[dropcap]A[/dropcap]idden Alexander is your average teenager, but the only thing that sets him apart is that he has over 84,000 followers online. Through social media, Aidden has used his platform to talk about being transgender and his experiences. From his posts, he seems like a very positive and cheerful person but his life wasn’t always as happy as it is now. Everyday is still a struggle for Aidden.
Who are you and what’s your story?
I am Aidden Alexander Gray Johnson. Some may still call me Annia Johnson, although I am no longer Annia. I am Aidden. My story? Well, it started as far back as second grade. I remember wearing boys clothing, playing with the boys, and actually being many girls “boyfriend” instead of being the girlfriend of a boy. I remember always playing the male roles in any games with my friends that were girls. I was so happy people called me a boy and the most satisfying thing was that had no boobs. I didn’t have to worry about looking like the guys. My chest was just as flat as theirs and I couldn’t have been any happier with my life. Until 5th grade came by and that’s when I began growing boobs. You see every other girl was happy to be able to finally wear a training bra… but I was not. It would finally show that I was a gender I did not see myself as. I grew depressed over the years because as each year went by the boys got more masculine and the girls..well, they got more feminine. Then there I was, the “girl that dresses like a boy, acts like a boy, probably doesn’t even know she’s not a boy.” I remember my 7th-grade year all my popular friends including me were just eating at lunch. We started talking about sexuality and at the time nobody accepted lesbians or gays, I was afraid to come out, but I knew I would have to sooner or later. So when the question finally got passed to me, “Taco, do you like guys?” My heart started pounding. I honestly thought I was going to throw up. I took a deep breath and I said, “no, I like girls. It’s always been that way and I know you guys have whispered about me being different. This is just how I am, I’m sorry.” That day I lost all of my friends. I had no one to talk to for the next 4 months then all of a sudden everyone became my friend again. But enough of that. I’ll try to cut this short.
How did I know I was trans? I grew up with two extremely different parents. My dad was all of my negativity and my mom was all of my positivity.
Anytime I went to my dad’s house he would mentally abuse me. Saying stuff like, “fix your hair, it’s ugly” “you look like a damn dyke,” “this is why boys don’t think you’re cute, you look just like them.” Many of you don’t know, but I used to live my life trying my hardest to be accepted by my father. It started with sports; I loved basketball and track. My mom always kept me motivated and happy to do those sports, but then my dad always had to make sure to make me feel bad. Too bad he’s not in my life anymore. Basically, my mom and dad have been in custody battles my entire life.
In 2nd grade, my dad came to my elementary school and told me, “Annia’s dad is going to take you from mom.” Immediately tears ran down my face; I went back into class and grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut myself twice. Depression started in 2nd grade for me. I would blame myself for my mom and dad always arguing over the phone. It was me; I was the cause of their arguments. I wanted nothing but happiness for both of my parents. I just wanted them to get along. I would write to myself, “if you were dead they would stop arguing. It’s your fault they are arguing.” Mom always made sure I was okay as much as she could, but she never had a father like mine. She didn’t understand what I was going through. My entire life I would live trying to be wanted by my dad. As a little kid, he would tell me, “that’s not good enough,” “you suck,” “stop playing sports, you aren’t good.” Track became my heart, but it turned into trying to be accepted by my dad. I had got many gold medals, even became a regional champion in six different states. When I became a regional champion he finally looked at me.
I finally felt wanted; little did I know though, it was only for show in front of people. As soon as we were behind closed doors he would still bash me with negativity.
Once again I was that kid that just wasn’t good enough. Track turned into the sport I did to feel wanted by my dad again; that’s why I ran so hard. I would tell myself, “if you don’t get first, dad won’t notice you.” Fast forward into 5th grade, my dad attained custody of me and I was taken away from my mom. Let me tell you about my mother. She’s a single mom, she sacrifices EVERYTHING for me. That woman, that I am so blessed to call my mom, would sacrifice breakfast, lunch, dinner, even clothes to make sure I got what I wanted or needed. She gave up her home, lost half of anything in our house so she could pay for an attorney to get me back. My mom may get on my nerves sometimes, but nobody will ever take her place. When my dad got custody of me, my mom and I both went into depression.
