An Open Letter To My Body Dysphoria, Please, Let Me Rest

I lie in my bed.

I cannot move.

I cannot speak.

If this is hell, then I am living it.

I want to shed my skin, I want to get rid of these old, hollow bones, this world is a place of torment and I am in the devil's playground.

I am taunted day and night by the blood that flows from me to remind me that I need to be reproducing, I need to be creating a life — ironic, when I never even asked to be alive.

I stick a needle into my skin and watch as thick fluid runs from the tip of it into my body, but I feel no real change. The blood still flows, it has been one day and my voice does not sound like my father's, like my brother's, like my lover's. To say I am jealous is one of the grossest understatements. I am beyond jealous. I want to hit a button and to awaken as the man I never knew I couldn't be.

Maybe in death, I could finally get some sleep. It feels over now. I have no use here really, even if I convince some doctor someday to take this bleeding organ from me, I will never be the boy I desire to me. I got unlucky. I got handed a life that is a poor excuse for much of anything.

I need rest, I have my friends read to me over the phone. They sing sweet poems in my ear and lull me to a sleep where my mind can escape my body even if only for a little while. In those few seconds, few hours, few minutes, I am allowed to leave myself. I can never escape myself.

And I hate myself so this is indeed one of the cruelest fates I am forced to endure.

I want no children, if I were to have a son I would hate him. I would hate that he was genuinely born with everything I could have ever wanted. He stole the life that I should have lived. My brother, the second born, stole the life that I could have lived. So many people around me are nabbing the life that I want and that I deserve to have. Please, let me rest. I deserve it.

I will never be OK. I had a 50% chance of being born into the right body. But I was not.

I just need help. But there is none.

Please help me. There is none.

Please, voices, in my head, be quiet.

Please hammer pounding on my heart, be still.

Let me breathe.

Let me live.

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