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Tommy is at an impasse. A stalemate, a dilemma, a standstill if you will. What is his problem you may ask, well Tommy is trans, FTM. But that’s not the problem. Well it kind of is but that isn’t the point of this story.
The biggest problem for him at this moment is the fact that no one cares, understands, or accepts him. Actually, not no one, there is one person that actually treats him like the boy he is. That special someone is his best friend Tubbo. When you think about it, it’s pathetic that the only one in Tommy’s life that accepts him is his non-binary friend, but the world is a messed up place. Tommy had come out to six people three months ago; his mom, dad, sister, therapist, a team mate, and Tubbo.
Three months ago and Tubbo is the only one that has changed. After the extremely emotional, two hour long coming out, no one has changed. Tommy is still deadname, and she, and daughter, and sister, and every other fucking word that comes with being born a girl! He hates it. He hates everything.
He knows they love him, they remind him of that everyday, but that love is not unconditional. So here he is weighing his options on the bathroom floor. Live in a house where no one truly loves him, and a world where no one supports him. Or, well, die. It seems he’s always running from his problems via suicide attempts, this would be number four, yet there is still that glimmer of hope.
The possibility of transitioning, of being happy. He had to keep pushing. Guilt tied him to the earth since the only reason he was alive was for his family. Ironic that the people holding him back from happiness were also the ones holding him back from death. Tommy sighed and exited the bathroom. He’ll live another day, he has decided.
~~~~
It’s the little things they say.
“You weren’t like this when you were younger.”
“All women struggle with confidence issues.”
“My friend’s the brother I never got.”
“Why won’t you wear a dress?”
“This is my daughter, deadname.”
“Hey girly!”
And then there’s the awkward avoidance. Not using any pronouns or names. Just talking and hoping it’s not misgendering or affirming. Somewhere in the middle. Like they don’t want to be mean, but also don’t want to accept your truth.
But despite all that is Tubbo. The singular sun ray in Tommy’s sky of clouds. They always say the right things. Using he or they pronouns in front of everyone. Using “man”, “sir”, and “dude” when texting. They just… get it.
~~~
Tommy was flooded with jealousy as he walked the halls of his school. His eyes wandered to every boy he passed. Why couldn’t that be him? The short hair, the jaw line, the short stubble on their faces, the height, the muscles, the flat chest, the simple but oh so cool clothes. Why couldn’t that singular x chromosome be a y? Life would be so much better with that one y. He rounds the corner entering his English class, walking to the front and sitting at his desk. Tommy sighs, bending down to get his notebook and pencil from his backpack. He loves English but hates this teacher. “Ok for your warm up please answer the prompt on the board!” and like that the envy is gone, replaced by brainstorming for an answer to the question in front of him.
~~~
That night things got so much worse. Tommy had to take a shower, his long hair was dark and shiny with grease. He never made it to the shower. He was stuck staring at himself naked in the mirror. Everything was wrong! Tears rolled down his cheeks as he resigned himself to nit-picking every single thing wrong with him. The list was too long. Too heavy
His hair was long. Too long. Half way down his back.
His face was fat and soft, littered with acne.
His chest was… a huge problem. Literally and figuratively.
His waist and hips were more accentuated than last time he checked. That’s no good.
His private area’s wrong.
His thighs are too big.
His lack of body hair is wrong.
I’M DISGUSTING, his thoughts roared. I’M WRONG AND GROSS AND FAT AND UGLY AND A WOMAN… that’s all I’ll ever be. Anger, panic, and sorrow was replaced with a cold rush of numbness.
I’ll never be a boy. Tommy Deadname turned to the shower, looking longingly at its potential. He shouldn’t. No! She should.
She plugs the tub. Turns the knob to the hottest setting. Deadname stares as the tub fills. She should write a letter. She turns to the counter, shooting a quick text to Tubbo.
“Thanks for everything. I love you so much. Take care of yourself. <3”
Walking back over to the tub, Deadname turns the faucet off. She collapses to her knees, sobbing over the knowledge of what she’s about to do. She grips the side of the tub and dunks her head in, screaming her final breath out. It hurts so much. Her skin is shocked by the heat of the water, sweating and burning. Her lungs burn, lacking oxygen. Deadname doesn’t give in. Her life is over. Tears leak fruitlessly into the tub, her body squirms and legs kick the floor, as her brain begs for air. And just as she thinks she’ll give up, everything goes dark. In Deadname’s unconsciousness, her lungs fill with water and her body shuts down.
All that is left of Deadname is a limp body hanging over the edge of the bathroom shower, a room of material goods, far too feminine for Tommy, and a friend left without their crutch, their favorite person in the world.
The world was too cruel.
It’s a real shame.