My name is Natasha Ferris. I am Adam Ferris’ biological sister. I, too, am gay. Also trangender. I find this odd. Always have. However I love how none of these stories or articles mention one thing about me. Or who I was, or what part I played in Adam’s life. I think that people forget that Adam and I have struggled since day one.
Yes, we may have a supportive family on my dad’s part. Adam did struggle alone. How do I know this? Because I do. I’ve struggled alone since the day I went to camp and my whole adopted family on my mother’s side straight told me that I am not their daughter, cousin, grandaughter, niece or aunt anymore. When I came out my mother disowned me for being homosexual.
And later, she did the same to my brother, Adam. As kids we were hurt and confused. My brother Adam suffered through anger seizures and ADHD and had to take heavy medications for it. My dad did his best and when he remarried to my step-mom who had her own children.
This became even more of a struggle for Adam since he was considered the “runt” in the family. He was picked on a lot by the family, which made him crawl into his purgatory and learn to be by himself. That’s where he felt safe and free.
I may have not been there a lot as I got older. I just ran away. We never felt that we fit in. How could we? My dad loved his wife, and his wife loved her kids. It was like being put on the back burner.
Yeah, we may have had support, but did we have the love? Did we ever have that love a mother gives her child or father? I know it’s hard for me to sit here and read this stuff knowing the truth.
Where am I? Not with them. Adam used to tell me me, “Tasha, you know I got the worst of it all.” It would hurt me because I knew he was right. He moved back to our adopted mother’s for a reason. But no, of course no one will mention these things. Or when I needed a place to go, and I asked my step brother, Don, and got denied, so I stayed homeless. I’ve stayed homeless now for a long time.
I had a wife, and she passed. Not one of them supported me with her death except Adam, who was always worried about me, who always wanted to come live with me, who always wanted to be with me, talk to me. I was his world.
On his Facebook I’d get tags always about how much he missed his sister. Or how much he wanted to see his sister. Or even one time he was so hurt by my lack of attention he even wrote mean things saying that I didn’t love him and that I am not there for him, that I was a liar and that I am just like our real mom. Now tell me that is not a sample of crying for help and attention. Some support.
Being the black sheep is not support. Why couldn’t my family help him get a car like they did for my step mother’s kids? Yup yup—this might make some people mad. But the truth hurts. At least I can take responsibility for my s****. My guilt is on my heart. And I’m a f*****-up person. But I loved Adam. He was mine.