The Rabbit's Foot: Epilogue

Its been two years since I found out I was a born a boy. A disgusting pig, a filthy swine who's only ambition in life is to fuck. To stab himself into any girl he can come across.
But its not so bad.
I don't have the luxury that most guys have, on account of those wacko doctors shaving my penis down until it was nothing but a hole in between my legs. But then again, isn't that what all girls have down there anyway?

The hardest part hasn't been the fact that my entire past was a lie. It wasn't those repressed memories filling up until they poured out. It was the fact that I no longer feel human. I don't seem to identify with any gender, which is always a good starting point.
At least that's what my doctor said to me. Ha, I told her that the six foot tall bunny rabbit made me do it. When she asked me,
"Do what?" I told her,
"Cut off my dick, then fuck my hips until I had something similar to a pussy." Then I laughed and she gave me a shit load of pills...it was pretty awesome. She would believe anything I'd say, stupid fat bitch.
Then one day she said I was like a Rambutan,
"What the fuck is a Rambutan?" I asked, not in an angry way, mind you.
"That's my point." She said. "No one really knows where the Rambutan fits in with other fruits, even though its similar to other southeast Asian fruits."
I stared at her, I didn't know what the fuck she was talking about.

I didn't fit in anywhere. I had tried to kill myself, a few times, but nothing ever worked. I tried biting off my tongue, but I could still talk, I just sounded retarded when I'd speak. I tried hanging myself once, I remember reading that in a book, in high school. It was about a girl who killed herself and came back as a zombie. But the problem with my life, I was born a zombie.
My entire past was a lie.
It was a lot harder to start a future, now having a past. Now that I knew I was some sick guinea pig for a group of sadistic scientists. I used to live without a care, because I had no past, I was free. But now, I'm broken and numbed by the massive amounts of psych drugs they've been giving me.
When I got out, I couldn't focus.
Sign.
I'd forget what I was doing and start something else, completely ignoring my original goal.
Trevor killed him/herself.
I couldn't keep a job, because I'd forget anything they taught me, I'd zone out for hours, and I was taking way too many drugs.
I would...
The whole time thinking...
Drugs taste like candy made with little sugar from fairyland.
I'd touch something and it'd feel like plastic.
I'd look in the mirror and I'd see...
I couldn't focus anymore.
Sometimes the pain we hide inside should be kept there. If I had kept it locked away longer, would it have turned out better or worse? If I hadn't have gotten that package and cd and poem, would I still be perfect?
I eat food now. I'm fat.
I'm not allowed to wear makeup anymore, mom says.
I'm trying so hard to be a real person, I learned that that's what I really wanted all along, was to be real. I can look in the mirror everyday, for hours, but if I hate or can't recognize the face looking back, who am I?
I used to love myself.
I used to love Trance.
I used to even love drugs.
Now I just want to feel loved.
I loved myself back.
Trance loved it when I would listen.
And drugs loved it when I used them.
The world tells me I'm normal now. They tell me that with all this change I'm finally where I should be. That cunt of a doctor told me I was cured.
I used to be happy, now I'm not.
I used to be in love, now I'm not.
Who am I?
She said to me?
Who am I?
The world's so fucking obscene.

It took me two years to figure out that my brother had it right all along: By Yourself a New Face.
It all made sense, looking back.
I think I looked back.
Time doesn't exist anymore, time is like a fog now.
I've been told its been two years.
Maybe only one.
Maybe I killed Jason yesterday.
All I know is that whoever I was before would have been the greatest piece of ass a guy could ever nail.
I was fucking perfect.
Perfect as a book, horrible as a movie.
Perfect in 2D, horrible in 3D.
Perfect as a painting, horrible as sculpture.
I hope you get it, because all this repeating is really annoying.
I don't even know why I'm telling you any of this, you're all just a bunch of fucks prying some deranged man's thoughts out of a place where they should have stayed. You all just love to hear other people's stories of how their lives got FUBAR. For those of you who are retarded and have an IQ lower than your age, FUBAR means:
Fucked
Up
Beyond
All
Recognition.

I'm done yelling. I'm done searching for answers. I'm done trying to make it back into the world. I'm done with it all.
I think I'll just stay in my cell and rot and die.
Yes, and kudos to those of you who realized I was lying about having a job. Well, if you count working in the chapel as a job, then yeah I've got one. But come on now, do you really think your best friend, Sam would just roll over and die like that?
Let me tell you a little secret: If you lie to yourself long enough, even you'll believe it, and if-
Oh, here comes someone, I need to act like I'm crazy [like my brother]. Sentence is less if you are mentally unstable, and let's not forget, I killed a guy. I've gotta get out soon I missed Monster Massive two years in a row, and I'll be damned if I miss another one.

One more thing,
God, I love trance.

-Sir Jestro