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You will never be a real woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexual man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection. A man. Male. All your pores smell like a male, all of your gross ass hairs and sweaty armpit pores are MALE and look/feel/smell like it. No amount of perfume will fix that.

All of the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you and laugh at how grotesque you are. Your parents, deep down, are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors, and strangers try not to make eye contact with what their genetics tell them is an abomination (you).

Men are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed men to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a man. 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 orifice that's filled with rotting flesh, dried cum, infection puss and old blood that you try to pass off as a sex organ.

You will never be happy. You force out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight. That's thousands upon thousands of years of your ancestry calling out to you to change your ways, hoping you won't bring their legacy to a halt with your genetic dead-end of a philosophy you've been infected with.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, take some pills, bite a shotgun, or have an "accident" and plunge into the cold abyss, thinking this is your last hurrah and that people will care. Nobody will.