WokeUpAsAGirl (Level 2) mail warning

I woke up in a woman’s body, and everything felt impossibly wrong. The softness of my skin, the curves where there used to be hard muscle, the delicate frame that feels fragile with every movement—it’s all a relentless reminder of what I’ve lost. I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors, and every time, it feels like a punch to the gut. Long hair falls into my eyes, lips fuller than they should be, eyes too bright, too vulnerable. The face staring back isn’t mine, and yet it follows my every expression, mocks my every attempt to feel normal.

The clothes are the worst part. They cling in all the wrong places, emphasizing curves that shouldn’t exist, fabric soft and light against skin that feels foreign. Every outfit feels like a costume, but there’s no taking it off at the end of the day. I’ve tried wearing baggy shirts, loose pants, but they only make me look smaller, more delicate. People look at me differently now, their eyes lingering, smiles soft and knowing. Their gazes make my skin crawl, a constant reminder that they see me as something I’m not.

And yet... there’s a twisted thrill in it too. A strange, shameful rush when someone teases me about my new looks, a playful jab at my delicate hands or soft voice. They have no idea who I really am, no idea how humiliating it is to live like this, to be trapped in a body that feels so wrong. But there’s something about their teasing, their lighthearted mockery, that makes my heart race. It’s humiliating, infuriating... and I can’t help but crave it. It’s like they’re confirming the cruel truth I can’t escape—I’m not who I used to be.

I’m still the same person inside, but this body refuses to let me be myself. It changes how people see me, how they talk to me, how they treat me. And even though it frustrates me, even though it makes me feel vulnerable and exposed, there’s a strange comfort in surrendering to it. In letting them see me this way, in playing the part they expect. It’s humiliating, emasculating, and yet... a part of me likes it.

I don’t understand it. I hate this body, hate the way it makes me feel small and weak, hate the way people talk to me now. But their teasing feels like an acknowledgment of my struggle, a reminder that they see me, even if they don’t see the real me. I feel trapped, lost, and yet strangely alive in a way I can’t explain. I need to find a way back to myself, back to who I truly am... but a part of me wonders if I’ll ever really want to.