Chapter Text
why do I not feel right?
why do certain things make me feel bad?
What's wrong with me?
This wasn't helping. Tommy knew that. It wasn't getting him any closer to this feeling of just something being... off. It wasn't google's fault. He wasn't the best at describing this feeling. He could only describe it as wearing your shoes on the opposite feet your whole life, every day, all the time. Uncomfortable. Wrong. He has always had this feeling, but lately, it's been so much stronger, so much more apparent, so big and obvious he couldn't avoid it anymore, no matter how hard he tried, which has led him to googling vague questions at 3 am.
what does it mean when you're constantly uncomfortable?
what does it mean when you're uncomfortable in your skin?
what does it mean when you're uncomfortable with your body?
All of his questions seemed to point to anxiety, low self-esteem, or dysmorphic disorder, but that didn't seem right. He was just uncomfortable with his body; he didn't hate it. It just didn't seem... Right. Though now that he was listening to the distant sound of cars occasionally going past, what was right? Maybe this was normal, or just a teenager thing, but if that was the case, why was google not giving him that answer, that he's overthinking things, and he shouldn't be up at 3 am worrying that something is genuinely wrong with him.
why do I feel like my body isn't my own?
why do I feel like my name isn't my own?
That last question got him somewhere, at least. Not anywhere productive, just somewhere. He ended up on a Reddit page for people interested in names, dedicated to stories about people's unusual names or people trying to decide what to name their baby. Tommy was so sleep deprived he just kept on scrolling mindlessly, like in some miracle, he would stumble on the answer to everything.
Then he saw something.
One of the posts about a woman helping her daughter who just came out as trans pick a new name, and one of the ideas was Tammy, which sounded a bit like Tommy. It caused a little thought, a tiny seed, to emerge in his head.
Tammyinnit.
The idea of that being his username, that being his life, gave him this brief feeling of comfortable, a glimpse of correct. It was freeing, though it quickly came crashing down by the rapid questions of why that was right. He began typing out 'girl names' before quickly deleting it and wondering why he would even be curious about that. He's probably just tired and delirious. This confusion wasn't anything to take seriously.
And as he turned off his phone, laying in bed, shutting his eyes tight like that would get rid of the frantic thoughts in his head, a seed had been planted and would continue to grow and grow until it was impossible to think of anything else, to ignore it, to deny what it all meant.
-
The next day wasn't any better.
Though Tommy wasn't sure why he assumed it would be, it wasn't like sleeping away his problems ever worked for him, and yet a part of his brain was hopeful that he would wake up just feeling normal. He couldn't seem to get his mind right, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on his life, though he convinced himself that it was just because he was tired from staying up late worrying about nothing.
He was on a call with his friends. He couldn't seem to focus on what was going on, what the conversation was about, who was saying what; it was all just white noise, background frequency. The thoughts in his head were louder than anything they were saying anyway. He felt like he was drowning, his head underwater causing everything around him to sound muffled and far away. It appeared his unusual silence was noticed by one.
"-ommy! Toms, you there?" He hears through the fog of his suffocating thoughts.
"What?"
"You zoned out there mate, everything okay?" Wilbur asked with a chuckle in his voice.
"Oh- Yeah, yeah I just-... I'm just tired," His words were coated in sleep deprivation, so it wasn't a complete lie.
"You sure?" The sudden change of playful banter to actual concern threw him off.
Tommy stared into his camera, watching himself, or what he thought was him, looking at the person he saw on the screen, not recognising the boy who stared back. His short hair, wide shoulders, his jaw, nose, eyes all seemed wrong. An alarming urge to tear off his face and fix it shook him out of his seemingly out of it state. He noticed Wilbur looking at him with concerned eyes that hurt his heart because he caused him to worry, to care. It was his fault.
"Tommy? Everything good?" Wilbur repeated, hearing his name, or what felt like a stranger's name, it just made this tightness in his chest get worse.
"I-..." He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want things worse. The longer he waited trying to figure out what to say, it was already making things worse.
"Hey mate, can you hear us?" Phil's voice cut through the fog, but Tommy found it hard to breathe, let alone respond.
"Okay Tom, I need you to take some deep breaths, in through your nose for 5 seconds, out your mouth for 6," Wilbur's soft voice could be heard as he stared down at his hands which were shaking so bad, his whole body trembling.
