Nobody wants to be a freak. Being born into the world not knowing of the pain and hardship ahead. As every adult in existence would say; 'life ain't fair', and that's that. Wishing to be a normal kid won't get you anywhere. I was born a freak, and I'll be a freak until my heart stops beating. Critical stares and silent judgement is something freaks never get used to. It's constant and never ending. You can cry out for help and hope for a change, but it will never come. Lying to yourself only temporarily numb the pain.
Being labelled as a freak makes me ask a question; what the fuck is normal? Why was I a freak while everybody else got to be normal? All I ever wanted in like was to be happy. Keeping friends for more than a month proved to be a challenge harder than battling a lion with your naked hands. To top it all of I was fat, gay, and dumber than a kindergartener. That, of course, is the worst possible combination for a student in high school.
Each morning started out the same. I'd woken up as most people my age normally did, and I slid out of bed. I stared down at my feet. They were bundled up in light pink polka dotted socks. To call them socks would be quite the stretch; there were more holes than fabric. I stood up and walked to the bathroom, the wooden floor panels creaking below me. A mouse ran passed me. This was nothing new; rodents of all shapes and sizes practically owned the shithole I lived in. It was a poor excuse for a house.
Sometimes the seemingly constant pain in my chest seemed to vanish. Instead it was replaced by an unbearable numbness. There wasn't sadness or happiness; there wasn't even a feeling of being content. It was sickening. I looked into the mirror and let out a breath. If forgotten to take my makeup off the night before. In front of me stood some sort of nasty Gremlin hybrid from the gates of hell. Breasts. Large, feminine breasts. I felt like throwing up. Within seconds I turned on the sink and wet a cloth.
My face was washed, teeth were brushed, and my greasy hair was left untouched. Throwing makeup on was the longest part of my morning routine right beside getting dressed. I'd always end up staring at myself in the mirror, no clothes on besides my bra and panties. Fat thighs, fat arms, fat face. Where did it end? I hated my body. Bruises and scars covered my every inch. I looked diseased like a monster. I quickly threw on a sweater and some jeans.
Normally I'd catch a ride from my mom. Riding my bike was just lest stressful. Dealing with people was stressful enough. The hot summer air ran though my hair. My hair purposely set me apart from the crowd. It was shoulder length, dark brown, and the right side was completely shaved. A friend of mine once told me I looked like a Winter Soldier or some shit. Honestly I had no idea, and never will have any idea of, what that meant. Still I was flattered. Compliments were hard to come by.
I was almost to school. Dozens of teenagers were hoarding the sidewalks. How was it possible to walk so slowly? Thankfully I was able to ride through the grass and onto campus. Loud chatter instantly overwhelmed my senses. People were standing everywhere. It was like a sea of puberty. I hopped off of my bike and walked it to the post in the lot. After locking it up I was off to the cafeteria.
Grabbing breakfast wasn't something I normally did. Still, starving myself was proving to be too much. Maybe grabbing an orange or some 1% milk wouldn't hurt. I grabbed my wallet from my backpack and pulled out a few bucks. The tanned, wrinkly old woman standing behind the counter looked unhappy for most of the time. She was literally the stereotypical lunch lady in movies and shit. After about five minutes of weighing the pros and cons of each of the foods being provided, it became clear that an orange would be the best thing. I looked down at my body and took a deep breath, quickly paying for the food without making eye contact with the lunch woman.
Paranoia controlled me. Even though everybody was minding their on business, the fear of being laughed at terrified me. Nobody was even looking at me. I sat down at an empty table and stared at my meal. Today was going to be one long fucking day.
Saying that it was going to be a long day had been a complete understatement. To start off I'd been slammed into the lockers upon arrival, and to top that off I found myself being taunted throughout my journey down the hall. The names weren't anything new, or even clever. There was the regular "faggot," and "freak." Who the hell cared anymore? I'd given up on going to the teachers for help. I hated my parents with a passion, so screw that option. Friends? Don't make me laugh. I was alone. A pathetic kid trapped in the wrong body. I'd known my entire life that I was meant to be a man. That's how I knew there was no God. If God existed then I'd have been put in the right fucking body. I wouldn't constantly be in pain.
"There are people that have it way worse than you, Barnes." Well yeah, fuck you. Sometimes a privileged white kid has to complain too, y'know?