i walk into the room, towering and dominating everyone with my presence. I cast a shadow over the now cowering BDD passoid, who backs into a corner while looking up at me in horror. I take a step forward. ‘height doesn’t matter!’ she says, casting a glance to the other people in the room, who look shocked and in awe that someone like me could even dream of attempting to transition. I take another step forward, moving in slow motion like a creature from a nightmare, my limbs and joints far too long to be human. The air is soupy and thick with fear as she pulls out a copy of the Gender Dysphoria Bible like a crucifix. ‘height doesn’t matter hon!’ she says, in a tone more desperate this time. She’s starting to sweat. I open my mouth to speak, and a rumbling tormented noise comes out that barely resembles speech:

“6’3”

They shiver and retreat further. She’s holding out a vial of estrogen in front of her too now, but it won’t protect her. I will sit down next to her. I will embarass her by existing. I will cause her to cut herself thinking that she’s associated with me - but before I can, a trans man grabs me from behind, hangs from my neck and pulls me backwards to the floor, my estrogenised muscles failing to keep me upright. Dazed and confused, I lie there while she gathers her composure. Standing up, and again addressing the rest of the room, she kicks me in the head while i get dragged out. “I told you height doesn’t matter”, she says. “If you’re a woman, that is”.