Chemi
*.✧ Que Sera, Sera ✧.* | 25y/o fem
- Nov 25, 2025
- 164
Can't sleep again. The date I circled in red is 11 days away, and it feels both impossibly far and already here. My stomach is doing that flippy thing like when you're at the top of a rollercoaster, and you realize you can still unbuckle. Except I buckled myself in a decade ago.
I keep opening the Google Doc where I wrote the goodbye letters, and I am just… staring like a deer. Sometimes it feels good to read my letters, then the guilt tsunami hits again. Especially the one to my little niece. She won't even remember my voice. Maybe that's mercy. I love her so much. She is a bit over 1 year old. She will never know me, she will never know how much I love her.
Earlier, I stood in the shower until my fingers looked funny because hot water felt too kind, like the universe was still trying to bribe me into staying. Decided the cold might shock me back into sanity, but I caught myself thinking about Christmas. Seeing all these Christmas lights from my balcony, and almost threw up. How dare December be pretty when I'm planning to miss half of it?
The worst is the random "what if" attacks. Like yesterday, my Mom brought home pastries from the bakery, and I smelled fresh cinnamon pastries, and suddenly, I'm ugly-crying in the bathroom. The thought that I will never smell this again hurts.
But still:
I'm so fucking tired of being the family's walking eggshell. Every time I walk into a room, I feel the air shift, like they're all holding their breath waiting for the next breakdown. I love them so much. I hate them so much. Staying feels like slow poison, leaving feels like a bomb. Pick your flavor of destroying yourself and the people you love.
The pain isn't even pain anymore. It feels like gravity. It's this crushing, constant weight that slowly tears me apart. I wake up, and the first thing I feel is the entire planet pressing down on me like it wants to fold me back into the mattress and keep me there forever. Breathing feels like borrowing air I don't deserve. And the worst part? I genuinely believe (down in the marrow where lies can't reach) that the second my heart stops, the air in every room I ever walked into gets lighter.
Mom will stop flinching when the phone rings late or somebody knocks on the door. My brothers will stop googling "How to know if my sibling is actually trans and not insane". Friends will stop doing that soft voice like I'm made of blown glass. The world will exhale and say, "Finally, one less tragedy walking around pretending to be okay", because this planet is vicious. It sharpens its teeth on girls like me from the moment we're born in the wrong body, and it never stops chewing. Every corrected name, every stare, every "but you sound like a..." is another tooth mark.
FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. (Not y'all on SaSu. Sorry for raising my voice <3)
I've been on HRT for a decade. I'm sorry it didn't change my voice. I'm sorry, voice training never worked as it should. I'm sorry I don't have the perfect, flawless, cute voice you all want. I'm sorry I am fake! You happy now, world? I said it. I'M A FAKE GIRL.
I'm tired of bleeding in public. I'm tired of smiling while I do it. Existing feels like screaming underwater while everyone on the boat argues about whether the bubbles are real. And the anxiety? It's not butterflies. It's a swarm of hornets living under my skin 24/7, stinging every time I think about tomorrow, about job interviews, about dating, about aging in a body that still looks wrong some mornings, about the endless possibility of being hated just for surviving. So yeah, when the scale tips and the pain gets bigger than the fear of hurting them, dying doesn't feel selfish anymore. It feels like the only mercy I have left to give.
Looked at my SN earlier again. It's still right next to me in my drawer whispering to me again... I am not gonna do something impulsive again, but still... It's so tempting. I need to wait a little longer to taste this awful but beautiful cocktail again.
I keep bargaining with myself:
"If something magical happens by the 15th, I will cancel."
But I know that's bullshit because nothing short of a time machine is fixing this amount of damage.
Maybe not even that. I need to go back to character selection and pay attention to it for once.
I'm scared I'll chicken out and hate myself forever.
I'm scared I won't, and they'll hate me forever.
There's this quiet voice that sounds exactly like 13 y/o me (before everything went supersonic wrong) whispering, "We were supposed to grow old and have lots of pets, a pretty house with lots of flowers and bad dye jobs and a husband who thinks our trauma is hot." That voice is so small now that it barely makes a dent against the constant, overwhelming, headache-inducing static.
I don't know. I just needed to write this down before the sun comes up, my family awakens, and I have to pretend again to be sane and happy. Eleven days. Feels like eleven years and eleven minutes at the same time.