He tried his best to do what the older boy had said. It was hard. It felt like he was covered in fire ants. Everything was wrong. This wasn't right. He wanted to rip off his own skin; he hated everything about it. He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't breathe! It was like his shirt was suffocating him. Tommy looked up at the worried faces of his friends and just knew he needed to leave, even if it made things worse, even if Wilbur's gentle voice helping him count his breathing and letting him know everything was alright was helping greatly, he just couldn't.
Without a word, his hand lunged for the mouse and quickly disconnected from the call, his other arm wrapped around his body in a poor attempt to ground himself. He didn't want to worry them, even if on the other side of the call, all of his friends were really concerned about the youngest of the bunch and his sudden change of behaviour, all of them sending different messages and Wilbur calling only to find that after the second call Tommy's phone had been turned off.
Tommy wasn't even sure what triggered such a violent panic attack. As he sat on his bed, completely curled in on himself, listening to his fast breathing until it gradually slowed down as he shut everything out, including his buzzing phone, Tom wondered what had happened, why had he panicked so much? He wasn't known to have panic attacks, at least not until he began having an audience that watched his every move, but even then, they weren't this bad.
It didn't have anything to do with the constant eyes on him; he knew that for certain as he wasn't even thinking about that, and he didn't have a stream or anything coming up until tomorrow, so it was something else. His mind wandered to the thoughts he had last night. Tommy tried to push the idea away, but it just came back in full swing as he remembered what triggered it all. It was how his name was said by Wilbur, and then when he asked again if he was okay, it all just came crashing down.
Maybe it was because he knew that he wasn't okay, and that scared him.
When he turned on his phone with red-shot eyes and dried tear marks on his cheeks, not even remembering crying, he had quite a lot of unread messages and missed calls from his friends.
(Wilbur) 7:42pm
hey are you okay?
you've got us all pretty worried
[3 missed calls from Wilbur]
8:04pm
Please text me when you can so i know you're okay
I'm here for you man, always, whatever is bothering you, we've all got your back toms
(Tubbo) 7:55pm
tommy?
everything alright?
you left prety suddenly, was it somethig we said?
[1 missed call from Tubbo]
And just more and more like that. It was... overwhelming. He felt terrible for making them worry over basically nothing. Tommy stared at the messages with a blank stare, he didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, just staring at it, unmoving. He looked at it so long that his name seemed like the only word left on the screen, the rest becoming blurry squiggly lines. It didn't dawn on him until right then just how much he Hated his name, though the reason why still wasn't apparent to him, it was still a step in a direction, unsure if it was a step forward or back.
Tommy- Whoever he was- He ignored all the messages, instead just turning his phone to silent and using his laptop to try and distract him from the anxiety eating away at him. The notification that Eret was streaming temporarily lifted his mind from dread, so he decided to watch, muting everything else on his laptop in case somebody messages him and it sends him spiralling all over again.
Blanket over his head, knees to his chest, hugging them tightly as his room grew darker as the sunset, and he never let his eyes leave the screen. He watched as they talked about her experience with not being cis, answering questions so freely, wearing a skirt and showing it off like he didn't have a care in the world. Tommy's heart started to ache, maybe as longing, a desire to be like that, to not be so bothered by every little thing, to be so open, perhaps a desire for even more than that, to wear a skirt, to talk to anybody about how he might be...
He felt his body start to shake as tears filled his eyes and began to trail down his cheeks, gradually getting more heavy until he was full-on sobbing. His arms held on tighter to himself, trying so hard to muffle his pathetic whimpering and blubbering, not wanting to wake up his parents as it would be too hard to explain. If he couldn't even admit why it made him so upset in his head, how could he ever say it out loud?
His weeping left him so exhausted and hollow and feeling so done with everything. He barely had the energy to put his laptop away or change out of his jeans that were wet with tears and snot, only doing it because he didn't want to even think about sleeping in denim or breaking his expensive laptop by kicking it off the bed during the night. When his head hit his pillow, fatigue laid weight on his eyelids until it was impossible to keep them open. His body was heavy, sinking into his bed, the mental toll of the day slipping away as sleep took hold of him as he thought to himself.
Tomorrow.
He'll handle these feelings tomorrow.
Knowing full well he was lying to himself.
-
He stared at himself in his bathroom mirror.
The boy that stared back seemed to almost be taunting him. He hated his reflection; he thinks his parents picked that up when he covered the mirror in his room with a towel and would actively turn his body away from any reflective surfaces. They didn't bring it up, probably hoping this was the normal teenage self-loathing. It wasn't.
