A/N: I thought about this story- or, idea- a lot, and finally managed to get some coherent thoughts down on paper. I'm not even sure if I'll continue this; there aren't too many fics out in the world dealing with transgender issues, but I know this isn't the first Quinn-centric one. Also, ignore the mistakes, I have no Beta.

Warnings: Future chapters may delve into SI (self-injury) topics- and, if I continue, Endgame: Faberry. This fic will deal with FTM (Female-to-Male) transitioning. So, read at your own risk, please.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Glee-related.

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There's a moment, I've read about, where the person discovers who they truly are. It can happen over the course of years- maybe, even, in a complete second. That moment, however long or short it may be, happens and makes everything more confusing or clearer.

There is no one in the world, absolutely no one, who feels as lost as I did (Or is it, 'felt as lost as I did?') Nobody in the world could look back on their life and realize just how wrong they were more than me.

I have strived for everything I had never wanted. Simply because all I wanted was to be accepted. What better way to be accepted than do everything they want to have in a daughter?

So, I grabbed myself a life I never wanted; a diet, a workout regimen, a new nose, a new personality. I went from that overweight girl who was never seen without a novel in her hand, to that skinny, heartless bitch who wouldn't be caught dead in the same conversation with any type of 'loser'. It worked out well for me. For a while. And, I will admit, it lasted much longer than I had dreamed.

However, I learned quickly that some dreams don't come true. You won't always get the fairytale dream, or even get accepted by your own parents (even though you did try everything in your power just to please them).

So, when the world keeps spinning, and you're left dizzy in its' wake of destruction, you will probably crumple helplessly down to the ground. I know I did.

I was forced to collapse into myself; to become restricted in ways I never knew were possible. I was left alone, shattered, on the bathroom floor as my parents drove away for the weekend. My heart hurt, my head hurt, my body ached. I felt the pressure to fit into their tall order of 'perfect daughter' become unbearable. My mind was spinning, faster than I had ever imagined with the call of 'See you Monday, Quinn,' up the stairs before they left. So I kept sitting. (You can't fall any further if you're already on the ground, right?)

That is where I am now. The cold, hard tiles of a clean bathroom, leaning against the wall with my knees up to my chest and eyes pressed firmly against them to stop the tears from falling further than I can catch them. I could hear the sound of tires against pavement, backing out of the wide driveway and then zooming off to another world of make-believe; a world where they don't have a daughter sitting at home, crying tears for herself.

Here I go again. Even after I realize I will never be their 'perfect daughter', I'm still trying to cling to them. They'll soon be gone completely when I reveal to them what I just discovered myself. Only, what I just discovered about myself will take some time before even I can actually believe it.

The sounds of my uneven breathing, caused by crying tears over something I can't change, fill the small, white bathroom. Calming myself, I let my eyes linger on the drawer connected to the sink cabinet. Inside is my dirty little secret; a secret I will forever keep to myself until the very last minute. I laugh humorlessly when I realize just how big of a pity party I'm having right now. But, I reason that this is a pretty big event for anyone to deal with and am slightly comforted.

Maybe it's the quiet hum of cars that pass by, coming from my open window and through the open bathroom door, or maybe it's just one of those things you can't stop yourself from thinking about, but either way, I find my thoughts drifting again as my breathing becomes calm. I sift through thoughts from my illegitimate child, my years of striving for a body I thought I needed, to the pain of being tossed out of a place I thought I would always be wanted, and back to the thought that roughly caught me this morning as I looked in the mirror.

A child? I had one. The most beautiful girl anyone could ever want. I had wanted her, once; and when they took her from me to give to someone else, it hurt. But, then I thought of her having to grow up with someone who couldn't afford to give her everything she needed, everything she wanted. I simply couldn't give her everything, so I decided I would want her to have that chance to have someone who would give her everything I couldn't. She deserved it.

But, then, I woke up this morning after coming home late. A party is where I was. Alcohol messes with my mind; it makes me emotional, tired, and angry. I had almost made another mistake; simply because I had felt insecure, again. My body was never what I wanted it to be; never what I thought my parents had wanted it to be.

Beautiful? Not a word I would associate with myself. Nor, would I want anyone to associate with me. I hadn't realized this until last night when he wrapped his arms around me and whispered "You're beautiful, Quinn," and almost went all the way with me. I snapped at that moment. I felt this rage, this unrecognizable fury come over me. I had left in a flurry of clothes and found myself walking home in the dark.

When I woke up, I was home and lying comfortably in bed. I stood up, like any other day, and looked at myself in the mirror. That's when everything changed (This was my moment). I looked and stared and it was completely wrong. It was as if that voice I had been pushing deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of my mind for the past six years of my life had finally lit the fuse and skyrocketed up to the forefront of my mind. That voice screamed at me this morning; clear as day. It violently shook every corner of my mind, and left me broken but everything was clearer.

Every thought I had pushed away, every unconscious flinch when my mother introduce her 'perfect daughter' to her judging friends, every single time I would avert my eyes from my reflection as I stepped out of the shower; all these moments (and other ones I'm not ready to let myself think about, just in case), led up to that one thought that is still haunting my mind as I sit here alone. I let these thoughts come to the front of my mind, no longer trying to keep them from coming as I had before; one by one, they fall into place, and now, everything makes sense.

Everything makes sense.

It's a while later, and I'm now sitting quietly and contently, still thinking about my revelation. They keep coming and coming and then, I find myself not being able to keep them from escaping my mouth. It's as if these thoughts feel cheated for having to stay locked away for so long, and the least I could do is let them out into the world (even if it's to an empty room).

So, I sit. I sit here and talk to the walls. They listen better than my parents ever have, or will. Question after question falls from my dry, chapped lips, but I never get an answer in return; they're silently inviting me to find the answers for myself. So, I take this cue along with a deep breath, and stand up; only this time, I'm not so scared of falling.

A laptop will always do the hard work if one feels stuck. It was built to answer my questions. A fact I make myself believe in for a moment, only because I the first question I have needs to be answered, however inadequately it might be. I believe it so much, that I type in my question and pray that I'm not left hanging out in a state of vulnerability for too long. There's a moment of uncertainty, until I realize I'm staring at the blank screen and begin to type my question that needs an answer. This machine must give me an answer; otherwise, I'm alone again. It's never failed me before, so why would it start now?

All my fears aside, I hover over 'search' with my mouse slightly shaking. (Do I really want to know the answer?) So many questions that I can ask, yet, I ask the one I already know what I want the answer to be. The one answer that I need it to be; because then, I can go from there with reassurance and hope.

One more time, for reassurance, I say, out loud, "This machine was built to answer my questions."

A fact (for me). So, I when I type:

'Can a girl ever be a boy?'

And click 'search', I'm not left unanswered and disappointed anymore.