I hate telling people I chose my name as they don’t see me as just my name but someone who “prefers” to be called my name. It’s either that or them assuming my parents chose my name, which they did not. My parents chose a fake ooga booga mockery of an “African” name that was so bad it could have worked as a racial or ethnic slur. I hated that crap. I avoided making friends to just not be called that shit. I’ve picked fights with well-meaning people for calling that shit “pretty”. I’d rather die than be called that shit. I ditched all my high school and college friends including some I was very close to because I knew they would continue to call me that shit. When I had jobs before the name change, I never stayed in touch with any friends I made there either.

I felt like a lot of weight was removed from my shoulders when I finally changed my name to an actual real normal common human name. I no longer felt like I was stuck in someone else’s body with no way out so I can live as me. I finally got to just be me. However, living with family who knew I hated that ugly birth name my whole life is just a life not worth living. They still call me that ugly shit and find it funny that I still hate it today. It’s funny when my name or a fake name is on a package. I’m only supposed to be that ugly shit. They claim to love me but they’ll never just call me my name which literally saved me from attempting suicide.

At this point we should have euthanasia as an option for children who hate their names, so their families and anyone they knew wouldn’t need to call them anything else.