Under my skin

A person who struggles with self hate and other people's acceptance, experiences the outside world for the first time in months.

The phone rings for the 23^rd time this week. My parents really can’t take a hint. I’m about to just disconnect my service altogether to have some peace. Not that I even use it anyway. As much as I crave any type of interaction with people, I still dread conversations with my parents. Not to mention I dread phone conversations overall. But of course my parents don’t understand that.

 

Missing so many phone calls from them makes me think that maybe it’s time for me to go outside the house for the first time in probably 6 months. Besides going to the doctor’s office, of course, which doesn’t even count. Gosh, only thinking about those doctor’s appointments make me want to stay in here for the rest of my life. Going to the gynecologist is like going to hell itself. And it’s not leading me anywhere anyway. I should just give up on that and stay indoors for the rest of my life.

 

I miss work on my days off. Not having anything to do makes my thoughts burn my brain like fire. At least as long as I work, I’m fine. Too bad I can’t work 24 hours a day.

 

My table clock beeps. It’s exactly 6:00pm now, I’ve been lying on my bed for a total of 4 hours, 32 minutes. Doing absolutely nothing but thinking.

 

Come on, I can do this. I can stand up and do something other than being a parasite for once in my life. Come on now. I put one foot out of bed and don’t move again for several minutes until I finally gather enough will to sit down with the feet on the floor. I stare at the dark redwood floor that is actually clean for once. I’m glad I had enough energy to clean the house three days ago when I didn’t have a lot to do for my online job.

 

Finally, I stand and walk across my room to the bathroom. I take the blanket off the body mirror beside the door and immediately regret it. The white shirt with shorts sleeves I’m wearing is actually a yellow or brown tone now with smudges everywhere. My delicate brown hair is so dirty that there are several knots stuck together, and it has grown down my neck; but I have no energy to cut it, and going to a hairdresser or barber is out of the question.

 

Everything I see disgusts me so much that it makes me want to vomit. My stupid big red lips that look like I have permanent lipstick on; my long eyelashes and thin eyebrows; well, at least the permanent blush on my cheeks that I used to have is gone now, my whole skin is pale white; and my breasts, I cover them crossing my arms in front of them so I don’t have to see my deformed chest that I can’t seem to hide no matter what I do.

 

Out of dignity, I turn away from the mirror and take my shirt and underwear off to take the first shower I’ve had in I don’t know how many days. As I let the water fall over my disgusting body, I look up to the wall. Why did I even get in the shower? I know this was going to happen. I should have just changed clothes and leave it at that. The smell doesn’t even bother me anyway.

 

But things need to change. I can’t keep going on like this. Tears come down my cheeks and I know it can’t get any worse than the feelings I have inside my head right now, so I get on with it and brush my body trying my best to ignore the deformity of it. Brushing my hair hurts so much that I might as well shave it all off to give my scalp a breath. Though the physical pain can’t compare to the internal pain I live with every day.

 

I stay in the shower for far longer than needed, but the next step is also dreaded. I hate how clothes never fit me. I gather the courage to turn off the shower and get into my room again; the thick curtains are blocking the little light that comes through the window; I turn on the lights after confirming all mirrors are out of reach for me to see. I open the closet door and immediately look towards the left, to where the nice dress clothes are. I’ve bought so much dress clothes that I never use. I guess that would categorize me under a compulsive buyer; getting unnecessary things that I never use since I never even leave the house.

 

A purple button down shirt with small gray horses on it catches my attention and I grab it, along with plain black formal pants. The pants are always too long for me, I had to cut it down several inches, good thing I did that when I bought it so I have it ready to wear. It actually doesn’t fit so badly, or maybe it fits better now because of how thin I am after losing so much weight.

 

I cover my deformed chest with a tight undergarment and put on the purple shirt with long sleeves. Next, I style my hair slicking it back with gel; it’s so nice to run a comb through it when it’s so clean. I go to the mirror again and I’m not so disgusted by what I see now. My hair goes down to the start of my neck and I actually like the style of it now. Ignoring my deformed chest, I don’t look too bad. I mean, it’s still bad, but not horrifyingly terrible and disgusting as usual. I’m still missing something. I go back to the drawer and retrieve a pink, white and blue bracelet made of strings and tie it on my left wrist where it fits perfectly with a small knot on it; then I finish my outfit with black formal shoes that make my feet look a little bigger than they are.

 

It’s time. As I walk towards the front door, I have immediate regret, but still decide to go through with this. I’ll get started at, obscenities shouted at me, fingers pointed and someone might spit on me, but… there’s that tiny bit of a chance that I actually have a good time, right? Right. I convince myself that out of the few times I’ve stepped out of this house, this could be a good one. Could. A small chance is still a chance.

 

I memorized where everything in the neighborhood is through Google maps. There’s an inclusive bar only three blocks from here to the right. I walk almost like I’m running a marathon, but the faster I get to a safe place the better. I don’t know if the bar there will be safe, but I’ve only heard good things about it. I shouldn’t have high hopes, but I can’t help it; if I keep thinking only of the bad things that can happen, then nothing good is ever going to happen because I won’t allow it.

 

The bar is painted all black from the outside and has multicolor fairy lights all over it that shine through the dark night. A guard stands at the entrance, who immediately asks me for identification. I show it to him and don’t even bother looking up, I continue to stare to the floor to avoid that awkward “you don’t look like this” moment. But he actually doesn’t say anything and just hands me back my ID, then opens the door for me to go in.

 

It’s so loud. I’m definitely not used to this. But the music is nice, the classic rock and roll I love. Is not extremely crowded, but there are several people dancing and all the tables are full, though there’s plenty of room to walk around.

 

I go straight to the stools and seat without anyone next to me. The bartender is a tall, young man with both arms full of tattoos. I order the only drink I’ve had before that I know I like, a margarita. He brings it up after a couple of minutes and I just sit here drinking alone while listening to good music. It’s not terrible, but it’s lonely.

 

“Hey there, lady.” A man whose face I don’t bother to look at sits next to me and my immediate reaction is to run away. This was a mistake, this was a complete mistake. Why did I even do this in the first place? I knew this was going to happen. Why would it be any different today? Why?

 

As I run towards the door, someone grabs my arm and softly lets go after I turn around. “It’s okay” he says with his arms up to show me he’s not a threat. He has a fuzzy beard and short ginger hair; he’s maybe two inches taller than me. “I know what you are.” He says signaling at my bracelet and smiles. “I’m like you too.” I can’t help but smile back. “What’s your name?”

 

“Anthony, my name is Anthony”. And that’s the first time I’ve ever introduced myself as who I really am.  

 

Author's Note

Feedback is always appreciated.
*SPOILER* - For those who didn't get it, this is about a transgender man (a man who was assigned female at birth due to his genitalia) who struggles living under his own skin. The pink, white and blue are the transgender pride flag colors.

Reviews

[Yelissa]

Beautiful story but a little sad but you are very talented.

[brokenwriter]

wow i love it...tahts really beautiful

[Jasnil Chand]

This was actually really beautiful. You are so talented. Hope I can learn a thing or two from you

[MelGo30~]

Thank you so much! Those words mean a lot to me :)