I do not like my name. Similarly to Levi S. Govoni in his portion of Nonbinary: Memoirs of Gender and Identity, I dislike what I’m called most of the time. When I was young, I couldn’t explain why I disliked my name. When I was 7, maybe 8, hearing my name out loud was something to be avoided as much as I could. I’ve grown used to it, years on years of such feelings have made me at least used to the name. Names tend to tie into the ideas of femininity and masculinity; that is, you would expect a man to have a man’s name and vice versa. I do not think that it is wrong, or right for that matter, to think in this binary naming convention. Humans are incredibly adept at finding patterns and connections, including that of the gender spectrum (Say the name Bob being typically associated with a man, or the name Samantha being feminine). However, it should be more socially acceptable to be named what you would prefer in order to align better with your preferred gender identity. Human nature should not get in the way of common decency to ensure that those around you are comfortable, especially by your actions and words. Just because it is in human nature to categorize, does not mean that you should demean or debase those who do not fit in said categories. Respect for me, should I choose to change my name, or how I present myself, should not be something I have to hope for, it is something I should expect.

This will not have any answers to any questions at all. If I knew the answers, I wouldn’t be writing a blog about this specifically.

I don’t know. These three words have been a centerpiece in my vocabulary for as long as I can remember. It seems so easy, to know. Everyone else seems to know how they feel or how much they enjoy something, what they want to do, where they want to go. I do not. I have struggled to understand when I’m feeling any emotion more complex than happy or sad. It is more unusual, then, that I can more easily recognize other people’s emotions than my own. I do not know what I want to do. Nothing stands out. People say “do what interests you” but nothing is inherently interesting to me, I don’t think. Even my current hobbies took a while of doing for me to become interested in them. It’s like I’m plagued with disinterest and uncertainty beyond what is normal. Now, nothing here is unexplainable. Autism, major depressive disorder, anxiety, everything I experience falls into the realm of “yeah that makes sense” once my conditions are factored in. And I don’t hate it, but I notice how the expectations of me are different. When I’d give a short, straightforward answer in a group setting, my autism is to blame, like it wouldn’t be satisfactory if I was normal. I guess I prefer it to how it used to be. My “I don’t know” responses in regards to my feelings were met with frustration. It was upsetting. I was upsetting people and I couldn’t know why. My therapy sessions always end half an hour early because I simply do not know how to say what I feel, do not know what I feel in order to say it. It is shameful in retrospect.

Now for the other issue flying through the cog works in my head; are my thoughts my own thoughts? I mean, yes, I am thinking them, but am I merely repeating what I hear? Are my opinions actually my own opinions, or just regurgitations of what other people think? This, I think, became more of a thought within the past year or two, as I know for a fact that my vision of my gender identity is mine. As such, what else is my own? I do not mean original, I mean what do I actually believe in? And I can sit here and say “oh I believe in xyz” but in reality, most of the time I don’t know (there it is again!) if I actually believe it. Of course, there is also the idea that you are the product of your environment. The argument that even if it is repetition, why does that make it less of my own? Maybe I question my thoughts and opinions when I subconsciously disagree with them. Ultimately, though, I don’t know. That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? Not knowing most of how you feel. Sure, love and happiness and sadness and anger are identifiable, but what am I missing out on? Who’s opinions have influenced mine to the point where they just aren’t mine anymore?