I don’t have a name yet.  For the one assigned to me at birth, much like my genitals, doesn’t fully describe who I am. So for now, I am nameless.

I would like to think that for a long time, I have known that I didn’t fit into either binary gender. But that is a lie. I complied to what was taught to me. I happily played with Barbie dolls and played dress up. I was taught expressive qualities as opposed to instrumental ones. The preschool playground and middle school hallways taught me that I needed to fit the plastic mold of “female” in order to be desirable.

I wish I could look back and see that my whole life was a lie. I wish I could see that I was just wearing a veil to cover the true boy inside me, like most stereotypical trans narratives go. It wasn’t until about a year ago that I started questioning my gender. We should question most everything we think we know, and after some thought, I questioned one of the most fundamental things about myself.

The research and terms were overwhelming. There seemed to be so many labels, but none of them were true to me. I wanted a label that I could proclaim loudly. Something I could shout to the world and be proud of it.

It was distressing to me that I couldn’t find a word I felt comfortable in. It was like I was floating aimlessly in space. I was lost and abandoned without a tether. I was alive but not thriving. I just needed something to pull me in.

That’s when I went to 7Cups, this online therapy site that trains people to be listeners. This wonderful listener recommended a YouTuber by the name of Ash Hardell, who created a series called “The ABC’s of LGBT.” It goes over different terms and has different people explaining how their term relates to them. That’s when I found androgynous.

Androgynous was my tether. With it, I had something to proclaim. I had a label. I had me. This word, this wonderful 11-letter word gave me this powerful feeling of purpose.

That’s not to say that I got on my queer soapbox and corrected every single waiter and retail employee that I am not a “Miss” or a “Sir.” It’s been almost a year and I still can’t gather up the courage to tell people my preferred pronouns.

Somedays I really wish I were a boy. I even have a chest binder, and on a few times when I am alone, I shoved some socks into my pants to look like I had a package. And that was the most euphoric thing. When I turned to the side in the mirror, I saw me. I saw the real me. The person who could possibly pass for a guy by a old person with no glasses, but still, it was something.

When I shoved the socks into my pants, it was the same experience. I looked down and it was like “Yes, this is it. I could do this every day.” But that would be extremely weird for people who have known me for 12 years.

That’s why I am excited for college. It will be this time where I can reinvent myself. To new people, I can be this person with this fantastic new name and an androgynous appearance to match. It will be a fresh start.

I know I will never be able to tell my parents about this. They barely grasp the concept of binary trans people, so how am I supposed to explain to them this whole other category of people? And it sucks not being able to explain it to people who are supposed to support me through everything.

Telling people your sexuality is one challenge—telling people your gender is a completely other one. The idea of being non-binary is a very difficult concept to grasp, not because people are dense or anything, but because we have lived in this binary society for so long, that for someone to say that they feel they are outside the binary, in the minds of most Americans, is impossible. It’s our culture.

But culture changes over time. In the 20’s, we were all dancing the Charleston and attending speakeasies. In the 50’s, women were the homemakers and teens were going to the sockhop. Now we are living in a time where women are encouraged to go into STEM fields and adolescents are dabbing the night away.

Hopefully, one day, our society will develop enough to demolish the gender binary. I want to live in a society where when you introduce yourself, you state your PGP’s (Preferred Gender Pronouns) and no one cares too much about your assigned sex. I want to live in a world where people—including myself—can be proud of my gender. Not hide it away.

I am stuck in the gender closet. I am hiding away, hugging my label as tight as I can like a kid’s much-loved teddy bear. There is this overwhelming fear of dread of ever touching the doorknob. I know that peaking out of the closet can be dangerous. I know that if I make myself known that I could face intense ridicule and judgement. This door will forever remain locked. I will sit in silence behind the door, hoping that no one who walks by will ever notice me.

One day, I want to be able to touch the knob, to undo the lock with enough confidence to know that if I do come out, there will be people waiting for me not with shotguns, but with open arms waiting to hug me.

But for now, it sit in the dark with an understanding of who I am, and I guess that’s all that matters. I am not blue. I am not pink. I am purple.