"Are you sure you can't get just a few days off? I mean, I know it's important to you, but you're in New York City! You'd think they'd let you have some time for your awesome girlfriend to visit. Lab work can't be that important."
"I'll ask, but I don't know. It was hard to even get this job" I lied. "I don't want to do anything to blow it, y'know?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's always about medschool and resumes with you. You just need to relax a little this summer. I swear, you're going to have a heart attack one of these days. Anyway, I've got to go, our plane's about to board. But I'm serious, I'll miss you this summer! Be good, okay Ethan?"
"Okay. Have a safe flight. I'll talk to you later."
"I will. I lov-". I ended the call before she could finish her sentence, tears welling in my eyes. On my first night in the greatest city in the world, in a 4 star hotel with a view of the New York skyline that seemed to promise adventures and excitement just waiting on the street below, I instead focused on the bathroom mirror. I gazed in to the surface, hoping to catch a glimpse of myself, even just for a moment, but instead a stranger stared back at me. The face looked gaunt and miserable. Little bits of stubble clung to the chin and bushy eyebrows only intensified the already square jaw. Downward was even worse, the broad shoulders, rigid body, and baggy clothes just another reminder of what I'd never be.
I returned to the bed and began sobbing into the pillow. As far as I was from my unsuspecting girlfriend and all too conservative parents, I couldn't escape from the omnipresent dysphoria that made up my gender identity. Everyone always saw me as Ethan. Masculine, friendly, hardworking, always trying to crack a joke and certainly never unhappy Ethan. And it never seemed to matter how much the pain welled up inside of me, how much I wanted to scream out in frustration, to tell everyone that it's all fake. The mask always holds. No one sees what's underneath. And most of all, no matter how much I hate wearing it, it remains, even when I'm alone. No matter how much it hurts that everyone else sees Ethan and not me, it's infinitely worse that I can't even see myself when I look in the mirror, no matter how much I do or how far I travel to leave the pain behind. And so in an effort to alleviate the pain even momentarily, I ignored the promises of the New York City nightlife and let the waves of dysphoria wash over me. That is, until I noticed the strange man sitting in the chair.
"I'll ask, but I don't know. It was hard to even get this job" I lied. "I don't want to do anything to blow it, y'know?"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's always about medschool and resumes with you. You just need to relax a little this summer. I swear, you're going to have a heart attack one of these days. Anyway, I've got to go, our plane's about to board. But I'm serious, I'll miss you this summer! Be good, okay Ethan?"
"Okay. Have a safe flight. I'll talk to you later."
"I will. I lov-". I ended the call before she could finish her sentence, tears welling in my eyes. On my first night in the greatest city in the world, in a 4 star hotel with a view of the New York skyline that seemed to promise adventures and excitement just waiting on the street below, I instead focused on the bathroom mirror. I gazed in to the surface, hoping to catch a glimpse of myself, even just for a moment, but instead a stranger stared back at me. The face looked gaunt and miserable. Little bits of stubble clung to the chin and bushy eyebrows only intensified the already square jaw. Downward was even worse, the broad shoulders, rigid body, and baggy clothes just another reminder of what I'd never be.
I returned to the bed and began sobbing into the pillow. As far as I was from my unsuspecting girlfriend and all too conservative parents, I couldn't escape from the omnipresent dysphoria that made up my gender identity. Everyone always saw me as Ethan. Masculine, friendly, hardworking, always trying to crack a joke and certainly never unhappy Ethan. And it never seemed to matter how much the pain welled up inside of me, how much I wanted to scream out in frustration, to tell everyone that it's all fake. The mask always holds. No one sees what's underneath. And most of all, no matter how much I hate wearing it, it remains, even when I'm alone. No matter how much it hurts that everyone else sees Ethan and not me, it's infinitely worse that I can't even see myself when I look in the mirror, no matter how much I do or how far I travel to leave the pain behind. And so in an effort to alleviate the pain even momentarily, I ignored the promises of the New York City nightlife and let the waves of dysphoria wash over me. That is, until I noticed the strange man sitting in the chair.