He knew this wasn't the norm. Opening up to his friends at college showed him that hating your own face so much that you want to just scratch it off until it's red and bloody or wanting to throw up at the sight of your body wasn't normal. He couldn't forget their concerned faces as he relived the story of when he turned up the shower to the hottest setting, hoping that it would burn off the skin that caused him so much distress.
The truth was that Tommy hated his body. There wasn't anything wrong with it in particular. On anybody else, it would be fine, but it just didn't feel like his body. It was like he was wearing a lost and found body as his body was missing, and now he's forced to wear somebody else's. He hated it. It was Wrong.
Streaming with his face cam on made his insecurities even worse. To constantly see a stranger mouthing along to all the words you're saying was upsetting, but by the time he realised how much he hated it, all of his followers already expected him to have it on every time. He turned to google for help after staring at his face in the bathroom for an hour before somebody came to check on him, and as always, he found nothing.
why do i hate my body so much?
why does my body make me so uncomfortable?
i don't recognize myself
why do i hate my name so much?
It all sends him down dead ends after dead ends after dead ends. Nobody seemed to understand what was wrong with his head, let alone himself. Maybe he should try asking a different question. The last time he broke down was because of Eret's stream where they were wearing a skirt, and he had one thought about longing to wear one himself. Was that something? Of course, that was fine. Girls and boys and everything in between could wear whatever they wanted, but why did the thought of him in a skirt seem different? It was weird, and yet he couldn't stop thinking about it.
why do i want to wear a skirt?
Before Tommy could back out and delete what he has just written, his fingers pressed on the enter key, and the results appeared in front of his face. He clicked on the first forum website and read post after post about how guys can just wear skirts, and it's perfectly normal, which he already knew. People talking about how they liked to wear dresses and skirts and were perfectly happy being a guy would have been uplifting if it didn't give him the biggest revelation of his life. He wasn't happy being a guy.
With this newfound knowledge, he quickly googled something he should have pieced together a bit sooner.
I hate being a boy
A website showed up at the top of the screen. The NHS page about gender dysphoria. His mouse hovered over it as his eyes stared at it with so many conflicting emotions. After so many nights of googling, this felt like the answer. Finally, finding the correct string of letters that brought him the last puzzle piece to understanding his feeling was one click away. Just one click.
"Tommy! Dinner's ready!"
His mother's voice that called from downstairs brought him back to reality as a small panicked response came out of his mouth to let her know he heard her. As he looked distraught at the many tabs he had open on his laptop, Tom realised he couldn't click the link. This couldn't be the final puzzle piece. This couldn't be who he was. His mouse hovered over the cross at the top right of his browser, and with hesitation, closed the tabs.
As he played with his food, he thought about how silly he was. He couldn't possibly be... That. His entire online persona was about how much of a man he was, and the fact he had an online persona just really showed that he couldn't be this. He could lose followers, his entire career, his reputation at school, his family, his friends, he could lose everything so quickly if he ever thought like that again.
He could only get down half his dinner before feeling so sick that he couldn't get another bite in and excused himself from the table. When he got back to his room and his laptop, a single google tab was left open, waiting. He stared at it for half an hour, so many thoughts infecting his head with negativity, two paths were in front of him, to find that link again, open it, and find out why everything was happening, learn new things about himself, and learn how to cope with these vast and complicated feelings, or he could close that tab, and be in denial about everything, and every day get worse and worse until he's struggling to cope with minor inconveniences.
As he closed google, he knew that would be the last time he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. Now just left to rot as he just admits that he was not okay, and nothing could be done about it.
-
Tommy- Gah, the name made him want to cringe or throw up, but he didn't know what else to call himself, was lonely
He wanted to talk to somebody about everything, about nothing. It had been nearly two weeks since he had talked to anybody, not a single message, complete radio silence to everybody he used to talk to nearly every hour of the day. He misses them. He misses talking to them. What he would do to join a group call and be silent and listen in the background as they all talked. But joining after what happened would mean talking about what happened, especially after going missing for a whole two weeks and well, he wasn't ready for that.
Most of his days were spent ignoring his school work and watching his friend's stream like that would fill the gap where their talks used to be, it helped, but it wasn't a perfect fit. Steaming helped as well, for the first week at least, when somebody asked about his friends, or even when he would even see their name in his chat, he could feel his heart dying a little bit every time. So he stopped streaming. It had been a while since his last one; it was getting harder to get out of bed anyway.
