Whenever I question whether I'm faking and actually just a "not like other girls" girl I remember those times when i was 14 and fantasized about getting my boobs sliced off in an epic sword fighting accident, imagining the gaping bloody hole in my chest through which you could see my ribs, and that was a positive thing. As a sheltered 14 year old in 2011 who'd never yet heard of top surgery or the concept of transgender or nonbinary, I figured that the only way I'd ever have a flat chest again was if I sustained a grievous bodily injury, and the pain would still be worth it. The first thing my brain came up with was a fucking Sword Fight, not even something more plausible for a woman like breast cancer, but a fucking pirate sword fight on a fucking boat. Cause then with my gaping chest wound shoddily patched up, as penalty for losing the sword fight I'd be enslaved to the pirate captain. But wait, no girls allowed on the boat, it's bad luck, we're gonna have to shave your head and rename you something badass like Scar-Heart Jack. You'll never see your family again, you'll be swabbing decks and bailing out the bilge for the rest of your days until you die from scurvy at the ripe old age of 18, but that's at least plausibly young enough that the other pirates could think that the reason you're so scrawny is cause you're just a late bloomer, not a girl.
