I am living a double life.
I am Skylar and I am Sophia. I am Sophia and I am Skylar. I am the loud, outgoing friend with a contagious laugh and I am the quiet, well-behaved, perfect granddaughter. For a long time, I was only one of these people. I was the well-behaved student who bragged about having good vision and got straight A’s with no effort. Sure, I didn’t have friends, but who needed them? I had more than enough books to keep me company. After all, the times I’d tried to make friends hadn’t worked. Slowly, this version of me started to fade. In seventh grade, I had a few friends. I don’t remember how we met each other. It feels like one day we just were best friends. We would talk almost every day. I haven’t talked to them in years. More important than that, I got a phone. It wasn’t anything special. A black Motorola, a plain black case, no stickers. It was plainer than anyone else, but I didn’t care. It was my own phone. With that came all of the information the internet had to offer me. I could watch Netflix, I could text people, I could do anything. I could do everything. I made an Instagram. For days, every time I saw someone in the halls, I would think of their usernames. I found and followed LGBT accounts. And I read. I read informative posts, I read the linked articles, I read everything I could find. And I found everything. I found a community. I found words that felt like me. I learned about injustices and inequalities, about things that were being fought for and fought against. Most importantly, I learned that I wasn’t -and would never again be- alone. I’ve always loved learning. Information and facts and statistics have always felt safe. They were consistent. Unchangeable. No matter what you do, they would always be the same. Everything else in life felt too up to chance, too able to become bad at the flip of a switch. So I buried that part of me deep down, worrying that it might change. I came up with reasons and excuses that I shouldn’t tell them. After all, what had the statistics said about not having accepting parents? Rationally, I knew they’d be fine. I knew that Okemos was a safe place and I knew my friends and parents would be okay with it. I wouldn't get kicked out. There was always a reason that I felt I shouldn’t tell them, though. Three years later, I told my friends. Most of them being gay themselves, they all were accepting and helpful. Months after that, I told my parents, teachers, and the rest of the school. So here I sit, five years after getting my first phone. Messy hair, pajama pants, and more comfortable with myself than I’ve ever been. But behind the part of me that I let people see still sits the quiet girl who thinks she is faking everything. I still haven’t told my extended family. Years have passed. My name is changed to Skylar almost everywhere. I am Skylar. Until the aunts and uncles are around. Every Sunday, we have dinner with my grandparents. Every Sunday, I am the well-behaved granddaughter on her way to college and a future that anyone would dream of.
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I was crying. It didn’t come as a surprise, because in all honesty, when wasn’t I? I cried at school, I cried at work, I cried at home. So crying in the back of my dad’s 2009 Kia Rondo seemed to fit the pattern perfectly.
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