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"No, you cannot have surgery. You can't afford it. You're just going to have to accept it," said the psychologist to his patient, a transsexual woman. Of course, the surgery discussed is that surgery, sex reassignment surgery from male to female.

This is Leslie. At 8, Leslie first heard of the surgery, and something raw, something animal inside her told her she needed it. The feeling continued, even after she transitioned to living full time.

"Oh, how wonderful! I just knew that's what was up with you! Deep down, you're a woman!" said the coworker to Leslie, as she went full time.

Leslie started reading radical feminist writings, and at first they were threatening, but as time went on, they became more sensible.

In a house with a party Leslie was staying in, while not having had the surgery, she was forced into relations in a bed with a gay man. "You know, you like it. Just come live with me and I'll provide for you. You don't really need surgery." Leslie had been in bed hiding from the party when the gay man used a skewer to open the door.

Coming out of the room, she was surrounded by others, "Oooh. I know you had a thing going," they said to Leslie.

"That surgery is only elective," said the statement on the Internet. "If they want it, then they need to earn it." Leslie read it, and accepted it.

"You shouldn't focus so much on surgery," said the trans woman who had already had surgery. "And don't complain to me about how insurance won't cover it. You know it's elective, right? If you want it, save up!" Leslie nodded her head.

Out of his mouth came the laugh of a hyena, but not quite. The laugh, however, did not move closer to the human range, but rather into the realm of the unearthly. Leslie was in the interrogation room, badly beaten. "You've got a wee wee! You freak!" The officer laughed again, and his laugh reached into the realm of the impossible. It rose into one continuous scream, screeching all the way, until coming back down again and wavering up and down. It was like the laugh of a diseased hyena. The officer then proceeded to devour Leslie.

The End

At her 10th hospitalization, Leslie is told, "Since you haven't had surgery yet, you must be placed with the men." Once again, a gay man who harasses her is present, and makes demands of her, like that she wear certain clothing, and is otherwise very vulgar toward her, treating her like another gay dude.

"Getting surgery covered is low on our list of priorities," said the head trans activist to Leslie.

Leslie sits and stares, with her stomach burning. She feels under the weight of the world, oppressed by it. Her head fills with fog, which strikes her dumb. The same thoughts move around and around in her head. They then break off, and she stares at the concrete. A line runs through the concrete at an oblique angle, yet something seems just right about the angle. The angle is like an interesting anomaly. An ant moves into view and just walks across the concrete. Leslie watches the movement of the ant, and the burning stops. Her head is still filled with fog, but it also feels like she is in a land of fog, high up in the clouds. She is reminded of legendary places, like the Norsemen moving through the mist. There is a sense of peace, and yet something also mysterious, enchanted, bewitched. It is like being in a cave behind a waterfall, deep within so that the waterfall is heard only at a distance. The ant has crossed the line in its path and is starting to move to the edge of her sight.

I am alone, and I face a long tunnel, thinks Leslie before she comes to. Something then came to mind, but the thought seemed surreal, as if it were from a dream. It was something somebody said, but she couldn't remember if they had actually said it. Something seems real about the thought, but something also seems surreal, foggy and distant, like it was just from a dream.

"Big bad, big bad, big bad," says Leslie to herself. She always gets these words coming up and she's got to say them, almost like tics. She repeats them over and over again under her breath, which is satisfying like scratching an itch.

Leslie was playing the same song over and over again, and was intensely focused on a topic. She made interesting points to herself, and imagined that other people in her life had just learned about them and were amazed. They then asked questions, which she answered satisfactorily. The music was good and it made her want to move. Such music touched her in a way nothing else could.

Leslie was on her computer, reading about something she knew others would not approve of. She then thought of an ancillary point, and had a fake conversation with someone in her life about it. She then felt exposed and embarassed about having those tabs with the forbidden written material on them, as though the person she was pretending to converse with just saw them and disapproved. No, no, no, that won't do at all, Leslie thought. By closing them, she was able to redo the conversation in her favor, so that such embarassing revelations would not be present.

Leslie feels bored, like all that is worth doing has been done. The boredom is painful, and punctuated by unmet sexual needs that will probably never be met. She's been reading about people enjoying their sex lives, and she feels herself wholly inadequate. She tries to do something to fill the time, like finding new interesting articles on the computer or listening to good music, to stave off the boredom, but to no avail. Her stomach begins to burn again. She thinks of the suggestions of others, like going out to a group or something, but that just makes her stomach burn more. She has her eyes wide open, hanging her head. There is storm moving through and it paralyzes her.

Nothing, nothing, nothing comes to mind. She is alone, alone, alone. Tension, tension moves through her body. Stomach burning. She sits perfectly still, hoping for the storm to pass. Her head twitches, with a clouded cranium. To move takes greater effort than normal. She inspects her thought processes and every part of her body. She doesn't like what she finds, adding to the sense of boredom. She sits and stares, stares, stares.

