It took me a while to feel even remotely ok, again.
The thing that helped the most was realizing that I could probably just transition again. It would be painful, and awkward, and slow, but if I’d done it once, I could do it twice.
The removal of my breast tissue was the only really hitch, as that wouldn't so easily grow back, but even that could be fixed with some implants or saline injections.
I’d figure something out.
And probably kill a bunch of inarguably evil people along the way.
It’d be fine.
I sat up and properly looked around for the first time.
Ahead of me was the ocean. To either side was simply more impossibly clean looking oceanside sand.
Behind me was an endless expanse of off white dunes.
The only object of note was a black tablet that rested at my feet, resting atop the sand.
Picking it up, I tried to vainly blink the sunspots out of my eyes as I examined it.
It looked basically the same as your average ipad, or android equivalent. The screen was entirely black, except for a button in the center that pulsed with a white light.
I pressed it, because what the fuck else was I gonna do?
The screen lit up, and a grey smiley face immediately started talking at me.
“Welcome to your personal home simulation. This space and everything in it, including your avatar, are fully customizable, and I’ll show you how it all works after you answer a couple of questions.”
Then the tablet switched to a survey, which I was now apparently required to fill out.
I confirmed my birthdate, given name, and gender assigned at birth with resigned frustration.
I was weirdly relieved to find options for multiple gender identities and pronoun preferences, afterwards.
I selected female, and she/her, respectively.
My body did not magically change back to what it had been, though, which frustrated me.
If they were going to fuck up my appearance due to what was apparently a clerical error, the least they could do was be quick when it came to fixing it.
It asked me what name I wished to be called. I gave it Cess. As in princess or cesspit. Because I thought of myself as both.
Then I was asked what medications I’d been taking.
I answered truthfully because I saw no point in lying.
Then it asked me what my personal interests were, and forced me to write a short essay in response.
And on it went.
After far too much electronic paperwork, the gray smiley face came back.
“Thank you!” it chirped.
I restrained the urge to snap the damn tablet in half and stomp on its corpse until it was nought but scattered shards.
Only for my absolutely saintly level of patience to be rewarded by a painfully slow tutorial that walked me through a whole list of Menus like I was an elderly person encountering a computer for the first time.
I hated it.
Eventually, though, I was let temporarily loose to change my home environment and design my own avatar, and simply told to hit a specific button when I was done to proceed.
I set to changing my avatar first.
This was done via an interface that had two different search bars as well as a full render of my naked body.
One search bar was labeled “modifications and tools” The other was simply labeled ‘presets’.
I ignored the presets in favor of immediately dealing with my dysphoria, first. Having to look at my nude, detransitioned, body was fucking with me something fierce.
I typed into the modifications bar ‘body hair’ and was presented with multiple options for increasing or decreasing my body hair, as well as changing the follicle type, color, and affected areas, all via a new window appended to the side of the screen.
I just removed any hair on my face and everything below wholesale and set it to never grow back.
Next I upped my body fat, going from the wiry, well muscled frame I’d been shoved back inside of, to something noticeably softer, like what I’d developed once I’d finally gotten the help I needed for my eating disorder.
God, I hoped my therapist was doing ok.
I loved that woman, even if I’d never really said as much for fear of crossing any important boundaries. She’d helped me discover who I was, and for that I owed her more than she could ever know, even if she’d always just insisted she was only doing her job.
But I couldn’t do anything for her now.
And I could already practically hear her telling me to take care of myself first.
So next I changed my body fat distribution, giving myself a little bit more of an ass, as well as getting my admittedly modest rack back, and subtly altering the shape of my face.
Then I grew hair back out to its now customary length, one that went down to my mid back. Then I curled it slightly, and bleached it blonde.
Then I fixed my voice. As simple as moving some sliders around, I had what I thought of as my regular vocal range back.
After that was clothes. I chose a long black maxi skirt, a pair of red boy-shorts, a black pushup bra, a powder red v-neck shirt that cut deep enough to show just a bit of cleavage, and finally a pair of light brown pleather sandals.
Then I applied some light makeup. Pale white foundation to match my pallid skin but smooth over the acne craters. Skip the blush. Apply a modest amount of deep red lipstick, and finish with a touch of dark purple eyeshadow.
I looked everything over one last time.
While I’d been tempted to exaggerate some of my assets or make further changes to benefit my vanity, intellectually I knew that what I really needed was just to feel like me again.
Everything looked as close to what I’d had before as I could make it. Including my dick, because having one of those instead of a vajajay hadn’t ever really bothered me much.
Then I hit the button to apply the changes, hoping against hope that it would work.
And in an eyeblink, I was me again.
I collapsed into the sand and cried like a bitch.
And I mean ugly cried. Blubbering, choking, coughing, snot pouring from my nose and tears running down cheeks that were contorted with emotion.
The whole bit.
For at least two hours.
It was not a good scene.
Though I think I could more than be forgiven for it, given what I’d been through.
It’s a very specific horror, to be trapped in a body that isn’t yours. Doubly so to have that happen to you all again a second time. To have it forced on you against your will, all over again.
I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies.
I’d far sooner just kill them instead.
Usually, after a good cry like that, I would normally pass out, but my energy levels remained oddly consistent.
It was probably a simulation thing.
Though if I couldn’t ever sleep again, that was going to be a problem.
I gathered myself back up, and navigated back to the body customization screen to fix my ruined makeup and clean all the snot and tears off of me.
Then I went to the environment menu and picked a simple preset for it.
The sand was replaced with an endless, almost perfectly placid body of reflective water. The sky and horizon line were filled with slowly shifting groups of clouds. The harsh sunlight softened.
I walked across the water’s surface, and watched it ripple ever so slightly with every step.
Around me, furniture, carpets, and standing lamps were all placed in a rectangular mock up of a living room, though without any walls around them.
I settled into an ocean blue couch to rest, kicked off my sandals, and let my toes trace across the unreal surface tension of the simulated water below me.
And then I just enjoyed the view, for a bit.
I needed a bit more time before I could go back to actually feeling like a person again.