Hello friends,

My name is Jasper, and I am a transgender male who is 23 years old. I’ve lived with this knowledge my entire life, and came to terms with it just before puberty at age 12. I came out to my immediate family and close friends at 13. Unfortunately, the only people to accept me at that time were my friends. My parents waved it off as a phase, never referring to me by my preferred name or male pronouns. I retained hope with the knowledge that it would be a change for them too, that if they hadn’t kicked me out on the spot, it meant that they needed time. It took me until high school— a considered ‘fresh start’ upon moving cities— to present myself as I truly was. These years were some of the most grueling of my life, mentally and emotionally wearing me down. In order to be referred to by my preferred name in the school system, I required parental permission, which I begged for but never received. Alongside grappling with anxiety and depressive disorders, my symptoms of bipolar disorder were gaining intensity, and I was in and out of hospitals for most of my teenage life. What I thought would be a freeing era of high school ended up being atrocious. I had to humiliate myself in every new class by coming out to my teachers directly, only for my birthname to slip out at times anyways, in front of every student who didn’t know it. I joined support groups of other trans youth, yet felt judgment by my own community— I wasn’t on hormone-blockers or on the path to hormones, I didn’t have a legal name change… nothing but chopped hair and the knowledge that my parents were blinding themselves to my identity. At school I was pinned as a joke, invalidated, bullied, called every slur under the sun. Every step in my journey has been having to advocate for myself. For those years my modesty led to me silencing myself, to not be “a bother” to those in my life. It ate me alive, and after the relentless public high school introduction, I dropped out just after the end of my freshman year. I worked through my sophomore and junior years online with an ever-growing sense of loneliness and hopelessness about if I’d ever be where I wanted. At one point, I was even placed in inpatient so many times that I was sent to residential treatment for 2 months. I had countless therapists and psychiatrists vouching to my parents for me, evaluating that my brutal gender dysphoria was only plummeting my mental health further. Sadly, they could not piece that connection together, no matter how many professionals told them so. And being a minor, my hands were tied.

Now I am 23 and working through college life, relying on a combination of both state-level coverage and my own finances to fund my high education. I have worked several jobs to support myself on top of classes; however, none of the companies I have worked for have qualified me for insurance benefits that would cover my transition, and I was barely making a livable wage as is. I have been under parental insurance and will be until I’m 26, but my father (the policy holder) has made it explicitly clear that I cannot use it to fund any aspect of my transition. The only reason I was able to begin testosterone therapy 2 and a half years ago was because I was exhausted of sitting complacent and hating myself. I took the initiative to use the more affordable option of Planned Parenthood, but every appointment, syringe and needle, and vial of testosterone has been paid for out-of-pocket by me with no coverage.

I strive to get further along in my transition, to see the person I picture on the inside in the mirror. It’s getting harder and harder as these years go by— now nearing the halfway point of my twenties and not seeing any progress simply because of finances. I have been binding for almost 10 years now; for several of those initial years I was doing it in immensely unhealthy ways due to crippling dysphoria. At one point, I would even sleep while binding. While I’m long out of that period of my life, I still bind every time I go out. After binding for so long, it has taken an immense toll on my surrounding skin, my ribs, and even my ability to breathe properly. I am not blessed with a small chest at all, so I will never set foot out the door without a binder on. As you may be able to assume, it’s exhausting both physically and mentally. Binding doesn’t eliminate my top dysphoria, it only limits it. I wish endlessly to feel a semblance of relief, but top surgery feels light years away. I don’t know when I’ll be able to find a job that supports my future rent, schooling, groceries, bills, and gender affirming surgery on top of it. In fact, I don’t even know if it’s possible. Unless a miracle occurs, I feel as though top surgery is only a dream.

With encouragement from my support systems, I have decided to branch out of my comfort zone and create a GoFundMe, specifically to build funds for my transition. I have always been well-aware that others create these fundraisers in desperate times, and would often tell myself that I didn’t need to resort to it. I don’t like asking others for money—I know how many out there are struggling to make ends meet, to survive for themselves. At the same time, I have seen people in my position reach their goals from the generosity of LGBTQ+ allies or members of their own community that knew how hopeless it felt, that couldn’t comprehend a reality of reaching those gender-affirming milestones. It has lit a spark of hope within me, that perhaps one day I can attend a consultation, receive top surgery, and heal myself in more ways than one.

Anything contributed to this fundraiser would mean the absolute world to me, as someone with virtually no online popularity, no fame— just a trans man trying to pull through it all day-by-day. Even sharing this forward is more than I could ever ask for.

Thank you for reading, I’m wishing you all the absolute best. x