[TW; cursing]Emptyness. Sadness. Melancholy.They don't feel like good descriptors. I see them everywhere on here. Everywhere. Every story, every word. It's not a bad thing.But it's unfortunate,ThatWe really need sites for talking openly.But sitting behind a screen feels better, doesn't it, G? We'll call them that. I really need a screen for talking openly. The ringing in my ears is loud.I don't know the reaction it would receive from the people who know my face. and right now, I do not want to know. I dont know who I am. And from the looks of it, none of you do either. But G knows apparently. And If they're still stalking me, and my messages; they'll see this.G seems to know who I am."Let me draw art with your trans blood." A single label. That's all I am. Not human. Not a bot.A sad little transgender.To be displayed. To gut me, and display me, to ridicule me with grotesque beauty. So then, "OUR LIFE IS MORE REALISTIC THEN A TRANS ONE" Call me that."What?"Say it again. Call me that. Keep responding, because you care. "I don't care, you f*cking f*ggot." Then stop responding. Stop reading. You wont. You care. You're afraid of me. "I'm not afraid of no f*ggot.""I'm not afraid of no it." "Hey you want the dms?" "Haha sure." "I can post them you know. So just leave, you transformer. You don't even exist, you bot. Two genders only. There's no trans gender." "Air is a gender. Water is a gender. Rabbits are a gender. Hahaaha I'm coming out! I'm a box ahaha!" "Why not saying what you're saying to us in public huh?" Because they don't care. You care. That's why you keep responding. You care about my existence. You care that I have a life I can use to fight and argue for the better, whereas you can only sit behind your screen. And call me a f*ggot. You're sitting here, proud to be cussing out some stranger. "Just leave, No one cares." Yet here you are. And I truly, dearly pity you. "I find this funny." I'll leave, this time. There really is not point in continuing to speak. After I have gone, you and your cliche will gloat about how you have won over me. How hard you destroyed me. How I, a sad little f*ggot, stood no chance against a cishet like you. And do you know what? No one will care except for me. They will forget eventually. As will you. And nobody there cares what you did to me, I know because they were silent. I remember. We always remember. The malevolence doesn't end here. We will simply conserve for another day. Bye until then. How many of you saw your label, I wonder? Tossed by someone so comfortable on their high chair of privilege; like dinner bones? How many? Did anyone see at all? Did you agree with G? Do not fucking talk to me if that's the case. And I'm left wondering, but it isn't about any of that.