DAY 574
Look at these hands, these nails. They’ve been painted a perfect soft pink to match my skin tone. I should despise them. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? But here I am, admiring how delicately they contrast with the stark white pages of my journal.
They’re not mine, not really. But they’re beautiful, and I can’t help but enjoy their aesthetic. Isn’t that fucked up? Appreciating beauty while loathing that it’s me who’s beautiful?
Every morning, I have the same ritual. I wake up, and for a moment, I forget. Then, I see the curves where there should be angles, feel softness where there should be roughness, and it all comes crashing back. I go to the mirror and gaze at the stranger I’ve become, cataloging the changes that hormones and surgeries have etched into my skin. 
I should despise every inch of this transformation. And, mostly, I do. But…
But when I see how the light dances across this body, how can I say it isn’t captivating? When he gives me that look of approval, how can I not feel a flicker of pride? When I bathe, and my hands glide over silky skin that feels alien yet undeniably sensual, a part of me can’t help but revel in the sensation.
I still miss him most days—the man in my memories who didn’t worry about breaking nails or the pain of high heels. But he’s fading, blurred by each stroke of lipstick, each wave of the mascara wand. The man who used to live in my skin is becoming a ghost, an echo in the back of my mind that grows quieter with each passing day.
Sometimes, I think I’ll be glad when he’s finally silent, when I can look in the mirror and not search for remnants of him. Why fight for what you’ve already lost?
It’s almost time for dinner. We’re expect at his parent’s house tonight, and I need to get ready. I’ll slip into the dress he picked out, the fabric clinging to every curve that shouldn’t be there, paint my lips a bold red (he likes that), and put on the shoes that elevate me just enough to rest my head against his shoulder. He’ll stare at me with eyes that say I’m everything he wants, and for a time, I’ll believe that’s enough.
-J