I knew it in the abstract, but here I am, being forced to confront this reality...even if I'm able to grow my hair out, even if I finally get this whole passing schtick down (which might happen one day, I really hope), and even if I can leave him behind me, I'm always going to be stuck in a body I can't live with. I call myself "pre-op", but I feel like I'm lying when I saw that, because it implies that I am, at some point, going to have it done. I just made a major move and changed my major from set design to playwriting. I love what I do, but I'm not going to make enough money for surgery for a very, very long time, and that's just if I'm "successful". At best, facing the prospect of going through my remaining years of existence in constant misery on account of this disgusting, incomplete, deformed, ugly, and just generally annoying body of mine is depressing. At worst, it's unbearably painful. Right now, I'm desperately grasping at straws for how to make this happen...If I was good looking enough, I'd sell my body in a heartbeat, I know that's how many girls without any better options do it. Sadly, I don't think I'm good looking enough even for that. How can I get up in the morning, knowing that I'm going to be crying before I go to bed that night over how much I hate my body? I know what I need if I'm ever going to feel safe in my own skin...how do I live with myself, knowing that it's never going to happen?
I'm so sorry for this, I just don't have anywhere else to turn with this, nobody in my 'real' life understands just how hard this is. I feel like I've been abusing the kindness of this community with my rambling. I'm scared. I'm really, really scared. Surviving the next year seems impossible. Thinking about surviving the next sixty just makes me feel sick.