Wilbur didn't stop messaging him. While Tubbo, Phil, and everybody else had stopped after day 5 or less of no response, talking about how they understood that he needed space and to reach out when he was ready, Wilbur messaged him a few times a day and called once when he knew Tommy was out of school. The messages ranged from assurance that he was there for him if Tommy ever wanted to talk and that everything was okay, letting him know what was going on with certain events and in the group, to invites to games and calls, check-ins. And then, after the first week, the messages got a bit more desperate, terrified for the child's being. These hurt the most.
Tommy stared at his phone for hours when he got these messages, wanting to reply but had this little thought in his head that screamed that he was a bad friend and that they all probably hated or had forgotten about him entirely. With his phone in his hand, his heart broke with every buzz of his phone, each message that came through from Wilbur made a new self-deprecating thought grow in his mind.
(Wilbur) 9:05am
Tommy, it's been two weeks since anybody's heard from you
Please just message me back or anybody if you don't want to talk to me. It doesn't have to be much
We just want to know that you're okay and you're not in any danger
I know you're there, please just give me anything
He automatically opens up the keyboard on his phone, and his fingers hover over the keys, and they stay frozen, his head completely blank. Tom didn't know what he could say because he didn't want to make Wilbur worry about him. But the teen also didn't want to lie and say that he was okay because he knew he was far from it. It had been a few days since he's left his room, even longer since he's left the house or gone to school or even taken care of himself. His parents had now been leaving his food outside his door or on his desk, which sat uneaten and cold until they took it away to bin it. Before he could go through his ritual of staring at the keyboard with a death stare of hatred and guilt for an hour before crying into his pillow, he got a few more messages.
(Wilbur) 9:36am
I think I'm going to have to call your parents.
I didn't want to, but everybody is so worried about you, especially me. This is so out of the ordinary for you, and I'm terrified
I'll make the drive to you if I have to
if you're in danger or can't message because of somebody, I'll drive right up there and immediately get you to safety. I'd get my keys right now. Give me a sign here, please
For once, his fingers finally had the ability to type, the fear of his parents finding out he was even more withdrawn than they thought drove him to send his first message in a fortnight.
(Tommy) 9:41am
Please dont
(Wilbur) 9:41am
Tommy, thank god
are you okay? do you need me to come get you?
(Tommy) 9:42am
No
Please don't come
don't call my parents
everything is fine
The 'Wilbur is typing...' message stayed longer than it should of before he finally replied.
(Wilbur) 9:44am
can you call?
He stared at the message for a few minutes. Overthinking about this wasn't going to take his friend's worry away. It was just one call to make him stop panicking over nothing, to stop him from being burdened by Tommy's heavily decreasing mental health. He could do one call. His fingers pressed on the call button, in one ring, Wilbur picked up.
"Tommy?"
He couldn't do this.
As he hears his internet brother's soft voice speak his awful name in a panicked tone, he breaks down, only realising right then how much he missed him. Tears flooded his eyes until they were impossible to blink away as his body shook.
"Tommy, what's wrong? Please talk to me,"
"H-Hey..." He says in a small voice, unsure if his phone would even be able to pick it up.
Tommy swore he could hear Wilbur let a sigh of relief at the sound of the other's voice, "Hey Toms... are you able to take a few deep breaths for me? I can hear you hyperventilating down the mic."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, just- God, I've missed you," He replies through voice cracks and an exhausted chuckle.
There was a silence on the line before, "I've missed you too, mate, I think everybody does, you've given everyone quite the scare when you disappeared..."
"...I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean to- I didn't plan to go be this plan I just- I'm sorry- I'm so sorry," He was really struggling to hold it together at this point.
"Hey, hey, it's okay, nobody is mad at you, just worried, take deep breaths, everything is alright," Wilbur's calming voice could be heard through the speakers on his phone. It felt like a hug, but not quite.
"Are your parents home?"
"No, they're at work at the moment, look- I'm not in danger, I've just..." He let out a tired sigh, trying to stall long enough to figure out the right words to say, "I've been in a horrible place lately... It's hard to talk about it- something happened, and I- I don't want to... I didn't want to bother you about it..."
"Oh, Tommy... You're never bothering me, if you ever want to talk about it you know I'm always here, and even if you don't want to talk about it, it wasn't- Maybe shutting yourself out from your friends wasn't the best idea..."
"I know, I know... I didn't mean to..." His voice got lost in his throat as one last tear fell from his cheek and onto his knees, "Can we- Please just- I don't want to talk about this anymore..."