My dad’s house was truly hell. That is when I finally met who he and his new wife really were. They would starve me, hit me with 3-inch thick wood, and then throw the Bible in there to make it seem like all that they were doing was the works of God. I lost my connection with God due to them, but I have it back now. My mom would call the home phone asking to speak to me and she would say, “Annia’s not available right now.” They kept me away from my mom as much as they could. I would pray to God every night for Him to watch over my mom, and to bring me back to her.
I almost failed 5th grade. If it wasn’t for my mom helping me redo assignments and make up work with her every other weekend I would have failed. Oh, and my stepmom was a teacher, but she just wouldn’t help me though. I would go to school so hungry or weak that I would ask my teacher Mr. Miller for food. (May I remind you, my dad lives in a two story house, goes to church every Sunday, and has two cars.) My teacher would let me go see the school counselor, and I would talk to her. She would let me call my mom and get to talk to her. My counselor always said that was the only time I would smile is when I got to hear my mom’s voice. It was the only time I felt…safe. I would be so hungry and weak that my counselor would make sure she brought me snacks, and it was sad because I would devour those snacks so quickly. I knew how to hide my pain and seem as if I was a happy kid once I left my counselor’s office. But Mr. Miller could always see the pain in my eyes. He actually talked to my counselor and got her to call child’s services to come to my father’s home to see if they were doing anything wrong. I felt safe for only 20 minutes when that woman came. She didn’t rescue me from the hell I was in; she interviewed them, but they smiled in her face and lied and made it seem like it was just a plan for my mom to get me back. As soon as that child’s services woman left. My dad grabbed “Henry” (yes they named that 3-inch wood that they hit me with) and beat the hell out of me with it. I screamed and tears rolling down my face. Then they made me get on the wall.
The wall is when they would make me do wall sits for an hour. If you tried to get a break or anything, dad would whip you with his belt, and make you sit down even lower. It was painful as hell and while we were doing wall sits, she would grab the bible and read the verses about striking with the rod. They turned me away from God; I truly didn’t think God loved me, how could he let all of this happen to me and then let them abuse me and speak his word to me as it was happening. I just didn’t understand, I couldn’t comprehend it at all. After that child’s services woman came, they wrote a letter saying I was lying about them abusing me and I had to sign my signature on it. If I “tried to pull another stunt like that again,” I’d get it ten times worse. So I went to school and looked Mr. Miller in his eyes, tears running down my face and said, “I lied about my parents hitting me.” But he knew I was forced to say it.
As the weeks went by, my skin got darker and darker but it wasn’t a healthy dark. It was fall, I wasn’t tanning. My clothes got baggier, I would pass out at the most random times. I wasn’t the athlete I used to be before I went to live with my dad. It got so bad that even my track coach noticed I was getting skinny and looking very dull.
My coach doesn’t really notice stuff like that. He told my mom and she just cried. Each time I got to spend the weekend with my mom though, I cherished each second, minute, hour because I knew the happiness would fade by 7 p.m. each Sunday night. Each time she drove me back to dad’s house I would break down and cry. Tears rushing down her face she would tell me, “mommy’s going to get you back baby just be strong like you’ve been doing. You’re stronger than me and you don’t even know it Annia. I promise I’m going to get you back.” She would let me sit in the car and dry my tears up so I would look like I seemed fine. Then it would be back to small portions of food for the next two weeks again. Oh and while I was living with my dad, my mom was the one that bought my uniforms, socks, shoes, underwear. My dad bought me two uniforms, which where two one piece dresses. (I never wore them until he threatened no visitation with my mom) so I wore one uniform dress that day. I would actually have to do chores to get some underwear or deodorant. That was the only way. Mom would buy me my all that stuff, once I told her that. Fast forward a couple more months, I guess my face started changing. Because my dad told me “You’re starting to look like your mom.” I knew I was in trouble then.
It was time for my mom’s visitation weekend but she couldn’t pick me up from school, so my dad had to take me to my aunt’s house (my mom’s close friend Karen). I had got the courage to tell dad, “I want to live with my mom.” Right after I said that, he back hand slapped me with this thick ring on his hand. As we were driving to Aunt Karen’s house, he told me I better not tell on him for hitting me, but I told her. She called mom and mom tried to get a restraining order but we couldn’t get one because I was in my dad’s custody. Two or three weeks later, dad put my mom in jail for being late on child support. I was basically taken care of by her just living in my dad’s house.
