looking my lovely angel in the eyes at 4 months old I was done and I popped a full cabinet of pills. I instantly regretted trying to die and committed myself. Coming out saved me. Coming out made me able to connect with others. Every day I still struggle. Everyday I pray I wake up and see me. My biggest dream is that I will be able to finally have surgery. Please if you can spare 5 dollars donate to The Shadow’s Journey.

The Shadow’s Journey

By Damien Knight Finding myself in the mirror of my past, am I free at last? …

The Shadow’s Journey

By Damien Knight

Finding myself in the mirror of my past, am I free at last?

When she haunts my dreams can I ever be me?

Saturday I spent my afternoon with my Step-mother and My father at Chuck-e-cheese. For the first time in ages I had a deep heart to heart with my step-mom. For me, despite all I went through, this was the woman who raised me and she is my mom so here on out I will refer to her as such.

I admit I had been harbouring some anger at perceived rejection this past month due to scheduled and canceled visits but the reality was every time we wanted to meet just was not optimal. I always have a way of making more of things than what they are. Those who know what I went through would understand why.

I did not bring up what I felt because once I was alone with my mom and we were talking I realised how petty it was in the grand scheme of things. Still the questions she asked could never be fully answered in one sitting. No one can fully grasp what my life was like but still I feel like I have to try.

Continue reading

Every Day Transman Concept 2

Damien Knight

I been mulling in my mind about doing web comics for a while. I use to draw comics in middle school and high-school but I never felt I was good enough to pass for an “Artist.” Anyway today I tried using paint to sketch out spatial concepts. I know the colouring job needs work. I still feel that I would need way more practice and better drawing skills before this could be a thing.  If you wish to donate to my Journey click The Shadow’s Journey. Thanks.

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Everyday Transman: Concept Art

By Damien Knight

I was considering starting a webcomic about what it’s like to be transmale. I decided to share this concept art. It isn’t great but during the time I drew it I worked at McDonalds and got ma’amed a lot. I need a drastic improvement of my art skills before I try to draw comics again.  If you want to help in my journey please donate to The Shadow’s Journey

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Win or Die: A Poem on Suicide

By Damien Knight

We all remember being teenagers, the dreams, the angst, and the joys. For me I remember my teen years with pain that puts normal teen angst to shame. I lived through abuses as a young child, the child of a broken home thrusted into a new “Brady Bunch” family. I was so damaged that I created an alternate who could handle anything. I had said in prior writing’s that I knew I was male even as a young child but I could not, in a conservative Brady Bunch family, be him. My alter, he took over me when I would be afraid, he was the boy who was strong, who could take the hits when my “female” identity could not anymore. I called him Raven and her Starr, Starr was fake, an act, a mask I wore. Raven was me, the real me, caged like a beast, he could only stand this so long. Playing as “Eddie Gang” was not enough freedom anymore for the boy I was and at 13 I dreaded every waking moment.

I know now that my attractions to women were perfectly normal. That my emotional states were caused by confusion at being transgender, hormones and a thyroid disorder. At 13 I was misdiagnosed as bipolar, despite evidence of this thyroid disorder. I was drugged, Depakote, but my moods did not get better. At the end of 6th grade my step-mother found a suicide note, slash “run-away” letter explaining I was leaving, and I was sorry. She confronted me asking how I could think of running away after winning a top reader award. I did not have the heart to tell her it was a suicide letter and that the night before I failed to kill myself. I had taken all my Depakote and Adderall only to wake-up just fine the next morning. It was my first attempt.

This though is simply background so you can understand the poem win or die, which I wrote at 15. By time I was in 8th grade I had already stopped counting my runaway and suicide attempts. While my parents knew I was a flight risk, they had yet seen a “valid” attempt. Perhaps they explained away missing pill bottles, or perhaps because I was in wards and they did not see when I strangled myself with a blanket. They did not care to ask why, and even if they had I could not bear to tell them. I do not recall what made me snap that night, the night my father learned I wanted to die. I was once more staring at the happy picture of me as a little girl with all my sisters all of us in our bridesmaid dresses. Rage swelled in me and I threw it on the ground cursing at God. I removed the razor from a pencil sharpener and began to slash at my wrist.

Now my parents had thought I was cutting before but I had deflected saying I was scratched by Nile, my cat. Cutting was never a way I tried to die, not until that night when instead of scissors I used a razor, that night I had the blade set to go down my arm when my dad heard me screaming at God and ran to my room. Men are not known to cry, my father especially not, but he pulled me into his lap and got the razor from my hands and he cried. We both were crying.
It was the next day I wrote Win or Die. “Look at Me, Look what I done, I have lost I never won.” Those words were similar to my own wails.

“WHY GOD, WHY AM I THIS WAY, LOOK WHAT I HAVE DONE! I CAN’T LIVE ANYMORE.”

“Only God knows who I am and why and that I will win and never die.” As much as everyone praised me as a teen for this line of hope they all misunderstood. It was a lament of my failed suicide attempts. Every time I kept right on living, the only hope in that line was one day I’d “win.’ I’d get to be me. Until then only “God” knew I was not the girl they thought of me. I was carrying a burden. Today I can honestly say Raven is free, and now as Damien, I have not attempted suicide since 2009 the year I came out. Yes, my life was rough but even as I write this I have to remind those who now walking where I was it gets better. Keep fighting. Believe. This year I believe I will finally make my goal of top surgery but even though I am still pre-op I have been living as male since I came out. My name change is finally on all legal documents. My Bachelors will say Damien Skye Knight on it, this, this alone brings joy beyond all the sorrow I suffered.

WE WILL WIN, LOVE WINS, IT NEVER DIES

(If you want to help support my transitioning Journey Click The Shadow’s Journey  Thank you.)