It’s a rusty needle that pierces every pore of your body, makes you hate your own fucking cells, chromosomes, DNA, your brain. It’s an ache that’ll never completely leave, I can rub it out with hormones and Tyenol, change my identity until nothing old remains but my genitals, but I can’t get reborn.
I can never give a woman a baby. I can never fit in truly with men. I can never know what it’s like to wake up with morning wood and chuckle. I’m separate, physically, a confused alien mutilating its flesh for peace. I am devil-wrecked blip of confusion and it’s too fucking much.
I don’t understand my brain half the time. Up and down but constantly separate from society. Laugh at myself from afar. This isn’t me, it’s a blank stare out of a speckled skeleton. Let me go, it’s not me, inside I’m a ruckusing rowdy testosterone-fueled teenage boy, not this strange quiet ugly thing who answers readily to Matt at school and achingly to Madeleine at home. I’m in a girl body. I’m a teenage guy in a girl’s body and no one really knows. It’s too depressing to hang out with guys, most would never take me for more than a wannabee lesbian. Girls at least matronize you, nurture you like their twisted little boy, and there’s comfort there.
I seriously want to die. There’s thirty months until I’m an adult and have medical jurisdiction over what hormones are in my body. That means thirty more periods, thirty more months of boob growing and hip widening and anger and fear and an empty space between your legs that makes you break down in public. All I can do is stare at the males in my school like a fucking freak and dream of another body haha. There’s nothing for me here. Nothing. I have no right to complain. I’m tolerated. I’m not hungry. I’m not dirty. I’m not cold. I’m not sick. I’m not unloved. All my problems come from within and I want to implode like a pathetic dwarf star. Help me goddamnit it’s too long to wait for testosterone so that I can look like a weirdly boned underjawed speckled little bearded woman. I can’t live for others. I can’t live for myself. I can’t live at all.
5 comments
Why do you have to wait for hormone treatment?
Parents believe it’s an attention seeking phase lol. No I’d certainly have to wait until eighteen. I just feel like I’m wasting away in the meantime with no life and no true understanding. Typical teen angst.
No, I would say this is a little more than typical teen angst if you are a man residing in a women’s body. Yeah, I would definitely say that is in no way run of the mill.
Have you networked with any LBGT groups in your city? It helps to not feel alone. There are a number of trans people here at SP.
Glad to see you’re still alive. Sorry that you’re still around, so it wasn’t just a phase. To live on, you can’t never be what you want to be; a travesty of a man at best. To end it all, you won’t have another chance to live. I understand it all. In the end, lingering on like a ghost, neither man nor woman.
A book I read had a quote that really stuck with me. I don’t recall it verbatim, but it went along the lines of “a person would rather die than live as something they are not.” I don’t think that’s something very many people ‘get’, and you’ve got plenty right to complain. Hazy has good advice about looking into any LGBT groups. Good luck, Matt.