DEVILS FOX

It was a long year, each day that passed got heavier and heavier to bear, resulting in the depression getting worse and worse. He became more and more distant, trying to protect himself from the ones he loved, fearing they would be the ones to judge him most harshly. But each day just swelled more, stretching to the point where sleep was most always desperately needed. Weekends were wasted away by endless nights which seemed to last until the afternoon. Yet no one seemed to notice that their friend, their family, their son, had gone.

*

Annabelle wasn’t sure when this feeling hit her, or how it even came to her mind in the first place, though she had felt like this before, six years ago, when she had just entered high school at 11 years old. She felt a sudden dread wash over her as she realised that she wasn’t able to feel the same way about boys that her friends did.

She knew she was gay and confided in her friends, yet by the end of the school year, the whole school knew, and she was made a ridicule of. She lost friends because of this too, yet didn't care too much. They couldn’t have been great friends if they were willing to abandon her over something so insignificant.

 

By the time she was 15, Annabelle was actually kind of popular and knew most of her colleagues at school. She was friendly and no one seemed to hate her, resulting in her being invited to most parties where she would often pick up girls and take them home at stupid hours of the night, pissing off her parents deeply. They were used to this by now though, as Annabelle’s older brother Jonathan was doing the same and had been for many years, being two years older than Annabelle.

 

It wasn’t long before Annabelle found her first love at 16 years old. They got close and acted like friends for most of the time until they decided to go public. They went on many dates but never showed any signs of romance, until one day they went shopping in Liverpool together, holding hands for most of the day.

It was then that Annabelle first experienced real hate as two much older men followed her and her girlfriend around for an hour, screaming abuse at them, until the couple eventually lost them at the train station where they quickly jumped on the next train home. 

The two broke up as a result of fear and embarrassment. Annabelle was heartbroken, not only losing her relationship but losing a close friend. Even though she dwelled on it for a little while, she got over it fairly quickly and went back to her old routine of going off to parties and sneaking home girls.

It was at a Halloween party, when she was 17, that she began to realise something may be wrong. She had dressed up as her favourite character from her favourite film, Tyler Durden, Fight Club. Somehow, she felt better about herself, more comfortable, more confident, something that she would be unable to explain to anyone.

So, she didn’t.

 

Annabelle tried to suppress the feeling for months, until it overwhelmed her completely. This was when she started binding; it was painful but it helped, it made her chest flat and with the help of a beanie hat and a baggy hoodie, she looked like a scruffy pubescent male. Yet somehow this felt easier, but it still didn’t feel right.

She wasn’t sure what was happening or what she was going through, all she knew was that she wasn’t comfortable being who she used to be. This sadness overwhelmed Annabelle, and she began to distance herself from all her acquaintances, and then her friends, until all she had left were her tight knit group, whom she would hang out with in most of her spare time. But even this eventually came to a halt. She didn’t want to go outside anymore, at least not dressed how she was.

Eventually Annabelle gave in and started stealing clothes off of her brother in an attempt to change the way she dressed. She wasn’t sure why it helped, but she knew it did in some crazy way, and she knew she had to do more.

So, she consulted the internet.

This whole idea of gender baffled her, but she knew it had to be true, she knew she wasn’t herself anymore.

 

Annabelle dug around to see what she could do to satisfy this inner dysphoria that she was feeling. She needed to look masculine, she needed short hair. She cut her hair, her long brown hair, so that it wrapped around her head and ears, and shopped for herself in the male section of every clothing store she could find, until she had a range of daily outfits. This was a start.

Her parents were confused as to why their only daughter had suddenly sparked an interest in being more butch than femme, but didn’t seem to mind too much, passing it off as another teenage phase, much like what they thought of her being gay. It befuddled her friends too, yet they accepted it a lot quicker than her parents. This allowed Annabelle to think that she had people behind her that supported her through her journey, her journey to becoming Aaron.

It was hard adjusting to a new name at first, but Aaron decided it must be done by everyone in order for him to feel more comfortable; this even meant going by new pronouns.

Even though Aaron knew he had people there for him, he still felt a giant hole inside his chest, something that no one else really understood, that not even he understood. This led to depression. It grew worse and worse, reaching the point where he had to check himself into the doctors to see if they could do anything to help him.

 

It was a long process, one that already had a waiting line of over a year, so Aaron had to be sure that he was ready for it; he had to be sure that he was transgender, otherwise he could cause problems for many people. But he was sure, and signed himself up for the therapy session he was obligated to take. Until then, he lived his life as he could, as himself, until the day of the session.

 

The session came around soon enough, but it was a long and dreadful week. When it came to the waiting room, anxiety filled his head as he waited to hear which name he was called in by. It was Annabelle, of course. A name he had only heard in part over the past few months when someone would say it by mistake before realising and changing over quickly.

At least the therapist used his new name, and he used it a lot in that one hour, asking many questions as he could fit in. Aaron answered as honestly as possible, yet every answer felt like a wrong one, and every truth felt like it was being judged.

He left feeling worse than when he entered, accepting the fact that he might never know who he truly is, and even if he did, it would be a few years until he was able to figure that out.

 

Aaron decided he’d had enough of not knowing, enough of feeling the way he felt. Making his way home he stopped in every shop he could, buying as many boxes of pills as they would let him get away with.

He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but he felt that he had to. He made his way home to find he was alone, alone was how he always seemed to feel. So, he started.  Opening all of the packets and laying them down one by one, popping all of the pills out onto a small tissue. He popped them into his mouth, quickly, he wanted to get this over and done with.

Once he was halfway through, he stopped to write a note, which he crumpled up and held in his hand while he swallowed the last of the pills. He lay down, shut his eyes, and felt himself slipping away, he knew his pain was no longer permanent.