Disconnected ; Lashton

35. Radio/Video

I sit on the edge of me and Ashton's bed and bite off one of my fingernails in a haste. Therapy was helping. It was supposed to be good. It was supposed to be alright, but now I'm not so sure how I feel about it.

It's stupid though, I should've known that something like this would happen. Part of therapy is being told the cold, hard truth, no matter how badly it hurts. No matter how terribly it stings.

And it does sting, like dirt in a fresh wound, like being kicked in the teeth, because it's exactly like it is, exactly the way I don't want it to be. It's the truth.

I know that what Melinda told me today is the truth. I know it. But it still hurts, god it hurts. I don't want to hear it. I don't want it to sting or bleed or make me cry, I don't want the pain anymore. But I know what I'm doing. I'm running away from it, and I can't do that. I can't run away forever. But... I can for now. I can skip out on the rest of our hour today and just wallow in self-pity because I can't hear what else she has to say right now.

Not after hearing that.

It's a problem I have. A deeply rooted problem, an ugly piece of me hiding away- but it's not so well hidden after all. I guess I wanted to believe I was doing a good job of hiding it, but I'm not. I never have been.

I wanted to deny the words she spoke, but I couldn't. I knew they were true from the moment she said them.

I feel so stupid. I feel gross, I feel ashamed. Is trying to get better supposed to come with this much disgust? It's bad enough that I have to see so much girliness in the mirror when I take my pants off, why do I have to have that repulsion I feel shoved in my face by my therapist?

You have internalized transphobia, she told me. Yeah, I do. I do and I don't want to but I do! I have no idea how to get rid of it, I can't make it go away when my body is different than what's in my brain! How can I not hate every single part of myself when I was born wrong in more ways than I can count? How can I ever fix myself when I'm revolted by the way I look naked?

I can cut my hair short, I can take hormones, I can change my name, I can get surgery- but there's always the marks left behind. The scars on my chest, in my memory, and on my heart. I feel like I'll never be clean.

Well, what's more dirt on the wound if I'm already filthy to begin with?

I rip another fingernail off and hiss- shit. That one was too far and now there's blood on my finger.

No, no, no!

I've failed, I've messed up big time.

It's not a cut on my wrist but it might as well be- can see blood and it's harder to breathe. This can't happen again, I need to stop doing this!

I stagger into the hallway and over to the bathroom to knock on the closed door. I need a bandaid, now. I can't stand the sight of red anymore. If it keeps bleeding I think I'm going to be sick.

Ashton opens the door and his eyes immediately flit to my bleeding finger.

"I swear it was an accident, I didn't do it on purpose-" I rush to get my words out. I don't want him to think even for a second that this was something I wanted to happen.

"I know it was an accident, come here." He says in a gentle voice as he pulls me into the bathroom with him. I sigh out of relief but also stress and all I can do is stand on my foot and hope he'll give me a hug. I've grown too guilty to ask for one.

"Is therapy going well today?" He asks curiously as he cleans up my wound. I blink a few times and chew on my lip. I would say no, but my voice abandons me so I shake my head. He raises his eyebrows as he wraps a bandaid around my finger.