"It's not hopeless," he tells himself every day. He tries to make himself be happier and he succeeds in it for tiny bits of time.

But then he goes back.

And he remembers. He remembers that he goes home to a parent that doesn't really love him, that gets upset at him and starts to yell.

He remembers that, no, he is not flat chested.

No, he was not born cisgender. He will never have the perfect body. He'll never be who he so desperately needs to be.

He will never get to experience all the little things that cisgender boys do.

He'll always be misgendered. Even if he finally starts T and gets surgery. He'll never be the man he was meant to be.

So he just sits and tries to ignore the painful realization. No amount of surgery can fix him. He'll always be like this no matter what. He will forever be in this pain. He'll always get upset over his body, even if he had it better than other people might have it.

His entire life he will have to suffer. There will always be acceptance, but there will always be unacceptance as well.

He tears his gaze from the ceiling and picks up his phone. Maybe he could find something to give him a short amount of joy.

So he goes on YouTube and tries to ignore the lumps on his chest. He tries to ignore the thoughts screaming at him that he will never pass, that he will always be a her.