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  • You know what sucks? Being 18 years old and wondering if you’ll die alone because you don’t think anyone will love you if you’ve got a tiny not-quite male body. Or having to decide whether you’ll live as a person you are not, having to decide whether or not being ‘closer’ to who you are is worth all of the struggles that will come with maybe (probably) still not being able to pass. I hate it. I’m afraid that if I start hormones I’ll wind up just being an uglier version of myself now.

    “You’ll just be an ugly bearded woman and no one will ever love you.” Says a person who is only looking out for my best interests. Someone who loves me now.

    But, I’m not a woman. I say. I’m a man. I’m just a beardless man with boobs now.

    “Will you stop complaining about it? You sound more like a girl now than ever because you just keep going on about it.” Says another one who loves me. “You’re not a real boy. Your girl body is perfectly fine.”

    “You’re too short. It’s not worth being a man if you’re under 6 feet tall. Trust me, I know.” Says someone who loves me and stands at five foot ten in his old age. I am five foot two, one hundred and ten pounds, and those words weigh a ton.

    “Don’t ruin what you’ve been blessed with.”

    Blessed? Blessed?! Now I’m blessed?

    An old friend of mine spent the whole night sobbing because he couldn’t decide between Harvard and Stanford, and I sit here at night trying to decide whether or not I even want to be alive. I’m trying to decide if it is worth it to be closer on the outside to an expression of who I really am at the cost of dying alone.

    I’m 18 years old. I should not have to worry about whether or not I will die alone.
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