I stormed out of the doctor's office. They really told me the worst news of my life and tried to play down the seriousness of my condition.
"Life goes on."
"It could have been worse!"
"Just wait a few more years for better medications."
"At least you're alive!"
"Maybe it's a sign?"
A sign? A SIGN?! Fucking bigots and bloody hypocrites, all of them. They say that they want to help me but laugh behind my back. You really think these stares are subtle? Bullshit. Why even work at a place specialized for people like me and treat them like this? Or is it just me? Am I the problem? Am I this hateable? Why though? What have I done to deserve this?
Outside the building, I am confronted with even more judging faces. I can feel all of their eyes boring into me.
"I know I am ugly!" I yell at them and turn tail, afraid of what they might say. "I'm nothing but a coward," I whisper and try to hold back the tears.
I crawled deeper into my hoodie and try to keep my patheticness to myself. Not that you really have to pay much attention to notice it. I put my noise-canceling headphones on to block out the world, at least a little bit. I play my HappyHappy-Playlist to lift my spirits. For me, music has always been something that could strongly influence my emotions, both positive and negative. But even if it was negative, it still distracts me from my own problems happing in this shitty world. That world, which tried with all its might to erase me from its face. That world that gave me a diagnosis that said my HRT was killing me and that I would be denied further medication. Meaning: the health insurance does not take over the costs anymore; I would have to buy the meds myself...if I only had the money.
Last year the doctor said that the test results were only an anomaly.
Just to be safe, the dose got reduced. No problem with that; even small progress is still progress. At least, this was what I thought. But no changes happened anymore. The doctor, a self-proclaimed expert in his field, didn't know why. What he knew was that the hormones were killing me. He never had seen anything like this in his whole carrier. After he said he wouldn't authorize new prescriptions, my brain shut down. I didn't even bother to listen anymore.
Long story short, here I am. Broken, lonely, inside an overcrowded train with my old friend—an everlasting death wish. Dunno why people tend to forget the reasons why I started the therapy. It was either admitting what I'm or die. Only took more than twenty-two years and two suicide attempts to realize what I suppressed all the time. For a short while, I was truly happy. But reality collapsed on me like a house of cards. Those whom I thought were my family and friends abandoned, shunned, and avoided me.
My father, who lured me into debt, a.k.a student loans, by emotionally blackmailing me, used this opportunity to get his religious ass out of the deal. He said that he would pay the loan back for me if I would prove that I could become a functional man in society. In truth, he wanted to keep the money for himself and never intended to pay it back. Naive as I was, I believed him because he works as a judge and thought he would act as justly. I should not have ignored my mother's warnings when she left him. I was foolish enough to believe that his story of their breakup was true. The fact that he cheated on my mother almost yearly during their marriage was utterly absurd to me. Not a judge, not someone who puts law and morals above their own interests.
The way he had portrayed it, she was the bad one in their marriage—committing adultery all the time. What he actually did was to project his misdeeds onto her. After I came out, his first reaction was that I had to change my therapist because she would only put bullshit into my head. His attempts to dissuade me from these thoughts and the way how he treated me less and less like his child and more like a psychiatric case opened my eyes. When I finally realized what kind of person he really was, it was unfortunately already too late.
How I wish I had gone with my mother after she left. How I wish I hadn't avoided her all these years. But I cannot change the past. A few weeks after I told her I'm a girl, she was run over by a truck that wasn't paying attention to the red light. No funeral was held; she didn't want one.
The electronic voice of the train announced my station. I got off and switched to the tram that would finally take me home. Home, huh? Nobody was waiting for me there. Before I came out, I owned two sweet kittens, Foxy and Snowpaw. But as usual, life wanted to show me that it hates me. When my roommate of the apartment where I lived before found out I was trans, he let my cats out. We lived next to a highway. One evening I came home and found my cats dead on the roadside. The reason why he did this? Hate...he just said that it must have been a sign from god. Two days later, I tried to kill myself—I failed miserably. They were the reason why I was looking forward to being home. Without them, there was no home, only an empty grayness.
After arriving at the old industrialized apartment block, I opened my mailbox; my package was accepted by the neighbors...great. I unlocked the building's front door, went into the second floor, and knocked at my neighbor's door. After a moment, an old couple opened the door.
"Yes?" they asked.
"Um, yes, you accepted something for Burg?"
"Ah yes, a moment, please," the man went into the kitchen and came back with my order.
"For...Miss Burg?" he asked questioningly.
"Yes, for Miss Burg."
"You ain't a missy," said the old lady.
"Pardon? Isn't this my choice what I am?" I said snippy and took my package.
The lady, now bitch, answered, "Maybe remove the hoodie so we can see what you are."
Perplexed, I looked at them. Who are they to tell me that I have to prove what I am by showing myself? They are like my fucking stepmother, who said women are only defined by what they wear. Women in suits are not women. And you must always love pink. You don't like it? Then you're not women. Me? NOT. A. WOMAN.
I ignored them and rushed up to the door of my rental apartment. A narrow hallway, kitchen, bathroom, and small bedroom—that was all that awaited me behind. I felt sick to my stomach. Hastily, I went into my 'home,' slammed the door behind me, and hurried to the bathroom.
I threw up in the toilet. After making sure my body didn't want to get rid of anything else, I rinsed my mouth with water from the faucet and washed my face. The following look in the mirror, however, was a mistake. Whoever was looking at me wasn't me; it was a monster, an abomination, a being that wanted to rob me of all my happiness.
"What else do you want from me?!" I shouted at it, full of anger. "Why won't you let me be the girl I want? Is it too much to ask for just a little happiness in this cursed life?"
No answer—the grimace continued to stare at me. Hot tears streamed down my face. I tried to stop; I just couldn't.
I went to my bedroom and dropped into the mattress. Night had already descended outside. The moon was shining into my room—it looked upon me, as it often does.
"Why...why can't I just die?" I asked the moon pleadingly. "Why only was I born in a man's body."
The tears went on flowing, and like every night, I fell asleep crying.
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Can't wait for the next one
That's..... A lot to go through. Either way, thank you for the chapter.