A Ship Rebuilt

4/12/23

Vivi sat on the edge, both physically and figuratively. Not quite living, and not yet dead. Not quite female, yet certainly no longer male. Overwhelmed by emotion, and yet so very numb. Driven to action, but hopelessly trying to hold herself back.

She just couldn’t take it anymore, her life was good, but she still felt so fucking empty that she knew something was missing. She has friends, family, a promising career, and a doting partner, but she wanted, no, she needed more. Her therapist said it was all internalized, and Vivi accepted that, but how could she possibly change that deep internal part of herself without losing who she was as a person? She felt cursed. Cursed to be stuck in the body she didn’t want or ask for, cursed to be so close to what she’s always craved, yet never able to physically achieve it. The pain of proximity to the ideal is so much worse when you know it is impossible. It would be so much easier if she were farther from it. Which is why she knew she had to do it.

It was a beautiful summer night in Manhattan. Sitting on the edge of her apartment building’s rooftop, she could see millions of people, all with their own lives and stories, mingling and bustling about. She could feel the residual warmth in the air and the smell of distant gunpowder from the evening’s fireworks. She has lived in New York for as long as she has been conscious, yet has never grown sick of looking out on the city and taking in its majesty. She almost felt like she belonged here.

So she sat there, for a while longer than usual, thinking about the lives of the people she saw below her, fantasizing about being in their shoes and feeling normal, until she couldn’t bear it anymore.

At that moment, she knew it was time.

She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and leaned over the edge.