Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: 18+ · Novel · Adult · #1889513
Under construction. Trigger warning: Trauma
Chapter 2 Part 1

I walked out of the psychiatric ward a free 'man' after five days and, as I sauntered out of the front lobby doors, I grabbed for the cigarettes that they had confiscated from me when I had arrived. Ripping off the nicotine patch and throwing it in the nearest trash can; I shook as I tried to quickly light my partically crushed Marlboro Light. I took a deep drag and inhaled; feeling the immediate head rush. Oh my god...I thought....this is really what freedom actually feels like. I thought that I surely would never make it if ever I were imprisioned. I walked quietly to the car where a cold Mountain Dew was awaiting my arrival, while pondering my freedom, only stopping to talk between long drags off of my cigarette. I was now in the hands of my mother, who would be taking care of me for a few days until I got settled back into life as we know it again. Hopefully,not as I knew it before.

The car ride home was full of chatter and clouds of smoke as I chained my way through five cigarettes within the thirty minute drive to my house where my mother would be staying with me. Her chatter was nervous and I could tell she was trying to take my mind off of what had transpired in the hospital. No...I wasn't crazy, I thought, but I did have a problem that needed to be taken care of or I would be certifiably nuts before the year was over. A small bout of depression? Well, yes, I couldn't deny that, but who wouldn't be depressed when they looked in the mirror and seen a person that did not fit the image in their head. Who could stand there and say they loved theirselves when they saw a woman's body where a man's should be. I thought about how I could explain this to other people if I ever had the chance. Look down....and look at yourself closely in the mirror......do you see what you feel inside? If so, you're one of the lucky people on this earth who were born in the right body. Someone who knows and loves their body as it is. Someone who does not feel split from reality. I shook these thoughts from my head while staring at the road ahead of me and mindlessly listening to my mom's chatter. After all, I had promised God that if he sprung me from the psycho ward from hell that I would never think about a sex change again. I guzzled the icy Mountain Dew and tried to focus on my mother's conversation.
'So, we'll get you home today and you can rest for awhile while I fix us a GOOD dinner.'
'That sounds great mom. Really great. I've been up since 5am so let's just sit around for awhile and maybe watch a movie or something.'

It felt like it had been months since I had actually eaten a substantial meal and at this point it sounded delightful. I just wanted to take my medicine and melt into the sofa to watch Anthony Bourdain on the Travel Channel. I love his snarky attitude; it reminded me of myself. It reminded me of how I COULD be and COULD look. Everything reminded me of how I could be or how I could look. Comparing and comparing at every second of the day. It was enough to drive a person mad; like the Tell Tale Heart....beating and beating in my head.

The drive took about thirty minutes and finally we had pulled up into my driveway. The blue colonial house with burgundy shutters stood looming before me, beckoning me to come and play in the upstairs room. I shook my head to rid myself of the instrusive thought and started to unload the few belongings that I had from the car. Luckily, Phyllis, my girlfriend at the time was not home from work yet. I could care less if I ever see her again. Don't think I don't know it was you that agreed with the shock therapy treatment. Ohhh...I know alll about it! The grass had grown to an unruly state and god only knows what the house looked like I thought. Quietly, as if my mother knew what I was thinking, we walked up to the front door and unlocked it.
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