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.