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My Renaissance
Former Member
Posts: 1,876,323 The Mix Honorary Guru
Just a bit of an explanation-this story is based on a strange dream that I had last night, and for the main part is fictitious. Forgive me if it seems worrying, and please comment and vote if you like it :]
---
I remember my old life. I remember crying into the mirror that hung loosely from the bathroom wall, while the self inflicted wounds that encased my skin bled uncontrollably. On the windowsill lay a single rusted razor blade, practically blunted from overuse.
I remember that my name was once Alex, and I remember how I had ruined my life at only 15 years old. I remember the hatred people had felt towards me for no reason but because I was who I was. I still find it strange that all of this was just one year ago, on the 23rd of October, the eve of my 16th birthday.
After taking some seconds to compose myself, I decided it would be best to hide my arm from my parents. I had been able to pass off the cuts as scratches from a thorn bush at one point, but it would be impossible now that the cuts pretty much made up my arm. I pulled on a long jacket, which seemed to do the trick, although it did give off the occasional glimpse. "Good enough", I thought out loud. Blood soaked through it at an alarming rate, but it was undetectable against the black thread.
It was then, when I finally made up my mind. I couldn't commit suicide; something drew me to life, something deep inside, something I am yet to discover. I couldn't run away forever, as even severing every tie I had to the world wouldn't have made me less hated. No, it had to be something even more extreme, something that would allow me to reinvent myself entirely.
I would have a sex change.
The idea had came to me suddenly in desperation, and to this day I believe it was the best thing I could have possibly done. It allowed me to become who I am now, to shape myself into a new, better image. I knew I could do it, and all that stood in my way was the issue of money. I remember looking into the mirror once again, and hating every inch of my appearance. My skin was dried and cracked, and my walnut brown hair was matted and greasy. Blood filtered across my eyes, accentuated by the piercing blue of my irises. I made a point of looking away before I could begin to get upset, and promptly left the room. From that point on, I planned my renaissance.
It was just days later that I found the answer to my money problems, in the form of a bank statement which had been left on the dining room table. It all seemed so obvious, if not slightly complex. I would pay for my operation with my mothers credit card up front, and then wait for the next statement to arrive. When it did, I would steal it, scan it into the computer, change the bill from an operation to a new car, and then re-print the statement. When she noticed that she was being charged for a car, she would be able to prove that she in fact did not buy anything of the sort, and would not be made to pay for it. There was a pretty big risk that it wouldn't work, but it was a risk I had to take. Nobody could know of my new identity, only the doctor that would recreate me.
By November 8th, my plan had fallen into place. I had managed to convince an expensive surgeon to perform the operation for a fee, and all that was left to do was to fake my suicide. I can still recite the note perfectly, as if I was reading over it for the last time before the change. It read;
"To all of my relatives and everyone I love,
For many months now, the weight of the world has been too much for me to handle. Do not see my death as a loss, but as something that had to happen. I have so many things that I wanted to tell you, but I fear my time is running out. By the time you read this, I will have hidden myself somewhere that I can die completely alone, assured that nobody will ever find my corpse.
And now, I must ask that you do something, in memory of me. Go to the local orphanage in one week time, and you should find a girl named Chloe. Please adopt her; she is a good friend of mine, who I love very much, and she deserves a loving family.
Goodbye, and all my love,
Alex."
That was the turning point of my life, the point where all of this became real to me. I remember wondering how it had came to all this, going to such extremes just to be someone else. However, these thoughts did not last long. I had promised myself I would go through with it, and I would. 3 hours after leaving my note, I left the house, ready to return soon as Chloe. When I arrived at the hospital, they ushered me in hastily, clearly noticing my anxiety and wishing to complete it as soon as possible. I don't remember the operation as I was unconscious, but the sight of the scalpel descending on me still haunts my dreams.
I awoke 5 hours later, propped upright in a stylists chair, clothed only in a hospital gown. Above me were a set of doctors, all smiling warmly.
"Would you like to see yourself?" Asked one, and I nodded furiously. An assistant helped me to my feet, and walked me over to a covered mirror. He grasped the edges of the cloth that concealed it, and nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Instead of the hideous person that I once was facing me, was a beautiful young woman. They had changed me entirely; my lips were re-shaped and my irises were changed into a dazzling, emerald green with the help of coloured contact lenses. I had been given a small set of implants, as well as other female specific body parts, and my hips had been made effeminate and curved. I had also received a makeover, complete with long, sleek hair extensions, which flowed weightlessly behind me.
At heart, I will always be a man. But in body, I am a female, and that is the life I live. The doctors put me on a drug treatment of oestrogen, which will eventually adapt my body to be near identical to a woman's. After leaving the hospital, I found my way to the doorstep of the orphanage, who were happy to take me in. When my parents came for me, just as I had made them promise, I couldn't help but well up. I told them I was upset at Alex's death, even going as far as to claim we were once together as a couple.
At school, I have managed to fit in with a group of people that I was not accustomed to, and my looks have attracted the attention of many men. The oestrogen that flows through my body is making the concept of dating one of them increasingly attractive, and very soon I believe I will lose Alex forever. But I don't feel sadness, or for that matter any particular loss. I am Chloe now, and I always will be. The haze of depression that had once ensnared my heart has been lifted, and my soul set free in the process.
