Ramblings of an illiterate eccedentesiast.

Medicine. (40,320 minutes)

      He breathed in. Hold. "3, 2, 1...", he counted in his head, as he pushed down the plunger of the syringe, allowing its contents to enter his blood stream and flow through his veins. He breathed out with a sigh of relief. He had been doing this every day for the last month but, it seemed as though his body was still not used to having a 20 gauge needle stabbing it every Saturday. One month. It'd been one month since he had finally started to feel like himself, and not the person he had been pretending to be for the last 16 years. It'd been the most exhilarating 40,320 minutes of his life and he'd basted in every second of it.

    He remembered the first time he had realized. The very first time he had come to terms with it all. It was about a year ago. He had been up to the usual. well, not so usual to most but, it had become almost a routine to him. He laid flat on his bed and felt the fat in his chest press against his rib-cage. He jerked as a sob escaped him. He hated it. He hated it so so much. The two globules of fat, otherwise known as breasts, made his chest ache. It hurt just to know they existed. He wanted them gone. He wanted to be able to wake up one day and for them to have just disappeared, for his chest to be flat but, he knew that could never happen. Something had to be done. He couldn't even bear the thought of carrying on living like this.

      First he told his brother, who hugged him the moment he had processed what he had just told him. "Huh. Easy enough," he thought. Next, he told his mother, the one he thought so highly of. He was scared, as anyone would be. Imagine telling your mother that you aren't who or rather what she raised you to be. Nevertheless he had always been a bit of a mama's boy so he knew she would accept him for who he is. After that, one by one he began telling his friends. Some accepted him. Others didn't. He was fine with it because those who really mattered to him were the ones who stayed. It was easy. It all seemed to simple, it's like his mind had clearly laid out a blueprint on how exactly it was all supposed to go and so far it had been going according to plan. Telling them honestly for the first time, about how he had felt his entire life. The only real obstacle he knew he would eventually come across would be how to open up to his dad. 

     Ever since he was young, he had held his dad up on a pedestal, as if he were some sort of superhero. If he disapproved of who he was, well, it would completely break him, possibly beyond the point of repair. It would put him through a level of pain he would never wish on anyone. So, he didn't tell him. At least not until three months after telling practically everyone else who was closest to him, all who had promised not to expose him. Then, one night, after their late night T.V. bonding session, he decided he would finally tell him. He could feel the anxiety in his chest build up like a balloon rapidly being inflated but, after the words finally escaped his lips, he felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He told him he loved and he couldn't help but, allow himself to breathe, for the first time in so long.

   This whole time. The whole time he had been going through this, there were one too many moments when he was so sure he wouldn't make it but, in that moment, when his dad just held him and accepted him. That was when he knew he was going to be okay. 

   A few weeks after that, he and his dad went to a private gender clinic where he was diagnosed as having gender dysphoria and was told that he could be treated within a week, which then turned into a month, then, four months and then a year. To be honest, it was unbearable. Every part of it. The excruciating pain of getting your hopes up only to have them crushed by a single phone call from a lady in a blue uniform was probably the worst part of it all. The endless nights he stayed up, staring at his ceiling, wondering if the day would ever come. The day when he could finally live as his true self. He even thought about ending it all once or twice, the pain he was going through but, then he'd remember, it would all be worth it when he could finally get to experience what it would feel like to truly be himself. Then, one afternoon, when he least expected it, that day came. That day was exactly 40,320 minutes ago.

    He remembers walking into the clinic with his dad and his brother, feeling as though he was on cloud nine! It was the most amazing feeling in the world. He remembers sitting in the patient's chair, pulling up his shorts and sticking the needle attached to the syringe with the hormones, the miracle fluid that would save his life, into his thigh as the nurse instructed him on what he was supposed to do afterwards. It stung but, it was a good sting. He remembers how his dad kept saying, "Remember kiddo, it's just medicine. No overdosing. It's no big deal, okay?" He nodded, grinning from ear to ear. When he felt the fluid begin to flow through him, he finally felt complete. 

    The effects of the fluid didn't take place until at least two weeks later, when he finally noticed his voice becoming slightly deeper, the hair all over his body slowly become thicker and darker and his facial hair finally started to grow. Ever since then, the last 40,320 minutes of his life have been wonderfully hectic. He legally had his name and gender changed and he actually took steps in implementing the plans to make a gender neutral bathroom in his school for kids like him. 

  He sighed. He looked down at his thigh and realized he still hadn't taken the needle out. "Oh shit!" He pulled out the needle as fast as he could and stared at the syringe in his hand. "I know," he whispered, "It's just medicine." He smiled.