the blues | kritz

i

it was raining when they let me out of the hospital. i had nothing in my pockets and i still had the bracelet on.

jaron was standing there, leaning against the door as i put some normal clothes on.

"john?"

"i don't feel like talking."

he went quiet, and i sighed.

"you've been in here for a week, do you need to go to a mental hospital again?"

"no. i'm fucking fine." i snapped at him.

he took a step forward. "you were just in the hospital on suicide watch john, are you sure you don't want to be admitted again?"

"no. no, i don't. i'll just go back to fucking therapy and taking pills again. now, i said i don't feel like fucking talking, smit."

he sighed, taking my hand. i jerked it away from him and held it close to my chest, brushing past him and into the hallway. i heard his footsteps behind me as i made my way to the elevator.

"john. please. talk to me. if you don't i will not be afraid to have you forcefully admitted." he spoke up from behind me. i rolled my eyes and sighed. the elevator doors shuttered to a close behind us. 

turning and looking to jaron, i blinked back tears. "you don't get it."

"i don't get what?" 

"this.. this unhappiness and discomfort i have. it can't be fixed with some stupid pills, i need to transition." 

"i... isn't being called john enough? i'm trying to respect your name and pronouns. do you know what t will do to you?"

"you don't understand. of course i fucking know what testosterone will do to me. why do you think i want it?!"

i hear him sigh, and the press of the first floor button.

he began to speak as he anxiously cracks his knuckles. "this is all new to me je- john. i'm sorry. i'm trying to understand, i really am, but you're the first trans person i've met. are you sure transitioning is right for you?"

"what are you? my therapist?"

i don't mean to be so snarky and rude with him, i'm just really not in the mood for a lecture on my medical transition right now, considering we haven't even left the fucking hospital.

"can you try to explain what it feels like? the dysphoria?" he asks. i glance over at him, he seems genuinely concerned.

"it's like i'm wrong. i know i'm a man. but my body isn't my own, it feels like i've switched places with a woman and she's in my cis body with just as much dysphoria as i have. some freaky friday bullshit. i wake up and look in the mirror and constantly nit-pick at everything, my jaw isn't sharp, my shoulders are to small, my hips are to wide. should i keep going?"

he went silent for a moment, i watched the floors tick down. 9. 8. 7. 6.

"no, you don't have to keep going." he finally spoke.

"thanks. as i said before, i really don't feel like talking."  i said. 5. 4. 3.

the elevator shutters to a stop on the waiting room floor, we step out and go to sign me out. saying my dead name stings, and i roll my eyes. i need to get that changed as soon as possible.

following jaron out to his car, i get into the passenger side and listen as he explains that he's gonna watch over me for a few days. so now i have a babysitter, like i'm 5. i should of tried a different method because now i've got this fuck sleeping on my couch. i love him, i really do, but god he doesn't understand. i explain and try to say my side of the story, but every time it's the same damn saying. "just wait it out, it'll get better. you can transition in the future." i don't think people understand that once you get told something so many times, it's no longer comforting.

as i'm fiddling with my hands, jaron asks if it would be okay to stop by mcdonald's, and if i want anything.

"can... can i get some nuggets?" i ask, cracking my knuckles anxiously.

"yeah. yeah, of course. sweet and sour sauce? do you want fries?" he questions.

"yeah. please. thank you, jaron."

"it's no problem, only for you. you're my favorite person."

i smile at the be more chill reference.

"you're my favorite person too, jaron."

☔

we arrive at my apartment, and i unlock the door. smit sits on my couch, a sigh leaving his mouth as he looks up at me.

"you know i love you, bro. right?" he says.

"yeah. yeah. i'm sorry. i'm sorry for snapping at you, and bothering you with my issues."

"john, bro. the dysphoria isn't an issue, you're not an issue dude! even if you were a girl i'd love you just as much. i may not understand the whole transgendered thing, or the dysphoria." he pauses. "sorry, transgender. i remembered that you got upset about the term transgendered.... but anyways, i'm willing to learn, about you, your dysphoria, transitioning. the surgeries you want. you want those, right?"

"yeah.. yeah i do. top surgery, definitely." i reply, realizing that he might not know what that is. "the one where i end up with a flat chest is top surgery. bottom surgery is the..."

i make a pointing down motion, he nods.

"do you want that one?" jaron asks.

"i don't know. my bottom dysphoria really fluctuates. it depends on if it's shark week or not. i can usually just put my packer in and wear some boxers if it isn't. dysphoria is weird."

after answering his question, his eyes flick around my living room for a moment and then back to me as i sit down in my desk chair. "it's cool.... how you're so open to answering questions about your trans-ness when you aren't upset. you aren't upset, are you?"

"no. i learned a lot of healthy coping mechanisms while in the hospital. i'm sorry i was so snappy with you."

"you already said that." he grins.

"i know."

"do you still feel like... harming yourself?"

"no, not right now. if i get bad again, i'll tell you, okay?"

he nods in confirmation. i look away and glance towards my tv.

"you want to play some overwatch? like switch every game n' shit?" i stand and walk over to my xbox, grabbing a controller.

"sharing is caring, dude. no competitive though, unless you want the controller to shatter against the wall. competitive is so cancer." he grins, a toothy smile is shot back in response.

he really is my favorite person.