When I was young, I dreamed of living a fabulous life of riches and luxury, fame and fortune. In the past few years, there have been some points where it seemed like, in some way, that might actually happen. During my last year of university, I received international media attention for my historic homecoming win (I was the first openly trans homecoming queen at my college) and, as a result, was contacted by a casting director at MTV about participating in some “True Life” thing or something. That was exciting, but even my fifteen minutes of viral fame didn’t turn into reality TV infamy, I had big plans to move to Chicago with my BFF Daye, which was just as exciting.

I was about to graduate and there seemed to be so many possibilities for where I would end up — all equally fab. Would I become the first transgender MTV reality starlet? Would I end up a fierce career queer in Chi-Town? Could I possibly begin actively transitioning, something I was starting to seriously consider at the time? I didn’t know for sure, but I was certain that I was on the verge of living the fabulous, Sex-and-the-City style life I’ve always dreamed of.

Then things fell apart.

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