Leslie is paralyzed, with nothing to do. "You're just going to have to accept you're not getting the surgery any time soon. Here, here's a bar for you to visit to pick up guys who are interested in people with your, um, equipment. Just learn to live with it. Make do. You don't have to be so stubborn. Trust me. It'll get better."

"Man, you're such a dude! You're so manly, man! I can't believe you actually thought you could remove your facial hair. You're just so masculine, that you're body would respond by just growing more hairs."

At the desk, Leslie is bouncing her left leg, while her left leg is still. One hand is bouncing on the keyboard and one on the desk. She likes the feeling of the pressure on her fingernails from bouncing her fingers on the desk. It is like she is conducting a song with her hands. It is soothing.

"Just stop being so materialistic. It's kinda selfish you wanna save up all that money just to get sex change surgery. You could be out there helping to feed the starving."

"Oh, frustrated that you can't get surgery, either? Well, join the party! What makes you think you're special?"

Leslie sits and ruminates. She plays the same songs over and over again.

The storm continues. Leslie freezes. The storm may burst out of her, but not yet.

"We don't think you're very stable, so we're not going to let you post here anymore."

Leslie is surrounded by people who invalidate her, and by no one who validates her or her needs. She is isolated, very isolated. Barriers are put up every step of the way.

Leslie needed 3 references for this job she applied for, but she could not get it through. The process of getting the references and putting them on the application causes her to freeze. The deadline for applying passes.

No one helps. No one assists. Leslie is alone, living in an eternal present. Time no longer moves forward. There is no more accomplishment. Things already accomplished are grandfathered in, but no more.

Leslie is at her parents' house. In no way do they validate her, but they do provide her with security and familiarity. She is like a stupid dog that keeps going back to its abusive master.

"It sounds like Leslie needs help, but is Leslie worthy of receiving help?" asks the interlocutor. "Because some people are stupid about it. You try to help them, but they don't do anything. Now if they truly need help and they appreciate it, then yeah, it would work."

Leslie does not trouble her parents or other relatives anymore with her concerns. She is a good boy.

"Yuck. That chick's got a dick, still?"

Leslie is not worthy of any help. Leslie is weak. Leslie will not change. She is too stubborn and rigid.

Leslie's stomach burns and the storm continues.

"Yes. I have had sex reassignment surgery," lied Leslie to her HR manager as she tries to win access to the women's bathrooms. She has access only to the single unisex bathroom. What prompted this request was one day when the unisex bathroom was closed, leaving her with nowhere to go to use the bathroom.

"Alright. Please present the medical documentation," says the HR manager.

"That is a private matter. I don't have to provide it," says Leslie.

"And you will continue to use the unisex bathroom then," says the HR manager.

Leslie was with the LGBT committee, and was asking for coverage for sex reassignment surgery.

"So, you lied to me about having had the surgery. I'm going to talk to your manager about this," says the HR manager.

America has become a third world country. Leslie has not had the surgery yet. Now the hope has declined.

"We can barely afford to get by day to day, and you're over here thinking about surgery? Cut the crap out of your mind! I've wanted a car, a better life, but we don't have it anymore. Thank your lover, Obama, for that!"

Time becomes stretched and the world becomes bigger. Leslie now wanders under the eye of the sun.

Leslie's stomach is burning. She goes outside and hears the crickets. Immediately, she is reminded of a scene in a video game, and the world seems like a video game almost, with something imminent.

Shouldnt you do this as a blog? You can blog here on WP.

"He can't get surgery covered by insurance? What? I don't believe that. It's probably just that his doctors don't approve of him getting it and he's angling to bilk me out of money for it."

Leslie bites through flesh and bone, working destruction. She is then carried off to be punished for her crimes.

The storm continues to build inside Leslie. She doesn't know what to do. How will I release this storm? thinks Leslie to herself. To what ends can I put it? Blankness fills her head, a blocking of thought. Slowly, some ideas emerge, but they are the same old tired ideas as before that have already been examined, dismissed. Leslie finds this agonizing and her mind goes to dark places. The burning resumes and plays itself out until her mind finally turns to other subjects.

Leslie sits in the room. Her siblings are receiving presents from her mother, but she receives nothing. She sits and watches them.

"N'yeah! N'YEAH! NNN'YEAAAAH!" cries the sycophant who has been unmasked, and is hitting, hitting, hitting Leslie. Leslie falls to the ground. The sycophant looks down on her and laughs a horrific cackle.

Leslie had wanted to help, but she couldn't.

Leslie thinks of her future, of her unsupportive folks, on whom she is dependent. She thinks of greener pastures, but doubt fills the images there, too. She thinks of the manner in which she expects others will interact with her in those greener pastures, and she doesn't like what she's seeing. It seems that for Leslie, she is to remain unsupported indefinitely. Time stretches on, and the very core of space becomes stretched as well.

The way forward leads only to death.

Leslie checks her messages. She sees one new message come in. She sees its bolded font compared to the other messages, and she begins to itch. Static moves over her head and a sour electricity surges through the core of her body. She is spellbound by it and finally clicks it and clicks off of it to make the bold font go away.