I walk to the melancholy; plain white door of my bedroom and I twist the door handle and open it. I creep into the sombre hallway and then creep again down said hallway as quiet as a mute mouse and enter the bathroom. I avoid looking in the mirror as much as I can while getting to work.

I close and lock the door so I can't be interrupted and I get out my razor and start to shave my legs.

This is my life and I hate it.

I pull the razor over and over my legs and after about twenty-five minutes of this process I feel my legs to check.

Oh my god its sooo smooth

I then repeat a similar process to my arms.

They weren't super hairy but they weren't smooth either.

The arms take a bit longer reaching half-an-hour of those difficult to reach spots.

Maybe this will get easier one day

When my arms become as smooth as I baby's bottom as they say I take another half hour for other parts of my disgusting, horrible cage of a body. I finally fish with ten minutes on the face getting rid of even the smallest stubble.

I have twenty minutes before they wake up.

I put away my tool of godly potential and go towards the door. I glance into the mirror and before I can stop myself, I catch my reflection.

There is that creature it may be able to grow out that hair it may be able to shave but that is all it's nothing but a pretending boy.

Shut up I may not be able to do much but there's hope I can wait this through I'm going to get HRT.

But are you faker? What if they stop you? What if you’re just a faking boy? WHAT IF YOUR PARENTS FIND OUT WHAT IF ANYONE FINDS OUT?!

Ignoring the doubt and dysphoria combo testing how good my eyes are at being dams keeping back the flood tears I tear my eyes away from the mirror.

They won't. They can’t

I creep into the dim hallway now lit with six forty light and down the stairs making sure there is not a trace of my disgrace and I head to the kitchen.

I go towards the fridge and pull out my basic melancholy breakfast ingredients and head to the toaster. I put the toast in the toaster and place a plate and butter knife next to the toaster. I then go to the kettle filling it three cups worth and boiling it getting out a mug with a teabag in it.

Tea the greatest thing about my life and I don't like it that much just coffee is banned in this hellhole 'too cheap for us' my parents say.

I hear the toaster pop and I pull out the toast-more like slightly toasted bread-and I spread the smooth golden spread on it. I take my plate and place it on the dining table. I then dash back towards the fridge pulling out the milk and I dance back towards the kettle as it finishes boiling. I prepare my tea milk and two sugars.

Ah sugar the sweetest thing about this place.

Quickly as I can without spilling a drop place it next to my plate. I put away the milk and sit down at my seat at the small three-seater table.

As I begin to tuck in to my bland toast, I think.

How can this morning get worse than my dysphoria?

As my thought echoes, I hear the sound of my twenty minutes of solitude ending.

*cuck-a-doodle-doo* *cuck-a-doodle-do*

Oh, my parents that's how.

*cuck-a-doodle-doo**cuck-a-doodle-doo*

I hate that this is the alarm I'm supposed to wake up to it's so annoying.

*cu-* *SLAM*

My father's slam this sounds like a fun morning motherfucking hello Monday.