To: [email protected]
From: Kat432578@ gmail.com
Re: Where are you?

Ugh. I feel terrible, Marisa. The deed is done, and there is no going back. I feel like I’ve been kicked between the legs by a giraffe. Thank God for pain medication. I cannot imagine what I would feel like if I wasn’t jacked up right now.

Every one has been so nice to me here since I woke up. I was in the op room for 8 hours. Dr. Thingamajig (I really need to learn how to say his name) said everything went better than expected. Wow. I’d hate to see what I would have felt like if things had gone badly.

I am bored, but don’t feel like getting up. I have a catheter stuck up in me, and that is a pain in the well, whatever you want to call it. I still call it my wee wee. (Ha haaa! That is so stupid!) I’m still loopy, so please don’t show that to anyone, ok?

I attached a photo from the dim past. Remember that day? We were fifteen and I had just gotten the first of those God awful guitar earrings you hated so much. I can’t believe I could pass as a boy at that age. I must have looked like the gayest fifteen year old boy on earth. Maybe I didn’t pass. You know, I just thought about it. My name was Kerry, and I looked like that. Well, no makeup. I’ll bet a lot of people thought I was an awkward girl. Ha! That’s why I never got picked on! Getting excused from phys ed because of “Asthma”, courtesy of Doctor Pervert, kept me out of the locker room. Oh wow.

I wish you could be here, Marisa. I am soooo lonely. This is just the worst time for me. All I have to do is sit here, watch Netflix movies and think of what waits for me on the other side of this little adventure. I wish I could say that I feel better about myself, but right now I don’t. I just feel like a big fat phony. Maybe I should have had my boobs done. Maybe it would have taken attention away from my puss. God, I hate that word already. What do I call it? Esther! LOL! Where did that come from?

I suppose I’ll have plenty of time to think about it. I just had an idea. Wouldn’t it be great if before we were born, God asked us what we wanted to be? That would be so cool. I could have had a normal childhood, and my biggest worry would have been what college to go to, not what pervert will give me the most money. I so HATEEEEE what I did! Is that all I am now? Just a whore of a different kind?

You know what I want, Mar? I swear to God this is it. I want a man to love me for who I am, not to wonder about my past, and I want to love him back, and take care of him. I want to be a housewife, Marisa. An honest to goodness Mrs. Cleaver. I want to be a mommy, someone who will take care of her kids and take them to soccer practice, or cheerleading, or whatever they want to do, and not judge them, but help them be who they want to be. And I pray that they aren’t like me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Do you think I could ever find that with anyone? Like Trent? Someone else? I went to some websites that specialize in people with transgender issues. They had all of these successful people who made the change. They are doctors and lawyers and all kinds of professional people. You know what I didn’t see? Mommies. Am I crazy? Those women are great and I’m glad they are happy, but I don’t want to be an icon. I want to be a mommy. And it’s the one thing I’ll never have. I know I can’t have children, but I could adopt, couldn’t I? But then they check my past and zap, I’m out.

I had to take a break, girl. Maybe my hormones are different or something. I start crying for no reason. I wonder what sex will be like after I’m all healed. I have read so much about taking care of the new plumbing, that I think I could do it in my sleep. But to actually experience it? You know, I never said this to you before, but I always hated getting it in the rear. It hurt, and I always felt violated after it was done. I had to thank the bastards who did it to me (customer service, you know:P) and tell them how good it was, then I’d bleed for the next day. I needed pads to stop my “periods” from ruining my underwear. I hope they all rot in hell. But hell, I got my wish, didn’t I. I am the uber successful whore about town, you know, the one whose family hates her?

Yeah. Granny and Gramps weren’t too impressed with the sissy grandson. Who knows what they think now? And the cousins? I can see them now! What a riot. At least I have my friends. All three of them. And my little black book. I hate me.

I know, you’ll probably write me back and tell me I’m too hard on myself. Speaking of that, why haven’t you written me back yet? I keep writing you like you asked, and you haven’t sent anything back? What’s up with that?

I think I’ll check the local news so I’ll have something to talk to you about.

MARISA! You have to write me back! I just saw that a Marisa Gomez, 18, of San Diego was killed in a drive by shooting yesterday. It can’t be you. It can’t. Please, God, Marisa. Write me back. This isn’t funny! If it is you, I know your parents won’t call me. They always hated me. I’ll check Facebook. Please be safe.

I love you,

Katrina