Ironic
Shit! I am so dead.
Doctor has just told me I might die because of those frigging expensive pills I’ve been taking since God-knows-when. Damn hormones. They’re responsible for everyone getting emotional, touchy, paranoid, in love, and horny. And now, they’re responsible for my nearing death. Just how predictable is that?
The problem is that I can’t stop; I can’t afford to stop taking in the sex pills that have drastically changed my life. I love my life now! I have all the things I’ve ever wanted. I’m not just some wannabe gay anymore. I am now a woman, a lady that everyone loves and respects. You can’t even imagine what it likes to have almost all people condemn your existence because you’re different. Because them oh-so-religious people who proclaim their love for the same God they disobey are just so hypocritical. Tsk, a real pity I have to live in the same world they do. But all that’s gone now. Hardly anyone even knows I’ve once been a little boy. I am now a woman.
But that privilege is being taken away from me.
If I don’t cease the drug, I’d die because of some medical gibberish I can’t, and won’t bother to, understand. All I know is that the process would be long, and hard, and painful.
But then, if I do quit the pills, I’d die of shame, and loneliness, and solitude, and….
Stop! I’d die no matter what. What’s the use? Why should I even bother myself and stay up all night thinking about it? It’s like everything is in circles, and then suddenly stops.
Isn’t it funny that just when you thought you have everything you’ve ever wanted, fate proves otherwise? One of Alanis Morissette’s songs keeps ringing inside my head all throughout this episode: Well isn’t it ironic, don’t you think? Hell, yeah, life’s fucking ironic! I love you Alanis!