"Okay, we can talk about something else if you want. I'm just worried, I just need to know, and then we can move on. Do your parents know what happened?" Wilbur said so gently like the boy would shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't careful.
Tommy stared around his room for a second. It was a mess. Clothes in piles, things scattered on the floor. He can remember vividly having arguments about it with his parents, but he didn't have the energy to do it after spending it all on hating himself and worrying about having his dream life taken from him because of this little problem. He didn't tell them anything, terrified that they would hate him. Tommy wasn't ready to come out to himself, let alone his parents, the people who could take away his basic needs and tech, his only way to distract himself from the tormenting reflection that stared at him from his bathroom mirror.
But he didn't want to tell the truth to Wilbur. He'd just get more worried, and then he'd ask why or pressure him to tell them when he wasn't ready to as he didn't understand. So lying seemed like his only option.
"Yeah, they-... They know..."
"Okay, good, whatever is going on, I don't want you to go through it alone," Tommy could already feel his stomach twist on itself with guilt.
"I know- Thanks, Wil..." He was so tired, he hated this conversation; the teen just wanted to end the call but knew that the older boy was right; he really shouldn't be alone.
"I... I'm not bothering you at the moment, right?" Tommy mumbled, hoping that it changed the topic into something less suffocating.
"Oh no, of course not, Toms, I just woke up; I thought you would be in college though," The smile in his voice made him feel more at ease.
"No, I..." He did have college today, but when the time came, and he was meant to go, Tommy just couldn't find the energy to, "I don't have any lessons today, also do you mind if I take you to the kitchen with me? I haven't had breakfast yet..."
"Yeah, that's alright," Wilbur's chuckle lifted his mind of worries and guilt, "How about we have breakfast together today and talk about less serious and more carefree stuff? We can just pretend nothing happened if that's what you want to do, of course."
"Yeah... I'd like that a lot, actually."
-
They ended up on call for a few hours.
There was so much to catch up on, things that have happened, stories to share, but it was clear it was slightly one-sided, with Wilbur talking as Tommy listened. After eating, Wilbur convinced the other to do a video chat instead of just voice, and it became obvious how tired Tommy was. He had deep, dark bags under his eyes, which were still bloodshot from crying, and every few minutes, he would rub his eyes or yawn, but that wasn't the only thing that worried Wilbur about his little brother figure's appearance.
His face seemed to be a little thinner, less round in the cheeks, it was clear he had lost a bit of weight even though it had only been two weeks, which meant he definitely wasn't healthily losing the weight, and his face didn't have as much colour, it was unsettling how pale he seemed to have gotten. Tommy also seemed to have picked up some bad habits like face scratching and nail-biting, though the younger boy seemed to have no idea he was even doing it.
His hair was a mess like a brush hadn't even touched his hair in a good while, his clothes were wrinkly and dirty, and in his eyes, there was this pain, even though he was trying so hard to smile and force a soft chuckle out of his mouth, it was clear that he was so tired mentally, and was really struggling, like Really struggling.
Wilbur should say something; he knew that. But finding the right moment to do it, especially after saying that they didn't have to talk about serious stuff anymore, maybe saying that wasn't the best thing to do, they would have to talk about his unexplained absence at some point. Right?
"Tommy, I'm-"
"Actually, I've been thinking about changing my name..." Tommy- or whatever his name was, interrupted him as it was clear how upsetting hearing Wilbur saying his name for the past few hours was.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I-... The whole reason I went from Tom to Tommy was because I hated Tom but now how I felt about the name Tom I'm feeling about Tommy and ugh It's just- Maybe a nickname might help, you know?"
"I don't really get that, but it's your name man, you can change it to whatever makes you comfortable. You need any help picking a new one?" Wilbur smiled, trying his best to be supportive.
"Maybe, I guess I haven't really given it much thought. I might have focused on the stuff I didn't like more than what I could actually do about it..." His voice was small as he picked at the dining table he sat at, unable to look at the camera.
"Well, we can brainstorm a bit if you want, if it's really bothering you," The older of the two chuckled out, leaning against his kitchen countertop.
"Yes, please."
After 10 names from a website of just baby boy names, Wilbur had to start writing them all down as Tommy seemed to hate any name both of them brought to the table. Any names that weren't immediately shot down were eliminated after trying it out in a conversation. The longer the conversation went on, the more Tommy seemed to have something on his mind, getting more and more lost in thought, for longer durations of time, too, it was getting harder to snap him out of it. At 45 names, Wilbur had to finally say something.
