I'm Not Sick - Part 3 (A conversation with my transgender son) (Patreon)

Here's Part 3 (you can read part 1 and 2 on the Patreon)

I'm Not Sick Part 3I pull the car into the space and switch off the car's engine. Looking out through the window screen, the sea stretches out in front of us. It’s not the nicest of days to be up on the cliff tops, but it’s secluded and a good place for a walk and hopefully a heart-to-heart.

Flyn, my kid, sits next to me in the car, his headphones on and his music blaring. So much so that I could hear the bassline to his music over Phil Collins playing on the car sound system.

I look at him and smile, knowing just how tough this last week has been.

Getting caught crossdressing by someone who doesn’t understand is very stressful. It’s no wonder that since I collected Flyn from my sister’s the other night, he’s been quiet, reserved and… well, isolated.

I take a deep breath before saying anything.

My anxiety is at an all-time high. I know exactly how he’s feeling, and my own memories burn fresh in my mind, as if they happened yesterday rather than twenty-plus years ago.

“Flyn,” I say to him and wave to get his attention. “Earth to Flyn…”

Music still playing, he’s staring down, trying to ignore me.

I wave again, more frantic. “Flyn! Hello…”

He looks at me and frowns, like he thinks I’m being embarrassing. (Normal teenage behavior)

“What?” He asks unpolitely, pulling one headphone from his face to talk to me.

I look around at the scenery from the car, gesturing for him to look too. “We’re here. Let’s go for a walk—like I said. Just you and me.”

“No thanks.” He lets his headphones snap back to his ear and turns away.

I reach across, my hand shaking a little because I know he’s not going to like it. In one quick swoop of my hand, I snatch the headphones from his head, making his messy hair stick up on end where the headband was.

“Dad!” he calls out in frustration, trying to snatch them back. “I don’t want to go for a walk with you. Give them back!”

I give him a small but satisfied smile as I shove his headphones into my car door pocket. “I’ll let you have them back after, okay?”

Frustrated, he starts scrolling on his phone in defiance. “I don’t want to go for a walk, Dad.” He mumbles, turning away from me in his seat. “I wish everyone would just… leave me alone already!”

“Mom and I are worried about you, Flyn.”

“Mom can go eat a bag of dicks for all I care!”

“Flyn!” I grab his shoulder, not about to let that slide as I pull him in my direction. “How dare—“

The tears welling in his eyes stop me mid-sentence. Flynn meets my gaze for the briefest second, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, then looks away again.

“Come on now, Flyn…” I say, switching up my tactics to be softer with him. “I just wanna talk and make sure you’re okay after what happened.

He says nothing. He stuffs his phone into his pocket, then pulls his knees to his chest and curls into a ball, staring out the car window instead of at me.

I rub at my face, lean back in my car seat, and then rest my hands on the stearing wheel, letting out a long breath.

“It’s not like a sadness, is it?”I grip the steering wheel tighter. “It’s not like something that makes you want to cry, get angry, or anything like that.”

I look past my hands at the wash of the sea hitting the shore.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so miserable? Can’t you just enjoy yourself? You’re boring. You’re not that interesting. Why don’t you take pride in your appearance?” I reel off things said to me countless times. “Are you…. gay?”

Having struck a nerve, Flyn hits the car door hard. “I’m not having this discussion with you, Dad! I already told Mom, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore! I’m. Not. Gay.”

I don’t react as my expression stays the same.

Numb, I just watch the waves, but I know I’ve got a point to make.

“Used to upset me, too,” I say.

I feel Flyn’s gaze turn to me, even if his entire body is still hunched and turned away.

“P-People said you’re gay, Dad?” he asks.

“Would have been easier to explain,” I smirk to myself as my gaze falls from the waves to the instrument cluster just in front of me. “Then at least I could have been present in my own life, Flyn—instead of a passenger waiting for my turn to drive.”

Silence falls heavy between us, but I continue.

