I despise the word “transgender” more than anything. It’s such an ugly handful of letters. “I’m trans, you’re trans, he’s trans.” A shiver goes down my spine from writing those words down, let alone saying them out loud. And trust me, I would never. I hate the idea of being labelled that way. Oh he’s a trans guy. Disgusting. Just leave me alone. I’ll stab myself in front of you. Don’t say such an atrocious stuff. Just the mere thought of someone talking about me that way or thinking even, makes my want to throw up. I don’t care about how other people identify. For all I care I will gladly call someone cat/catself if I can linguistically make it. But when it comes to me. Oh god. Don’t even get me started. I hate the way my boy looks oh so feminine. Sometimes it would bleed and that is not from a fatal injury. It just does that. It feels like an open wound. And a tumor having this physique. I never look at other people’s body, for it doesn’t matter in my judgment. Oh but my own. I despise so greatly. I could’ve been so much, if only I weren’t born this way. I don’t hate women and I don’t hate their bodies. I just hate this one. For it might serve a real women well but I only feel pathetic. I could’ve been a soldier or a politician. I could’ve advocated for some mind boggling nonsense full of fascism and patriarchy. I could’ve been stupid enough or at least ignorant to do so. I could’ve been Christian even. If that’s what it would take for someone to convince the self that there is a god who had a plan for me. But nowadays there’s none. So it feels rather natural for me to fill up that vacant spot with blabbers. Whomever I looked up to as a father figure would’ve never seen me as more than a hysterical women. Not a single one of those people. Of those people, whose literature I found so soothing. Not one of them would understand or be close to doing so. Not a single one of those I idealised would ever understand. Nor even try to understand. I just want to exist without being a part of special demographic. I categorise myself as uncategorised. Which is impossible if people will think of me with that disgusting word of theirs. It’s a category right. I’m one of those. I’m one of them. Those people. Nothing in this world will make me normal. Of course I can go through the hormone therapy and all the forsaken operations. That won’t make me normal though. I’m using the word normal but really I just mean who knows what I mean. Acceptable from the first person perspective. My dear friend Alice will always look at me and think of me as a woman. I know it. I’m sure. Those, whose eyes reflect my face will always see that face as that of a woman. It seems there’s nothing else left for me but to die. And I’m thinking that is okay. I shall face death then, and when it comes embrace it. As a man I shall die by my own hand and maybe then my life shall begin.