Jardín de las Mariposas, LGBTQ+ Migrant Shelter

Tijuana, Mexico

I had a dream when I was very little. I was going to leave this place and become who I was meant to be: a trans woman. 

Unfortunately, life has presented me with many obstacles that have not been easy.  At the age of 15, I was initiated into consuming drugs by some bad people in my community. I was hooked on drugs for over 12 years and was forced into survival sex work and was prostituted in horrible places by horrible people. I worked for people I shouldn’t have worked for and was obligated to do things I didn’t want to do. In some cases, I had to have sex with groups of people for as little as 50 or 100 pesos ($2-5 USD). Just enough to pay for the drugs I was forced to consume. This cycle continued for years. They never respected me and never saw me as a woman of value. They just saw me as something disposable. These years were very hard for me. Very hard. 

My family tried to help, and I was sent to a rehabilitation center 7 times. This experience was very difficult for me since I had grown dependent on the drugs, and I was forced to pause my transition or detransition all together. They would force me to cut my long hair, which was beautiful. When they assassinated the man I was working for, I liberated myself from his grasp. I finally felt like I could live life for myself. But the past has an interesting way of following you, and it followed me for working with that man. When another person took his place, I felt like I was bound by chains that I couldn’t escape. When I protested that I didn’t want to work for him, that is when they sent me to die. They kidnapped me and called a hit-man. I was assaulted, tortured, and left for dead on the side of a road. I woke up and escaped. This time in my life was very hard. I saw how some of my friends were murdered right in front of me, I saw how they would initiate younger pretty girls into drugs and sex work…it was very hard for me. After the attempt on my life, I stayed with family in a different place. I had to stop my transition once again and focus on healing from the injuries they caused on me. I couldn’t report what happened. The men were connected to the cartels, and mentioning what had happened to anyone could’ve gotten my family and I killed. There is no record of what happened, except the photos my family took of me in the days following the attempt to take my life. 

I have been waiting to cross to the United States for seven months and have been receiving assistance from the shelter Jardín de las Mariposas now for almost a week. It has been exciting knowing that I will be crossing the border soon but I can’t help but be afraid. I am afraid of going somewhere I don’t know. Everyone tells me that the United States will be better for me, that I will live a happier life, but I am afraid to encounter people that will repeat the harm that I have already survived. There is a lot of insecurity. I know that if I cross, I won’t be able to come back to Mexico. I am afraid of being deported and being forced to stay in Mexico and am afraid that if anything happens to my family, I won’t be able to see them. I am afraid to arrive in California and the family I have there, close their doors on me. I ask myself: What will I do? How will I do it?

The excitement to cross is there. The excitement to be able to complete my transition, I feel it strongly, but I am going to be practically alone. I'm insecure of being able to continue my transition and my healing process alone. I am trying to gather the strength and courage to be able to do this alone, and not fall into dark places again. I know that I am not the only one experiencing this. There are a lot of trans girls who have experienced something similar and have been able to cross and continue their transition. They haven't given up and fallen into dark places. They have learned from their past and have developed the courage to survive, and I have to do the same. I have a friend who lives in San Diego. She is a trans woman. She was actually the first trans woman who left the small town where I am from. She migrated to the United States to complete her transition when she was only 16-year-old. She is now 48 years old. She has been my biggest motivation. It is because of her and her guidance that I began to medically transition. She has told me that the journey to the United States is not easy. I know my journey hasn’t been easy. But it won’t be impossible. Regardless, I have to survive.

 When I tell my family that I am going to cross and seek asylum in the US, they ask why I am doing it and doubt that I will be able to do it. But I am searching for the strength within me to do it. I hope that the people in the US are more accepting. I know that there is still violence against trans women all over the world but I am hoping it is better than here. Once I cross, I will be going to Long Beach with my brother and his family. He is undocumented and things aren’t easy for him, but his family and him make do. I know I won’t be alone in that aspect but they won't understand all parts of me and I know I can’t stay there forever. I want to take advantage of this opportunity to study while I am in the United States, find work, and complete my transition. 

I know my entire life won’t be in the United States. I do dream of coming back to Mexico and being able to buy a house and live peacefully and with security. The people I surrounded myself with in the past aren’t going to live forever. In the end, they end up in bad situations. I don’t wish them any violence, I just hope god can forgive them. I get sad thinking of the people I am leaving behind, my mother, my grandmother, and my grandpa who helped raise me. I got a call last night that he is in a diabetic coma in Sinaloa, and I feel so helpless and ashamed that I am here now and about to cross to the United States. I know that I won’t be able to say goodbye to him. One of the last things he told me when he was beginning to get sick was to be strong, not forget about him, and to send him a bouquet of flowers the day he passes. It hurts to still be in Mexico and not be able to see him because of the threats on my life if I go back. You know what they say-small town, big hell. I have had to lie to people and make them believe that I have been in the United States for over a year, but really I have been hiding here in Tijuana. It is painful to live a lie. My entire life here is a lie. A giant lie. I have high expectations for the United States. Everything is in God’s hands now.