dash lionsheart

Dash is a transgender man who joined Second Life 13 years ago. He has always loved being creative and is always in awe of the creativity that goes inside Second Life. Last year, Dash opened a store named Aardvark and creates fun, unique mesh items in hopes of bringing a smile or laugh to someone’s face.

I want to preface; you can come out as many times as you wish. The doors are not numbered, and there aren’t any wrong doors. I say this because finding yourself is a lifelong journey. My self-discovery explored both my sexuality and my gender identity. I’ve had to “come out” multiple times as bisexual, pansexual, genderfluid, and, lastly, a transgender man. I also think that transgender individuals have a unique experience of having to come out over and over again. None of these “coming outs” were wrong, nor did they have to be in that particular order. I want to share that we are not stagnant. We’re all allowed to grow and change.

I “first” came out when I was a young teenager. I have a small real-life family: my dad and little sister. I can’t remember my age, but I wasn’t in high school yet, so I must’ve been 13 or 14. I told my dad that I was bisexual and I liked girls. I had a crush on a girl on the middle school swim team. (She didn’t know I existed, but I very much knew she did). My dad didn’t believe me. I wasn’t in a relationship; he’d never seen me in one. My sister, a year younger than me, became afraid of me.

We didn’t talk about it again until I was about 19 and in my first serious relationship with a then female. This person later became my wife and now my ex-husband. In that relationship, I helped them in their transition as a transgender male, and in my growth, my understanding of my sexuality was a lot wider. It also helped with my sense of gender identity as I had joked with them I wished we were both gay men. I came out to my family how my wife was now going to be my husband. It wasn’t a lengthy discussion. I tend to tell things as they are.

Several years ago, I was going downhill fast. I wasn’t taking care of myself at all, and I was often calling off work. I was seeking solace in all the wrong places. I was ignoring red flags because I also was a red flag. I knew I couldn’t stay this way long, so I attempted to get help. I went to a doctor who prescribed me medication to help alleviate my depression and give me a kickstart in the other direction.

I can’t remember how many appointments there were, but after a fair amount, she said she couldn’t prescribe me anything else. She recommended that I check myself into a critical mental health center. Honestly, that’s when I realized there was more to this. I’m not going to lie and say I was thrilled to go. I would miss more work and take unpaid time off, and my health insurance wasn’t the best. I had no idea how I would afford or pay for it. But I knew, deep in my heart, without it, I was on a track I didn’t know if I could come back from.

The doctor gave me a pamphlet, and I called and committed myself. I started the following week.

It was a 10 day, half day outpatient facility program. It was intensive group therapy and single therapy. People with other varying mental illnesses or situations were there also. This isn’t a story where I stood before the class and came out to everyone. No. I participated but kept to myself. I took it all in. There was a lot to take in.

I realized I had internalized so many things, pretending and forcing myself to be someone I wasn’t—a woman. I had put other people’s hopes and dreams into me and aspired to be a successful woman. I wanted to have a successful career. I wanted to be the person that had that “beautiful smile” in my photos. I wanted people to be proud of me. I didn’t want to be a failure. From the outside, it may have even appeared that I achieved this.

My depression stemmed from this internal struggle about who I was and what everyone else was telling me who I was. I would look back and see pictures of myself happy, and I wanted to be that girl again. I wanted to be that person again. She seemed so happy.

Therapy forced those thoughts like a head-on collision. I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but then there was a slow clarity. See, coming out doesn’t need to be rainbows and confetti. It can be in the quiet, in the middle of the night. It can be a quiet whisper, even from your own voice, telling you it’s ok to be who you are. And it was just that. I knew I was a man. I knew this unhappiness stemmed from what I thought I needed to be and who I should be.

At the end of the 10 days of the program, I was evaluated by a therapist, a psychologist, and a psychiatrist. I can’t exactly remember the question, but I remember my answer, and it was the first time I had said it out loud.

“I’m not a tomboy. I’m a man.”

At that moment, I felt both afraid and liberated. Honestly, it was one of the happiest moments I’ve had. Because the most important person that I came out to accepted me for who I am.

And that was…me.