He was one of my first friends after a move in my freshman year of high school. The ring of friends grew over those four years, then shrank during the years of university, but what remained was our small group of the five. We had always shared the same interests so we never lost touch. Bros for life one would think.
Fast forward to last Saturday. The primary subject of this story, whom I shall call 'A', was hosting a birthday party at his condo for our chronically depressed, weed-abusing friend, referred to hereafter as 'F'. 'A' had ordered pizzas, broke out the GameCube, and our cook of the group ('J') had brought ribs and meat skewers. As the night wound down and we were shooting the shit while haphazardly watching some 90s OVA our resident anime snob ('P') put on, I had to use the bathroom.
I was washing my hands when a small sharps container next to his trash can caught my eye. I thought it odd as it had not been there last month. He had shaved his beard off again, so I figured he must be using it to store used safety razor blades. Always one to let my curiosity get the better of me, I poked a peek and found it to be filled with used syringes. For a brief moment I tried to fool myself with the thought of 'A' using some ozempic analog, or the worrisome possibility that he had been diagnosed with diabetes. Either of the two were likely as he had been rather fat for most of the time I had known him. My hopes were dashed when I spied the label on an empty vial in the trash. Estradiol. The last attempt I made to lie to myself as I left the bathroom and sat back down on the couch was, "Maybe he has a hormonal imbalance, you don't know". But I did know, as I knew 'A' fairly well.
Two years into our friendship, I had deduced 'A' was a furry. This easily puts him at risk for contracting genderspecialism today, but back then trannies were still the weird novelty you only saw on Jerry Springer or porn marked "Shemale". It was a bit off putting to me, but he wasn't the typical shameless furfag and kept it to himself, so I figured it best not to let his seemingly harmless hobby ruin things (I don't think I could have been more retarded). After graduation he followed a now predictable path; a masters in computer science — after which he found a stable programming job and moved out of his parent's. He was the picture of a successful adult. Trouble really started to manifest over the next few years. His apartment became adorned with smatterings of the usual memorabilia. Animal Crossing characters, an Agguretsuko wall scroll, manga only a furry would read, funko pops of various char-you get the idea. Then he got a dog. The bulk of the group was pretty hyped — my stomach churned as my mind raced to places dark and grim.
About eight years ago, we started frequenting the renaissance faires in close proximity to us. 'A' would let his hair go long and grow a magnificent beard to fit his wizard costume. When the beard came off, he would cut his hair back down to a more respectable length. He hasn't cut his hair in two beards and it is now almost down to his nipples (which I noticed to be protruding, although drooping (as sad man tits do), a bit more than normal from beneath his shirt). I suppose that was when he decided to start transitioning.
I can't imagine when he would break the news to us. 'F' would take it fine. 'J' is pretty apolitical, so he probably wouldn't be too troubled. 'P' would probably slowly ghost 'A' over time. If he's told anyone in our group already, it would have been 'F' because they've known each other since middle school. 'F' also has previous experience in the realm of trannies.
'F's childhood friend, whom he always had a crush on, decided to pooner back in 2016. It crushed him, but being the good ally he is, he supported her at every turn. She then shacked up with someone who got her hooked on hard drugs, which resulted in her overdosing on fent during the pandemic. This broke him, and he has been a depressive mess ever since. Dude can't be five feet away from his weed or a bottle of booze now.
I can't imagine 'A' as a tranny. He's 6 feet tall with a deep baritone voice. He'd look ridiculous. I'd be fine if he said he was gay, but a tranny, no. What do I even do? Confront him? Let him continue down the path of no return?
I am beyond disgust and rage. I am beside myself with despair. Completely greif-stricken and bereaved. I broke down crying this week at work. When a co-worker discovered me silently sobbing by myself, I had to quickly explain that a friend had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. And that's exactly what this is; a cancer. I get to watch, as this... this THING slowly kills my friend from the inside out. I'll end this diatribe here. I just feel so helpless. Betrayed even.
/SPOILER]
