Kevin was kept busy with PhD studies. Amongst this, he briefly considered the possibility that he might be transgender. Although that seemed unlikely.
1 Feb 2016:
I wonder if I should be transgender. lol. but maybe.
Some of the fiction Kevin read included trans people. Kevin respected trans people, but unlike them, his own desire to be a girl was just a sexual fantasy.
28 May 2016:
I’ve been reading My Little Pony fanfiction. It’s awesome. I read one about a transexual girl getting on with her old boyfriend.
I’ve always wanted to be a girl since I was little. But to be honest, it’s mostly just because I wanna be sexy and have guys wanna fuck me. I’d be such a slut.
Of course, even if he was transgender, it’s not like it mattered. He would be dead soon enough anyway.
25 Sep 2016:
KILL ME. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, KILL ME!!!! I HATE EVERY…. (I don’t even know what I hate). Just… Ugh! I’ve fucking had it with life. I’m sick of being good. I’m sick of being nice. PhD review? Tell ‘em I quit. Tutoring? Let someone else do it, I suck anyway. EVERYTHING I DO JUST DIGS ME DEEPER INTO SHIT - SO DON’T EVER TRY TO DO ANYTHING IN THE FIRST PLACE. It’s all so pointless, ALL SO FUCKING POINTLESS!!!
That said, Kevin wasn’t the type to make a rash decision. He made an appointment with his doctor to talk about his suicidal thoughts.
8 Nov 2016:
I finally talked to my GP (doctor) about suicide today…
I’m glad that he took me seriously. I guess I got the attention that I wanted. But now I’m not so sure I want it. This is going to take ages to sort out.
Before I left, he confirmed that I wouldn't kill myself (yet). He took me to reception and asked the receptionist to book me a “mental health” meeting with him for tomorrow. I get the feeling that “mental health” is some kind of code word.
Kevin realised that if he ever wanted the mental health appointments to end, he would need to get his mum involved to satisfy the doctor that everything was okay. He wasn’t going to admit to his mum about the suicidal thoughts, so claimed it was depression instead.
12 Nov 2016:
I asked Mum today whether she was willing to visit my GP with me on Thursday morning. I told her that I talked to my doctor about depression. She told me that it was actually quite common. She told me that sister had depression, or more accurately, anxiety, and that I should talk to my sister about her attitude to life. My mum also told me that my cousin had anorexia in the past (I thought that she was just dieting). My mum also told me that she had suffered from a form of depression from being a stay-at-home mom. Why did my family keep all this stuff from me? Why don’t we talk about this? I’m glad my mum talked to me about it today, but I’m also kind of annoyed that we never talked about any of this before.
Kevin attempted to convince his doctor there was no need for more appointments. Although the truth was, he was still not okay.
13 Nov 2016
Come on girl. You never belonged here. You are not one of them. You promised me for years that we would get out of here. One way or another. We tried to change our lives for the better -- remember when you told dad that you didn’t believe in God and you thought that he would tell everyone and kick you out? -- it changed nothing. We tried running away -- you didn’t have the guts, and besides, there are WAY too many homeless people anyway. We tried the PhD to learn all that we can to help people -- turns out that you are dumb as shit, not to mention lazy. YOU ARE USELESS WORTHLESS SHIT.
Kevin went back to focusing on his PhD project, and even got to travel to present a paper. Away from home, it was an opportunity to be himself (herself?)
Tues 29 Nov
As I waited for my plane to arrive, I went past an outlet shop, and spotted one for underwear. I always wanted to get some women’s underwear (I’ve only ever managed to get a hold of women’s underwear once, but the self-checkout didn’t work properly and I’ve been scared off ever since). I walked in, looked at the men’s underwear, glanced over at the women’s underwear side, saw some females, and then walked out. Why do they have to separate out clothes into boys and girls sections?
I felt irritated at myself, this should be easy. I looked at a “go ask alice” (Columbia University health) post and it motivated me to try again. “I am a girl” I told myself. I walked in casually. Found a big pair that would support my crotch and walked up to the counter confidently and purchased them. The checkout lady smiled at me. I don’t know if she thought I was buying them for someone else or not, but I’d like to think that she knew and didn’t care.
I felt good. Really good. I put on the underwear at the airport terminal. When I arrived at my hotel, I went for a walk, then on the way back I bought some women’s/girls clothes from the clothing store discount section.
How do I look? =)
Like a girl? For a first attempt, I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.
Over the Christmas break, Kevin read about how testosterone affected men. While some of the claims were dubious, he didn’t like what he found.
27 Dec 2016:
I DON’T WANT TESTOSTERONE GOING TO MY BRAIN.
With family away, Kevin had an opportunity to get rid of some of his body hair. He had always used an electric shaver for his face and didn't have any shaving cream, so decided to make do with shampoo instead (a decision he may have come to regret later). He just had to make sure that he didn’t leave any evidence.
31 Dec 2016:
Dad had gone away to visit a client, and the rest of my family was away a few days going on a hike. I got out a disposable razor that I had bought on my way home from the GP on Thursday. I stripped off naked. I took a quick shower, and then dried myself. I lathered all over my body with shampoo. I’d never used a manual razor before; up until now I had only ever used an electric shaver.
I started by shaving my chest. I re-lathered, but got a bit distracted rubbing the shampoo all through my groin. I wanted to shave lower. I snipped off chunks of pubic hair with my old school scissors, then started shaving in rapid zigzag motions like a madman (not near the scrotum mind you - I didn’t go below the penis). It felt good. About that moment, I heard my dad’s car arrive. Fortunately I had a cover-story planned - I was washing my hair. As my dad talked on the phone to my grandad, I started cleaning up the pubic hair with scrap paper, toilet paper, and a plastic shopping bag. I regret nothing.
Realizations?