“It’s not like I don’t want to be involved in things, Flyn. I love your Mother. I love you, and I love the life I’ve built.” My head drops, and my gaze falls to my lap. “But do you ever feel like it’s all just pretend?”

Flyn shrugs. “If you don’t want to be with Mom anymore, leave her. She’s a bitch anyway.”

I look at my son, who’s biting his lip and staring off at the waves, just like I was.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

He shoots me a sarcastic look. “What, you breaking up with Mom?”

“No.” I shake my head once. “Wearing women’s clothes,” I clarify.

Flynn's cheeks burn red. He ducks his head and curls in on himself even tighter. My gaze drifts back to the waves beyond us and the sunlight across the water.

“Makes your heart rush with excitement, doesn’t it?” I say, not wanting an answer from him. “Somehow it makes your soul sing out. Almost as if, for once, you feel….” I shake my head in thought. “…I dunno. Like, for once you feel comfortable.”

“If you say so….” Flyn says with a disapproving huff.

I glance at him, but he’s looking away. That doesn’t stop me from talking.

“Then there’s the envy.” I say. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been confused about my attraction to a girl. Am I attracted to this girl because I think she’s cute, or do I just want to be her?”

 Flyn lowers his legs and sits normally in his seat; however, he’s still turned away from me.

“Burns inside, doesn’t it?” I say. “It’s like rot that slowly saps away at your energy.” I laugh to myself, but it’s not happy. “The regret just builds up and builds up. Flyn, it becomes like a black hole, swallowing everything—leaving you numb, hopeless, and devoid of meaning.

My eyes sting as tears begin to well, but I squeeze them shut, fighting to keep them from falling.

“I’m a passenger, too scared to tell the driver I want to go somewhere different. Too scared to admit I’m on the wrong road.”

My voice cracks with emotional, but I take a breath to center myself.

“This is what I’m supposed to be!” I throw my hands into the air before slamming them down onto the steering wheel. “I’m a man, a husband… a father!” My head drops as tears spill down my cheeks and I can’t stop them.  

“So… why do I feel so lost and numb?”

Tears drop from my chin and into my trousers. I open my eyes just enough to see them disappear into the material.

“Doesn’t go away, ever, does it…?” He asks.

I sit back up right, wiping the tears as I shake my head. “No.”

Flyn turns himself towards me, his hands resting nervously in his lap as he stares down at them, clearly deep in thought. Eventually, he glances up at me.

“Am I broken, Dad?”

Tears spill down his cheeks as he clenches his fists, never looking away from me. His face tightens, the weight of everything he’s holding back written into his expression.

“I d-don’t want…” he stutters, unable to find the words. “w-w-want to feel like t-this…” he lashes out, kicking the car floor. “…ANYMORE!”

I watch my son and my heart breaks for him.

I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy, yet my child suffers just as I have.

Every part of my being wants to tell him it’s going to be okay and that I’ll protect him from everyone who ever thinks or says anything nasty, but I know I can’t. I love him, yet seeing his tears of agony—it breaks my heart, filling the open cracks with regret.

We sit in silence, and I count the waves crashing against the shore to keep myself from dissociating and going entirely numb.

Do I want him to survive as I have, by pushing it down deep and trying to forget, or do I give him the advice I probably needed as a teenager and set him down a road filled with struggles and hardship that may or may not give him a chance of peace within himself?

“D-Dad….?” He speaks first.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Auntie Wren’s a good person, isn’t she?”

I blink several times, thinking about her, mostly because of PDST around tea bags being thrown at me.

“W-Why do you say that, Flyn?” I eventually ask.

Flyn rubs at his arm. “When Mom caught me, and she wouldn’t stop shouting, I had to get out of the house, and I didn’t know who else to turn to. I-I…I don’t feel like I can tell my friends, because I’m worried they’ll hate me. Yet, as soon as I went to Auntie’s house and told her what happened, she didn’t question why; she just wanted to help me.”

