“I’m a HE, you stupid b*tch!” he mutters as the social worker left the curtain opened.
He tries so hard for people around him to see and understand that he hates his body which he was born in.
He despised being called “Ava,” a name which reminds him of how his parents beat the crap out of him when he was younger.
He changed his name to “Eric,” and shaved his head to disguise his feminine face.
But these people who come and go behind those curtains while he lies in the hospital bed are relentless with their interrogation.
They say nice things to him and pretend to save him like Jesus except that he can hear their thoughts.
Judging him. Pitying him like a dying puppy. He wished that they would disappear, forever.
They never understand the demons consuming him alive when he is alone because they never listen.
Because they never ask him what he wants. It is all about what they want for him to do.
He wished the cleaning lady did not find him when he drank the cleaning solution in the bathroom.
The nurse appears behind the curtain and says to him, “We are now moving you to the psychiatric unit upstairs.”
As they wheeled him towards the door, the only thought running through his mind is for the Future to be less brutal. For the shadows of the past to stop chasing him and for the thoughts to disappear.