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That word: institution.  It is gray and heavy.  I was newly diagnosed with a birth defect that seemed to have already set the stage for my life before the curtain had even gone up.  The play had just begun, and the audience was already disappointed and stressed, mulling about in their seats, complaining about the actors, the set, the plot. (Rapp 12)

That exclamation: “It’s a girl!”  It shrouds the world in a pale pink light that only gets more bright and vivid as the years go by.  I had been assigned female at birth, which at the time seemed only logical to those who caught sight of my anatomy.  The finality of my anatomy seemed to have come with a prewritten script of my life, one that allowed for little deviation.  The play, although seemingly like all others that came before it, was retold anew as the pale pink light often came into conflict with a slightly different light shining from within.  Armed with high hopes for their new addition, spectators and fellow actors alike never imagined themselves becoming disappointed and stressed as they unknowingly found themselves entangled with a remastered version of a traditionally held classic.

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