I hate this. I hate how I’m feeling every second of every day. The way I exist makes me not want to be in this world. I didn’t ask to be born with an uterus. Its mere existence grosses me out and I just want to dig my fingers into that womb, that womb of a stranger, because it’s not mine. And rip it out. Give it to someone who wants it. Someone who’s supposed to have this organ inside themselves. Womb. That word is disgusting to me— it fits. And the fact that it is functioning kills me. I don’t use tampons or pads. I don’t buy them, nor do I use them. It’s humiliating to use products that are made for women. Stuffing toilet paper into my underwear, praying the blood won’t stain it. My manhood is at its lowest, and I just break down in tears thinking about my body.
This organ is constantly pumping poison through my whole body, making it appear ridiculously deformed. Lumps of fat gathering in places I simply want to cut off. They’re not part of my body. They make me an obscenity, a freak show on two legs. I have body parts that I shouldn’t have while another one is missing entirely. Wearing a prothesis to soothe the emptiness. I can walk around, knowing that I have a bulge like every other guy, but mine isn’t connected to my body, it is limp and that is how it remains. My bulge is different from theirs. It’s just a bulge, not an organ.
I look into the mirror and I recognize my face, but everything under my chin is a disaster. A creature build together like Frankensteins monsters out of different beings, Wildly sewn together without any plan. Just to create. And to make sure this brute won’t ever be able to call for help, to get the elixir it needs to cure the obscenity of its own body, it’s given a high pitched, silly voice.
I’m the cursed monstrosity.
In my dreams I’m the man I should be. The man I should’ve always been. I’m living a normal life hanging out with friends, standing in front of the mirror to shave my beard. I go to the beach, letting the warmth of the sun on my bare chest. And I’m so, so happy! But then I wake up. My face is soft. My chest deformed. And genitals of a female.
Before I was even born my body was stolen from me.
And now my whole life depends on one therapist and his yes.
My hormones are killing me and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to survive anymore.
And the worst is,
This is a good day. You haven’t seen me at my worst.