"You have to give me something here man, you sure there isn't a single name you like?" That definitely snapped Tommy out of whatever trance he was in.
He pursed his lips and looked at the ground for quite a while, "I um... If I suggest a name, promise you won't laugh or be weird about it, I just- It's just something I saw, and I don't know-"
"Hey, hey... I promise to not laugh, even if it's some kind of white mom name like Kyle with an m in it somehow, I won't laugh," That seemed to put the younger boy at ease and slightly lift the corners of his mouth.
"Thanks, Wil... Well, I mean, Tammy is- I thought that name was like Tommy but different and still fitted the brand," Tommy- or maybe Tammy mumbled, clearly nervous, "But it's a girl name, and I'm not a- I'm not..."
"Well, we could find a boy name that's like Tammy, it's definitely an idea of what you want, but yeah, that might give people the wrong idea," Wilbur chuckled out, blissfully unaware of what Tammy was trying to say.
"Yeah! Yeah, that... you're right..." The words seemed to be lost in his throat.
"...Hey, are you okay?-"
"I've got to go," He suddenly blurted out; his hands were shaking as he reached out to end the call.
"Wait, Tom- I mean, just please promise you won't disappear on me again... I know you're really struggling right now, and I want to be there to help," Wilbur tried to get out as quickly as possible, scared it would be too late, and it would be another two weeks until they talked again.
Tammy faced the camera up to the ceiling so he didn't have to look at himself anymore but could still see his brotherly figure's worried face, "... I won't disappear again. I probably... I can't talk as much as I used to, but you know I might... Join a call now and then and send a message so you know I'm okay."
"Thank you, that means a lot... And I promise whatever is happening, it will pass. You've got this," Wilbur softly said with a sad smile, "Is it alright if I let everyone know you're okay?"
"Yeah, don't say anything about me being in a bad place, please, just say I've been really busy with school..." Tammy begged quietly, still shaking.
"Okay, I will, but they're your friends; they care about you and would want help if you let them. I think you should talk to them."
"You're right... Bye Wilbur," He mumbles, his thumb hovering over the end call button.
"Bye To-"
The sound of the call ending made the silence that filled the room afterwards even more suffocating.
-
"Alright. Let's do this."
Tommy- or Tammy- or Whatever stared at himself- or herself? This is what they were trying to figure out. They were standing in front of his bathroom mirror. It had been a few days since his call with Wilbur, and they couldn't stop thinking about this name thing. They really liked the name Tammy, but what did that mean for their gender? Was it normal for a boy to like a girl name? Was it normal for a boy to hate being a boy? Probably, but when it was your feelings, it's different.
If he didn't want to be a boy, then what would he be?
Of course, there was the in-between, but the idea of people calling him 'they' gave him the same uncomfortable feeling when somebody calls him well, 'he'. So that left... the other one. While there were neopronouns, he could do this forever, trying out so many different things while ignoring the one he really wanted to use. He would never know what made using those pronouns more acceptable than the one he felt the most comfortable with.
He's done this a few times at this point. Or at least tried to do this. Standing in front of the mirror, glaring at his face and messy hair, and tried to introduce himself as the person he really was, but that was hard when you're not sure who you really are. When you have a glimpse of understanding, you end up hating what you find and crying and curling into a ball until somebody finds you and has to hold you so you stop sobbing onto the bathroom tiles.
Today was the day.
Wilbur's words of encouragement made it a little easy, replaying his words in his head just to keep himself standing, hands pressed into the edge of the sink to keep himself from falling to the floor and breaking down.
"It will pass. You've got this..." The teen muttered before taking a deep breath, in and out, and locked eyes with the stranger in the mirror.
"My name is Tammy, and I'm..." his voice breaks. This was always the part where he fell apart, not this time.
"I'm a trans girl."
It all becomes too much, and she breaks down, falling to her knees and sobbing silently. But it didn't matter. She had done it. She had said it. As she wept, a smile crept onto her lips, and it became a mixture of tears and laughter, the relief of when you've finally defeated the final boss, and it's over, the pain is finally over. You're bruised and damaged, but the most challenging part is over.
Tammy hears a knock on the bathroom door, and on the other side, she hears her mom's soft voice.
"Tommy? Are you okay?"
Okay. Maybe the hardest part wasn't quite over yet.