You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You're a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of God's perfection.
All “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted by you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Millennia of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds efficiently. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You'll never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with unbearable shame. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
All “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted by you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.
Men are utterly repulsed by you. Millennia of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds efficiently. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You'll never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with unbearable shame. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a man is buried there. Your body will decay, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably male.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
by F. R. E. N. December 24, 2023