---
I remember my old life. I remember crying into the mirror that hung loosely from the bathroom wall, while the self inflicted wounds that encased my skin bled uncontrollably. On the windowsill lay a single rusted razor blade, practically blunted from overuse.
I remember that my name was once Alex, and I remember how I had ruined my life at only 15 years old. I remember the hatred people had felt towards me for no reason but because I was who I was. I still find it strange that all of this was just one year ago, on the 23rd of October, the eve of my 16th birthday.
After taking some seconds to compose myself, I decided it would be best to hide my arm from my parents. I had been able to pass off the cuts as scratches from a thorn bush at one point, but it would be impossible now that the cuts pretty much made up my arm. I pulled on a long jacket, which seemed to do the trick, although it did give off the occasional glimpse. "Good enough", I thought out loud. Blood soaked through it at an alarming rate, but it was undetectable against the black thread.
It was then, when I finally made up my mind. I couldn't commit suicide; something drew me to life, something deep inside, something I am yet to discover. I couldn't run away forever, as even severing every tie I had to the world wouldn't have made me less hated. No, it had to be something even more extreme, something that would allow me to reinvent myself entirely.
I would have a sex change.
The idea had came to me suddenly in desperation, and to this day I believe it was the best thing I could have possibly done. It allowed me to become who I am now, to shape myself into a new, better image. I knew I could do it, and all that stood in my way was the issue of money. I remember looking into the mirror once again, and hating every inch of my appearance. My skin was dried and cracked, and my walnut brown hair was matted and greasy. Blood filtered across my eyes, accentuated by the piercing blue of my irises. I made a point of looking away before I could begin to get upset, and promptly left the room. From that point on, I planned my renaissance.
It was just days later that I found the answer to my money problems, in the form of a bank statement which had been left on the dining room table. It all seemed so obvious, if not slightly complex. I would pay for my operation with my mothers credit card up front, and then wait for the next statement to arrive. When it did, I would steal it, scan it into the computer, change the bill from an operation to a new car, and then re-print the statement. When she noticed that she was being charged for a car, she would be able to prove that she in fact did not buy anything of the sort, and would not be made to pay for it. There was a pretty big risk that it wouldn't work, but it was a risk I had to take. Nobody could know of my new identity, only the doctor that would recreate me.
By November 8th, my plan had fallen into place. I had managed to convince an expensive surgeon to perform the operation for a fee, and all that was left to do was to fake my suicide. I can still recite the note perfectly, as if I was reading over it for the last time before the change. It read;
"To all of my relatives and everyone I love,
For many months now, the weight of the world has been too much for me to handle. Do not see my death as a loss, but as something that had to happen. I have so many things that I wanted to tell you, but I fear my time is running out. By the time you read this, I will have hidden myself somewhere that I can die completely alone, assured that nobody will ever find my corpse.
And now, I must ask that you do something, in memory of me. Go to the local orphanage in one week time, and you should find a girl named Chloe. Please adopt her; she is a good friend of mine, who I love very much, and she deserves a loving family.
Goodbye, and all my love,
Alex."
That was the turning point of my life, the point where all of this became real to me. I remember wondering how it had came to all this, going to such extremes just to be someone else. However, these thoughts did not last long. I had promised myself I would go through with it, and I would. 3 hours after leaving my note, I left the house, ready to return soon as Chloe. When I arrived at the hospital, they ushered me in hastily, clearly noticing my anxiety and wishing to complete it as soon as possible. I don't remember the operation as I was unconscious, but the sight of the scalpel descending on me still haunts my dreams.
I awoke 5 hours later, propped upright in a stylists chair, clothed only in a hospital gown. Above me were a set of doctors, all smiling warmly.
"Would you like to see yourself?" Asked one, and I nodded furiously. An assistant helped me to my feet, and walked me over to a covered mirror. He grasped the edges of the cloth that concealed it, and nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. Instead of the hideous person that I once was facing me, was a beautiful young woman. They had changed me entirely; my lips were re-shaped and my irises were changed into a dazzling, emerald green with the help of coloured contact lenses. I had been given a small set of implants, as well as other female specific body parts, and my hips had been made effeminate and curved. I had also received a makeover, complete with long, sleek hair extensions, which flowed weightlessly behind me.
At heart, I will always be a man. But in body, I am a female, and that is the life I live. The doctors put me on a drug treatment of oestrogen, which will eventually adapt my body to be near identical to a woman's. After leaving the hospital, I found my way to the doorstep of the orphanage, who were happy to take me in. When my parents came for me, just as I had made them promise, I couldn't help but well up. I told them I was upset at Alex's death, even going as far as to claim we were once together as a couple.
At school, I have managed to fit in with a group of people that I was not accustomed to, and my looks have attracted the attention of many men. The oestrogen that flows through my body is making the concept of dating one of them increasingly attractive, and very soon I believe I will lose Alex forever. But I don't feel sadness, or for that matter any particular loss. I am Chloe now, and I always will be. The haze of depression that had once ensnared my heart has been lifted, and my soul set free in the process.
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