“She told me you got caught dressing once.” Our eyes meet, and I see hope. “Y-You speak like you understand the broken that I am, Dad. D-Do you feel the sadness too?”

“I did get caught.” I softly smile, hiding the pain. “And, yes. I do.”

“How do I make it stop?”

“Stop what exactly?”

Flyn’s lip wobbles.

“H-How do I stop my brain from thinking I should’ve been born a girl?”

I gently touch his cheek, and when he flinches at the contact, I brush away his tears, like I’ve done so many times watching him grow up.

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I didn’t bring you to the seafront to give you answers, Flyn. I’m not some you’d want them from anyway.”

I lower my hand from his face and slump in my seat. “If anything, I’m the one that’s broken. I’ve been pretending to be something I know I’m not for so many years; I’m not overly sure there’s anything of me actually left.”

Flyn starts to cry.

Not for himself, but for me.

He clutches at my arm, his sobs hitting me hard.

“D-Don’t say that!” he swipes at his own tears. “What do we do, Dad!? What do we do!?”

I can’t bring myself to look at the desperation on his face. It hurts me too much.

I rub my sore, tear-soaked eyes and catch my breath. “Like I said. I’m not here to give you answers. I just want you to know someone else understands you, Flyn.”

I pull my lips into a forced smile as I look at him, then gently rest my hand over his.

“It’s not a sickness, Flyn,” I tell him. “And nor are you broken.”

“Da—”

“Just listen for a moment.” I interrupt him. “I know how… lonely it makes me feel. Especially when I got caught. But, I want you—no, I need you to know that I understand you and that I see your struggle.”

I pat his hand lightly, and the two of us begin to cry freely.

“D-Dad…I’m sorr—”

I snatch him into a tight hug, reaching across the car to put a stop to his apology. I hold him tighter as he cries into my arms.

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” I say, holding the back of his head. “I’m lucky you’re my child and don’t you ever forget it!”

I feel the fear, the anguish, and the years of repression finally breaking through as I hold him. He clutches my shirt so tightly, sobbing into my shoulder for what feels like hours. I hold him for as long as he needs me to.

Every so often, my Mother's words echo in my mind. They used to bring me to despair, but in this moment, I see it for what it really was.

Fear, selfishness, and cowardice on her part.

The waves continue to hit the shore, and time passes. Eventually, Flyn is strong enough to sit back in his chair, having held me so tight. I clear my throat and wipe at my eyes one last time.

“So…” I say, the words heavy on my tongue. “What do you want to do now?”

“I-I…” Flyn reaches for his phone to look at the time. “…I guess we should go home.”

“No…” I let out a light chuckle. “I mean, with you. What do you want to do about it?”

“Nothing.” He looks away, and I see myself in that moment, hiding because I had to.

I don’t have to ask him why.

He’s not ready to hatch, as my fellow trans people say.

I stare at the waves as they roll in, one after another, never stopping. And it occurs to me that they will keep breaking along this shore long after I become nothing more than a name carved into a headstone, another forgotten memory lost to the passage of time.

“I’m going to tell your Mom I’m transgender,” I say out loud, surprising even myself as Flyn looks at me, shocked.

“D-Dad?”

I give him a smile as I switch on the engine. I can’t help but look but be motivated by the look on Flyn’s face.

It’s one of admiration.

Maybe, for once in my pathetic life, I can shrug off the fear and cowardice my Mother installed in me and be a strong role model for the one person in my life who matters the most.

“Yeah.” I nod, biting my lip hard. “I’m going to tell her. I want to be a woman, Flyn. No… wait, that’s not right. I am a woman, and I want to start being myself!”

“Hell, yeah!” Flyn’s smile in that moment becomes a core memory.

I back the car out of the space, and we head home.

I swallow hard, knowing it’s going to be a painful experience for everyone, but nevertheless, I’m determined.

It’s never too late, they tell me.

If the best time to come out as the woman I really am was when I was Flyn’s age, then the second best time is right now.