He set her up and told her, “I’ll meet you at the McDonald’s to get Annia.” Of course she went to the McDonald’s and then the police took her and kept her for the weekend (due to it being a holiday weekend). That was also her visitation weekend. Mom never missed out of getting me. I kept asking dad, “where’s mom?” “Mom doesn’t miss trying to see me,” “Where is my mom?” He would just say “she’s at work,” “she’s busy this weekend.” Once she got out, I got to see her on our next visitation weekend and she told me what dad did. I couldn’t let dad know I knew what he did or I wouldn’t be able to see mom the next visitation weekend.
Fast forward though, my mom won custody of me again; I got to leave and she worked on trying to get my body healthy again. It took a while for me to get back to eating bigger portions because my stomach was used to eating small amounts it actually hurt to eat big amounts. I actually went back to see him every other weekend. I did it because I had faith that he would change and be the dad I once knew as a toddler when we would play PS2 together. Years later, he started seeming more like a nice guy, so I gave him more chances. Even though each weekend he would talk about my mom or I dressing like a boy, I would ignore it and still put up with him. But being 16, I finally had to let go of putting up with my dad. I couldn’t take his abuse any longer. No I’m not weak, I was just strong enough to find a way out. After that night when the police came, I got an order of protection against him. August 18th, I got my justice against my dad.
When did you begin to transition?
I began transitioning physically in September of 2016.
Was your family supportive?
My mom is supportive but my dad still isn’t at all, what so ever. Both my parents grew up with a strong Christian background. It’s just that my mom has a brother that’s gay so she’s more understanding than my dad.
Is it harder being black and apart of the LGBT+ community?
Yes. It’s already hard being a black straight woman in America, then transitioning into a black male? It’s like asking for a death wish almost. So many black males are killed in this country by police with no justice being served that I’m now scared of police officers and both my mom and dad used to be cops. I face more challenges than just being Black. I’m also Hispanic and Native American. So I’m just a bundle of minority races all in one you could say. I see the inequality just by the color of someone’s skin, race, and culture. It’s sickening we can’t just all get along and actually truly stand by the pledge we have to say everyday in school. It’s funny America is “The United States of America,” yet we are so divided that it’s not even funny.
Lowest moment in your life?
The lowest moment in my life would have to be the day my dad started to abuse me.
Advice for any transgender black people?
DO NOT I repeat DO NOT come out to your parents if you know their views on LGBT are not positive.
I have many people look up to me and come out to their parents/ legal guardians just to tell me that they are going through pure hell now because their parents/legal guardians do not accept that LGBT lifestyle. I would say come out when you can mentally and physically stay strong against the hate. Trust me you will get extreme hate all because you love the same sex, or because you are Trans.
What do you hope to do with your platform?
I’m not so sure hope is the word for me. I AM going to give people a voice. I AM going to try my hardest to keep my LGBT community strong, especially now that our vice president-elect doesn’t like LGBT at all. I just want to show my community that it is okay to be different. It’s okay to love the same sex. It’s okay to be YOU. It’s okay to be Transgender. It’s not a problem not fitting society’s normality. I’ve been called an “it” as if I’m not a human being many times because I’m transgender.
I get death threats, hate mail, hate accounts, you name it. But look, I’m still here.
When you finally accept yourself for who you are, it’s the greatest thing ever. You don’t care what others think of you and you start doing what makes you happy. I want others to finally feel like that because of me.
Not only just LGBT but straight people also. What I want to do with my platform is more than just my community. I want to help the world little by little. Later on in 2017, I will be starting a campaign to help abuse victims because I was once a victim and now I am a victor. It’s hard for many to get out of abuse and I want to help as much as I can. I just love helping people. Bringing positivity and once again showing people that no matter what you’ve gone through you can get up and be happy again; trust me, I would know. I’m a seventeen year old transgender boy that has gone through hell and back but I’m still here, still fighting for myself and many others. My platform now is based on helping people have self-love for themselves. Each and every person in this world has a purpose and is worth more than money can buy. I help them finally see that.
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