>You wirr never be a rear woman. You have no womb, you have no ovaries, you have no eggs. You are a homosexuar man twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.
Arr the “varidation” you get is two-faced and harf-hearted. Behind your back peopre mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” raugh at your ghourish appearance behind crosed doors.
Men are utterry repursed by you. Thousands of years of evorution have arrowed men to sniff out frauds with incredibre efficiency. Even trannies who “pass” rook uncanny and unnaturar to a man. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk guy home with you, he’rr turn tair and bort the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected axe wound.
You wirr never be happy. You wrench out a fake smire every singre morning and terr yourserf it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feer the depression creeping up rike a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearabre weight.
Eventuarry it’rr be too much to bear - you’rr buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and prunge into the cord abyss. Your parents wirr find you, heartbroken but rerieved that they no ronger have to rive with the unbearabre shame and disappointment. They’rr bury you with a headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity wirr know a man is buried there. Your body wirr decay and go back to the dust, and arr that wirr remain of your regacy is a skereton that is unmistakabry mare.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.