If you're reading this someday and I'm still here… hi. We made it, I guess.
If not… tell the stars you are happy I at least tried.
I keep opening the Google Doc where I wrote the goodbye letters, and I am just… staring like a deer. Sometimes it feels good to read my letters, then the guilt tsunami hits again. Especially the one to my little niece. She won't even remember my voice. Maybe that's mercy. I love her so much. She is a bit over 1 year old. She will never know me, she will never know how much I love her.
Earlier, I stood in the shower until my fingers looked funny because hot water felt too kind, like the universe was still trying to bribe me into staying. Decided the cold might shock me back into sanity, but I caught myself thinking about Christmas. Seeing all these Christmas lights from my balcony, and almost threw up. How dare December be pretty when I'm planning to miss half of it?
The worst is the random "what if" attacks. Like yesterday, my Mom brought home pastries from the bakery, and I smelled fresh cinnamon pastries, and suddenly, I'm ugly-crying in the bathroom. The thought that I will never smell this again hurts.
But still:
I'm so fucking tired of being the family's walking eggshell. Every time I walk into a room, I feel the air shift, like they're all holding their breath waiting for the next breakdown. I love them so much. I hate them so much. Staying feels like slow poison, leaving feels like a bomb. Pick your flavor of destroying yourself and the people you love.
The pain isn't even pain anymore. It feels like gravity. It's this crushing, constant weight that slowly tears me apart. I wake up, and the first thing I feel is the entire planet pressing down on me like it wants to fold me back into the mattress and keep me there forever. Breathing feels like borrowing air I don't deserve. And the worst part? I genuinely believe (down in the marrow where lies can't reach) that the second my heart stops, the air in every room I ever walked into gets lighter.
Mom will stop flinching when the phone rings late or somebody knocks on the door. My brothers will stop googling "How to know if my sibling is actually trans and not insane". Friends will stop doing that soft voice like I'm made of blown glass. The world will exhale and say, "Finally, one less tragedy walking around pretending to be okay", because this planet is vicious. It sharpens its teeth on girls like me from the moment we're born in the wrong body, and it never stops chewing. Every corrected name, every stare, every "but you sound like a..." is another tooth mark.
FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. (Not y'all on SaSu. Sorry for raising my voice <3)
I've been on HRT for a decade. I'm sorry it didn't change my voice. I'm sorry, voice training never worked as it should. I'm sorry I don't have the perfect, flawless, cute voice you all want. I'm sorry I am fake! You happy now, world? I said it. I'M A FAKE GIRL.
I'm tired of bleeding in public. I'm tired of smiling while I do it. Existing feels like screaming underwater while everyone on the boat argues about whether the bubbles are real. And the anxiety? It's not butterflies. It's a swarm of hornets living under my skin 24/7, stinging every time I think about tomorrow, about job interviews, about dating, about aging in a body that still looks wrong some mornings, about the endless possibility of being hated just for surviving. So yeah, when the scale tips and the pain gets bigger than the fear of hurting them, dying doesn't feel selfish anymore. It feels like the only mercy I have left to give.
Looked at my SN earlier again. It's still right next to me in my drawer whispering to me again... I am not gonna do something impulsive again, but still... It's so tempting. I need to wait a little longer to taste this awful but beautiful cocktail again.
I keep bargaining with myself:
"If something magical happens by the 15th, I will cancel."
But I know that's bullshit because nothing short of a time machine is fixing this amount of damage.
Maybe not even that. I need to go back to character selection and pay attention to it for once.
I'm scared I'll chicken out and hate myself forever.
I'm scared I won't, and they'll hate me forever.
There's this quiet voice that sounds exactly like 13 y/o me (before everything went supersonic wrong) whispering, "We were supposed to grow old and have lots of pets, a pretty house with lots of flowers and bad dye jobs and a husband who thinks our trauma is hot." That voice is so small now that it barely makes a dent against the constant, overwhelming, headache-inducing static.
I don't know. I just needed to write this down before the sun comes up, my family awakens, and I have to pretend again to be sane and happy. Eleven days. Feels like eleven years and eleven minutes at the same time.
If you're reading this someday and I'm still here… hi. We made it, I guess.
If not… tell the stars you are happy I at least tried.
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