An abridged story of sorts begins with a boy, who abhorred no one but himself. It wasn’t emotions of detest; a word like that couldn’t possibly describe the way he abominated himself. He loathed the face that stared back, the ghostly reflection in the mirror. He couldn’t stand it. Everything about his body was foreign to him, from head to toe. None of it felt right.

His mother attempted to sympathize,
       

“It’s hard and confusing, isn’t it? Being a teenager is very abstruse, you see. This is all just a passing phase, and it’ll be gone before you know it.”

Of course, he knew it wasn’t ‘just a passing phase’. He couldn’t escape from the abyss of his overflowing emotions, drowning within the hate and loathing of his own body. It felt like he was lost in a labyrinth of a forest, squeezing through the abutting trees and flora of his mind. His thoughts were merely an adjunct to the forests and seas of his self-hate, slowly drifting, vanishing into thin air.
       

He never once felt an affinity towards his body, nor his name. None of it fit him, as if it were a wrong piece to a puzzle. A name for a person isn’t considered a vow, or an affidavit of any kind.

        ‘A change of identity could be possible. Could it not?’ He always yearned.

If anyone gave him that chance, he wouldn’t hesitate. For years on end, he would stare into the mirror, agonizing over the way his mother forced him to wear his hair, or the clothes his mother would buy for him. He cringed when his name was repeated over and over every time someone called his name. The degradation nearly brought him to unspeakable madness, from which he was forced to keep bottled within. The continuous reminder of his self-hatred was bound to his very body, every single day of his seemingly unending life.

         “Why, it’s Janet Ashby! How are you today? You look lovely, my dear.”
         “It’s been a while Janet! Look how beautiful you’ve gotten!”

Nothing felt right. He abhorred it, detested it, abominated it, loathed it, and DESPISED it. Regardless how many times he told his mother, or confided in a close friend, no one believed him. And for a fact, even he knew; that Janet Ashby was never meant to be a girl.