Dysphoria, my old friend.

The young child walked into the bathroom and shut the door gently behind him. The part of the day he dreaded- showering.
He turned on the faucet and let it run before he turned back to the mirror.
He stared into it, smiling at his current appearance.
His hair was messy, just like he liked it.
He wore a black and white flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Several bracelets covered his wrists.
His jeans were a big baggy towards the ankles.
He turned his head side to side, looking at the side of his face.
He slowly pulled off his glasses, sighing because the worst part about this came.
He unbuttoned the flannel shirt to reveal a black tank top.
He unzipped the jeans and tugged them down. He stared at his legs...
Chubby.
Curvy.
Feminine.
He pulled the flannel shirt off and tossed it on the top of the sink ledge.
His expression turned sad and he sighed again.
He grabbed the bottom of the tank top and pulled it off to reveal someone he wasn’t.
These... tumors... on my chest. Why couldn’t they be on someone else?
The black sports bra clung to his chest and he huffed.
He didn’t want to do this... he hated this.
He took off the remaining clothes and sat in the tub, the hot water pounding against his back.
The water ran through his hair and dripped onto his legs.
It’s not fair.
He couldn’t tell if he was crying or it was the water and he was just upset.
It took a while for him to gain the courage to finally leave the water.
He wrapped a towel tightly at his chest, smiling faintly at it somewhat hiding his unwanted breasts.

‘Sarah! You need to hurry up, I have to get in there too.’ Called his mother.

He grit his teeth.


Who the fuck is she? That’s not my name.


He looked down at his feet.

Obviously that’s your name... you’re a girl, remember?

Ah, dysphoria. My old friend.