I hated girls' clothing, even in preschool.
I dreamed of being a basketball player when I grew up, and all of my friends were boys.
Every time I blew out my birthday candles, I wished I could be like them.
First grade brought me my first crushon a girl.
The thought of liking boys was gross to me; they were my friends, but nothing more.
Middle school brought more unwelcome changes.
I’d wake up in the morning and my body didn’t match what was in my head.
I wore multiple t-shirts to hide my chest.
I kept my hair short, dressed in boys' clothes, and got really into skateboarding.
Most strangers mistook me for a boy.
But my classmates knew the difference.
It was the scariest thing that had ever happened to me at the time.
When I told my mom, she congratulated me on becoming a woman.
I never told my parents about any of the feelings I was having.
Even when I went to therapy, I lied about my thoughts.
I still didn’t really have the words for what I was going through anyway.
My grades dropped, and by 12 I had started smoking cigarettes and pot and drinking.
I was deeply depressed and didn’t want to do anything good for myself.
My only saving grace was music.
I’d been playing piano and drums for a while, and was learning the guitar.
I hoped when people finally did listen to my music, that they’d pick up on my struggle.
My songs were really cries for help.
At 14my lowest pointI tried to take my own life.
The next morning when I woke up, I saw how upset my parents were.
I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t know how.
I said I was gay, but that still didn’t feel right.
I eventually explained that I just felt like a boy.
Once he heard that, everything clicked for him; the ways I’d acted growing up made sense.
Since I told them the truth, my family has been completely supportive.
Music was there for me, too.
I was so nervous, but it was the start of something amazing.
When I performed, I was taken into a different world.
It took me out of reality for a bit, and I knew I couldn’t lose that.
I entered as Ari, not Ariana, and I requested masculine pronouns.
I got a girlfriend my freshman year, and the boys instantly labeled me an enemy.
I got top surgery that summer, too.
I was concerned the hormones might ruin my singing voice, my huge range.
But I was willing to lose even that to be a man.
I did lose my upper range once my voice dropped, but I gained a lower singing voice.
I wanted to make myself stronger and bigger and learn to defend myself.
It’s still an incredible outlet for me today.
It helps me let go of anger and it’s a huge adrenaline rush.
In a way, it’s a lot like performing.
You get in this zone, where nothing else matters.
When I box, I feel strong and masculine.
I started college a year ago, and most people don’t know about my past.
Even the ones who do are very accepting and almost fascinated by it.
I started a fraternity chapter at my school, and eventually had to come out to my brothers.
It’s similar with women I go out with.
But having to wait has taught me so much about how good relationships can be without sex.
It’s often unsuccessful, and I could end up with permanent nerve damage down there.
I have a prosthesis that I wear with medical adhesive when I go out.
My guy friends get freaked out by how real it looks.
The changes I’ve made to my body have given me so much confidence.
Now I tour the country and perform in front of thousands of people.
I used to slouch and avoid the crowd when I first started singing in public.
Now I can’t wait to get on stage.
My music and my looks have changed, but the passion hasn’t.
And that’s the best feeling: Knowing my music might help heal someone else.
Photo Credit: Top: Robbie Michaels.
All other photos courtesy of Ari Zizzo
