I came from the ghetto where my mother was on welfare; we only ate during the school year, and on summer days, all we had was spaghetti.

I came serving rape, molestation, and beatings till I was bleeding by my own mother, her 47-year boyfriend, and twin brother.

I came from poverty, where we boiled water and washed clothes in the bathroom tub.

I came from hand-down clothes because we couldn’t afford clothes.

I came from owning a corner store for 50 cents because I couldn’t afford water or juice.

Before you look down on me, ask me my story!

I survived foster care, leaving my mom at 8 years old, never to live with her again. I never knew what my brother looked like in the morning. To never see him again in my life. Oh, Big Brother, I love you!

I came from beatings in foster care by my grandmother. The one I called my best friend. I came from my family telling me I deserved to be raped. I’m the fault that my mother doesn’t love me. I’m dirty and to wash my face with bleach.

I am plagued with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, ADHD, bpd, autism, fibromyalgia, and spinal stenosis. I’m 70% blind, and you look down on me.

My foster mom gave me up. I was told by social workers I was unadoptable; I was unloveable.

I helped raise a 5-year-old till he was 15 and had to answer questions such as “Why doesn’t grandma and auntie love you?”

I came from a church that idolized me, but when I announced I was gay and later transgender, they forsaken me. People who called me family let me go.

I was broke, hungry, and dirty. I took needles out of the drug user’s arms. I was raped and told by detectives trans men can’t be raped. I was without a bed for two years, sleeping on the floor in an apartment building where rats and mice were biting my bunny and me. I started to sleep in my computer chair while being an undergraduate student online, graduating with honors. I applied for the scholarships. I got the loans, but no one helped me.

I take 10 medications to control my mental health, and I have to have an injection every 3 months to control my schizophrenia. I have been hospitalized over 100 times and about 20 for suicide attempts. Do you know what it is like to see things other people can’t see, to hear demons that others can’t hear, and to feel bugs on your skin that people can’t feel to the point I’m scratching off my skin! I have cut marks from cutting myself. You don’t know me!

I kept my faith in Jesus while sleeping on the beach and bathing in the ocean. I came from a fake sister who threatened me and couldn’t and wouldn’t accept me as a man when I was homeless in North Carolina. I came from that.

I came from guns being put in my face because I saw a drug deal, and if I told, I was good as dead.

Yeah, I’m on Social Security. Yes, I cannot work now. Yes, I’m on food stamps! But I did! I live in public housing; yes, I do! I sleep in a twin bed. I wash my clothes in a portable washer and mini dryer because I cannot afford to do laundry.

During COVID-19, I saved my birth mom’s life only four 4 years later; she told me you might as well die. I choose men over you. My brother, my love, threatened to kill me. So he fled to Chicago. Never to be seen again.

My grandma died, and I was deemed homeless. I went to her funeral and saw her in the casket and then was forced to leave because I couldn’t afford the fancy funeral clothes. I am gay and transgender, and that’s not allowed in the church. To this day, my family will not tell me where she is buried.

I have not seen or heard from the child I helped raise in 8 years. I didn’t receive one hug during COVID. I just had Jesus and my bunny. I graduated from a Christian college, but because I was queer and trans, I was not allowed to graduate.

Just last week, I was raped analy by a man I once loved. You don’t know me. You don’t!

The home I have now is safe. I can sleep at night. I have insurance and income. I may not have a family, but I have an Aunt, Sue, and the ECV family, who have changed my life and love me without judgment or question.

I’m in graduate school on scholarships, studying to be a pastor. I don’t have Thanksgiving with a family. I have not had a Christmas since I was 17. I’m 33. I celebrate Kwanzaa by myself. I hold back tears and cry on my pillow. My apartment may not be your house, I may not have a husband or kids. But I have my sanity. I have Jesus. I have a family. I have my aunty Sue! I am God’s beloved.

I will own a house. I will have my 3 daughters. I will find the man of my dreams. I will pastor a church. I will start scholarships. I will be a philanthropist while graduating with a Ph.D. I will have a backyard for my bunny to play in. I will not kill myself!

I will preach the Gospel all over the world and travel to countries. My latter days will be better than my former days.

You can look down on me now, but soon you’ll be looking up!

Peace Out,

Xih-Zih