A/N: This is not a personal story. I believe that some readers might be interpreting it as such, but Morgan's character is based on a close friend, not me in any case. Reviews saying things about "being a wonderful woman" and things of the sort are taken badly, even if they weren't meant to be, so I'd appreciate them not being sent.

Thank you.

My name's Morgan and I'm not, under any circumstances, a girl.

I entered the world on February 17th of 1994, at approximately 1:24:36 AM, and from the moment of my birth, my father made it clear that he wanted a second son. I happened to be the child of my mother's old age, and although they did try, I ended up being the final product of conception and, needless to say, my father didn't quite like me.

My friend Faith followed soon after, and we were practically attached at the hip from day one, according to my brother. Empirical evidence, he said, when I asked why. Faith and I ended up dragging another one of the neighborhood kids, a little boy named Dylan, into our constitutionally protected pursuits of happiness, and things went well until he went missing the year he turned four. We were six, so we didn't quite understand, but Blaine and Lily took the time to explain that to both of us, though why Lily came along is still a mystery.

Regardless, I haven't seen her in awhile. Faith, that is.

I spent years hiding at her house after school, but her father was too full of "you girls" and "the girls" for me to even think straight, and after an uncomfortable incident involving the words "be a woman", I stopped showing up. It's been approximately three years.

Dylan's shown his face again, after seven, eight years, and he greeted me with his traditional "Hey sis", something I was hoping he'd forget. Luck's not in my favor, but that's nothing new. He reclaimed his place at Faith's side, something I was still loath to do, considering there's nothing more ridiculous than being fourteen and in love with a girl who'll never notice you.

I managed to hole up in my room for as much time as possible, causing Drake to label it my "man cave", and I came home from school one day to notice my father had thrown out all of my lab materials and painted the room pink, "as it should be" in his words. I'd tried out the words "I'm gay" as many times as I could, hoping that that would work, but it never quite felt right, although I said them anyway.

Dad kicked me out of the house for a couple hours and refused to speak to me for weeks afterward. Lily did the same, although she added a slap across the face and the constant, "I wish you'd just be normal for once!"

Needless to say, going anywhere didn't seem like a great option. The therapist's telling me to hurry up, so I might as well get to the reason why I'm writing this journal in the first place.

I attempted to kill myself on August 17th, 2010, two weeks before school was set to start. It's obviously understandable as to why I didn't want to go to school again, but the therapist just wants me to write these things out, so I'm just going to say it.

People expect things from the Merrick family. My older brother and sister were good at everything, and here I was, knobby-kneed and four-eyed, constantly struggling against a too big pair of glasses that slipped down my nose at every opportunity. Dylan fit in with the jocks, Faith was well-liked by everyone and I was just the class dyke.

Things like that get to you, eventually.

So I figured that if I was going to die a sniveling little girl anyway, I might as well do it soon. Take all these feelings to the grave and whatnot.

Needless to say, as can be assumed by the fact that I'm writing this diary entry, I didn't do it properly.

I went back to school only to get suicide jokes cracked at me whenever I came into contact with anyone in addition to the usual name-calling, stuff burning and various bruises I managed to collect with and without help.

The parents were busy, my siblings had gone off the radar and the two friends I did have, although they can barely be considered friends anymore, were busy with other things. I doubt the news even got to them, but knowing my luck, it probably did.

Everyone knows as well as I do that this is only one step in the scientific method. If experiments don't work, you repeat them until they do. Mayday, Mayday, this isn't an experiment.

I'm still a stupid dyke at the end of the day, so I might as well.

I'm still in love with her.

It's pitiful but I can't make it stop.

Some days I just want to cut my heart out and kill it so I could live as a normal girl for everyone else's sake.

That would be a much better experiment.

[End transmission.]