Interior

Sometimes she wishes things were different.

Not very different, because she knows how lucky she is, that her mother still loves her. That her father will probably take some time to get used to it, but he will never truly hate her, and that her sister will never tell her she's going to Hell because of who she is.

But sometimes she wishes, so bad, that people understood. That they knew what it felt like to go for weeks, sometimes months at a time feeling content and happy, then look in a mirror and feel yourself crumple in self-loathing and despair because what you see is somehow, fundamentally wrong.

(That happened to her last Christmas. She was changing into a shirt her mother had asked her to wear, that pretty red shirt she still hates, and she looked up, into the mirror, and there she was. Looking very pretty and oh so very, very, wrong. The whole family was downstairs laughing and talking and enjoying the holidays, and everything should have been wonderful. Maybe that's what made her feel it so acutely.)

She tries not to think about it, most of the time. It's pretty easy, because there's school and friends and a whole world to distract her. But she tries to avoid full-length mirrors, and feminine clothing, and counts down the days until she is eighteen and the doctor approves her for surgery. She thinks a lot about partners, and lovers, and wonders if she'll ever have one of her own. She thinks she'll have to wait until college for her first kiss, and boyfriend, or maybe even after. Thoughts like these are depressing and distracting, so she sternly ignores them, and only falls in love with movie stars, just to be safe.

There are days when she feels so uncomfortable in her body that she doesn't even want to move when she wakes up in the morning, just lay unmoving until she falls asleep again. These are the days she wears her baggiest shirts, and pulls her hair back under a baseball cap. She imagines ripping off her own skin and stepping out of it, and sometimes catches herself thinking about the Amazons, who removed their own breasts to enhance their abilities in battle. Extensive self-mutilation disturbs her a little, so she gives herself a mental shake every time it happens.

Otherwise, it's been surprisingly easy. She's heard so many horror stories, of hatred and shunning and despair, but, damn, she managed to get lucky. However awkward it's been at first, things smooth and settle and go back to normal in what feels like almost no time at all. It feels so incredibly freeing, to be around people and not hide at all. Wonderful. It still feels pretty awful, sometimes, but being able to share the burden makes it feel better. She still has hopes and dreams, set ten, twenty, years in the future, of waking up, getting out of bed, looking at herself in the mirror. And smiling.

Reviews are always appreciated, and criticism even more so. Thank you for reading. - Mayfield