Honestly, life itself.

At 15, I thought I’d be dead by 18.

At 18, I thought I’d be dead by 20.

At 21, I thought I’d be dead by 24.

At 24, I thought I’d be dead by 28.

At 28, I transitioned and think I’ll be dead by 95? Maybe? Either way, the grayscale world has had its color turned way up and life’s worth living now. I’m 41.

Turns out, having a deep-seated sense of wrongness can lead to life itself being challenging.