Jeff Garvin

Look. I don't expect you to spill your guts to me. Your business is your business. Dress how you want to dress. Let people wonder. Fuck 'em."I smile.Solo raised a finger. "But you've got to stop looking for a fight every time someone makes a comment. High school sucks for everyone."I feel my smile fade, and I sit back in the chair. "It kind of feels like you're defending those guys."Solo shrugs. "There will always be guys like Jim Vickers. But I'm not going to let them stop me from doing what I want. And neither should you.

Remembering that moment stirs something inside -- anger, at first, and then a deep, hollow sadness that ripples through me in its own spiderweb pattern.

At some point during my research, I came across the term "gender fluid." Reading those words was a revelation. It was like someone tore a layer of gauze off the mirror, and I could see myself clearly for the first time. There was a name for what I was. It was a thing. Gender fluid. Sitting there in front of my computer--like I am right now--I knew I would never be the same. I could never go back to seeing it the old way; I could never go back to not knowing what I was.But did that glorious moment of revelation really change anything? I don't know. Sometimes, I don't think so. I may have a name for what I am now--but I'm just as confused and out of place as I was before. And if today is any indication, I'm still playing out that scene in the toy store--trying to pick the thing that will cause the least amount of drama. And not having much success.

The first thing you're going to want to know about me is: Am I a boy, or am I a girl?

So, first, I want you to know that everybody experiences some level of anxiety. It's a normal human response to stress. It's like your body's smoke alarm. If there's a fire, you want to know so you can put it out or call 9-1-1, right?__ shrug. __ guess. But it feels like my alarm is going off all the time.__octor Ann nods. __ome people's systems are more sensitive than others'. For you, maybe all it takes is burning a piece of toast, and your alarm thinks the house is on fire.

I can't blame you for trying to categorize me. It's a human instinct. It's why scientists are, to this day, completely flabbergasted by the duck-billed platypus: it's furry like a mammal, but lays eggs like a bird. It defies conventional classification. I AM THE PLATYPUS (Coo coo ka-choo)