Another day, another bus journey. It's only early morning yet I feel the compulsion to write. My hands covered by gloves, my lips purple- I probably look like a mess to the outside world. Yet I feel almost completely comfortable, more of a natural situation for myself.
The constant traveling back and fourth is always worth it when I get to see him, never feeling the need to impress. I can be my natural self yet he still loves me like no other has before him. The only thing he wants to change about me is my poor health, pushing me towards getting better everyday. It's like that shine of positivity I always needed in those dark days of pure self hatred.
Though it's almost like he can't see the worst in me- my mellow attitude, my lack of empathy and my simulation of emotions that is only slightly off, honestly should make him fear what I'm able to do.
Trees hang over my head like hands reaching out towards me, to consume me as if I am a rabbit and they're coming to kill me. Yet some seem to be reaching out to be leaning me a helping hand- but is that true? Who can you trust in a situation like this? Sometimes I'm unsure on who, if I'm honest.
As Cavetown blasts into my ears, I'm taken back to the reality I'm still just typing on the bus on the journey into see my boyfriend. Sometimes I remember that my thoughts aren't exactly normal, and my fixation on murderers is probably unhealthy to say the least.
But who is here to say what is truly real in this shit show we know as life?
Can you help me
YOU ARE READING
Diary of a Transman
Non-FictionMy name is Melvin, but most call me Fuyuhiko. There has always been this struggle between fantasy and fiction that I hope this will be able to illustrate
