“I'm just worried about you.” 

I almost laughed; it felt as if I was choking on a giggle so desperately wishing to escape. My mom never showed signs of her worry. Not from the scars, the clumps of hair I was losing, and not from the mood swings, none of it. However, the second I tell her my grades are slipping is the second she suddenly cares? I almost found it amusing; until I didn’t. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes. They began pounding at my tear ducts begging to be let out, and so I let them. 

Gasping for air through my tears I finally spoke, “Mom it's not just the grades though.”

***

The cheap white bathroom tiles under me were freezing but the running shower behind me emitted hot sauna-like steam. Somewhere along the line nights like these weren't rare anymore. Somewhere along the line nights like these were my safe space. Somewhere along the line nights like these were the only nights I felt something. The burning of the shower, the cooling sensation of the old bathroom tiles, or the tears running down my cheeks. Usually, I was numb. Numb. What a funny feeling it was, and did feeling nothing count as a feeling? Why did being numb hurt? I liked crying because in some twisted way it reminded me that I am still human. The feeling of choking on my tears told me that through this wall of numbness surrounding me I still had humanity left. Not enough humanity to make it in the shower, but enough. A knock on the bathroom door forced me out of my trance. 

“God, Kenzie, are you almost done?” my sister yelled at me through the door.

“Yeah yeah, almost done,” I yelled back. 

Kenzie. As far as my family was concerned that was my name. For just a second I felt the faintest twinge of pain breakthrough my numbness. Being a boy trapped in a girl's body was just another reason for me to feel numb. I repeated my real name over and over to calm me down before quickly wetting my hair so I looked like I took a shower. Before I could even fully remove myself from the bathroom my sister slipped in and slammed the door. 

“You're welcome Tia,” I screamed through the door she just slammed on me. I got no response from her. Figures. I threw my body on my unmade bed and stared at the pile of laundry on the floor. Since when did I let it get this bad? Man, I'm so gross. Just because I'm a little sad doesn't mean I can become a slob. I slowly shook my head and allowed the thoughts to fall through each ear. I fell asleep quickly after that; surrounded by dirty blankets and half-read books. The mess didn't bother me anymore, I was used to it. My sleep was restless that night but just like the mess I had gotten used to it. I tossed and I turned and before I knew it my alarm went off. 

I hated waking up because waking up meant going into zoom calls to complete this hideous excuse for school. My grades were great; they always have been, but I was slipping. Twenty late assignments, tests I didn't study for, googling the answers, never understanding anything, and my camera was always off. School days always went by in a blur. Simply one assignment to keep the mindless students busy after another. This day was no different. I sat at my desk in a hunched-over position glaring at my school-issued Chromebook. The missing and late assignment tab was pulled up on Google Classroom. If there was a way to check I’d assume this was where most of my time on my Chromebook was spent. I did not spare a second thought to the tears that began to flow. Google Classroom tended to do that to me. I was so wrapped up in the missing assignments that I didn’t notice the doorknob of my door slowly turn until my mom was standing in my doorway. 

“Kenzie?” she whispered, “are you alright?” 

I was so sick of pretending to be okay so I spoke truthfully, “No mom, no I’m not okay, not even a little bit.” 

I sat there explaining everything: the grades, the numbness, the nervousness, everything. 

“I'm worried about you.”

She was definitely just worried about my grades. 

“So you’re gonna talk to your dean about all this.”

I’m gonna what now?

That's how I found myself scheduling a meeting with my dean for later that day. I tried to keep my mind busy and focused on anything but the meeting, but soon enough I was sitting in front of my Chromebook with my dean’s smiling face staring back at me. God freaking dammit. 

“So, what's going on?” 

Where the hell would I even start?

“Well…”

That one word was the gateway to the truth. About my real name, my real emotions, the grades, the way my mom responded, everything. My dean listened to everything intently. Oh my lanta she listened! She cared. Someone who wasn’t my best friend finally listened and finally cared. She cared about more than just my grades, so for once, someone cared about me. 

I found myself having google meet calls with my dean every other day.

“Today was good. I got antidepressants and a meet and greet with my therapist scheduled for July,” I told her. 

“Today was good,” she replied. 

I liked days where I had meetings with her. Days where I could tell her how stupid my band teacher was. Days where I could cry to her and days where I could laugh. I selfishly liked being allowed the opportunity to talk about myself. Talking to my dean meant emptying years' worth of problems off my chest. 

“So, Parker!” my dean yelled. It felt so good to finally be called Parker. It's who I am and it’s part of my identity. So what if I had a lot of growing up to do? So what if I had a lot of mood swings left to control and a hell of a lot more to learn about myself? For the first time in nearly two years I was beyond ready to finally start being someone I was proud of. 

“How are you, really?” my dean asked. 

And for the first time in a while I responded with, “Good,” and I meant it. God did I really, truly mean it. I was finally ready to be myself and go through all the work and pain it’d take to get there. I was just ready for everything. Took me long enough, didn’t it?