I have never felt envy or jealousy to a great extent in my life.

And I know the words are not synonymous, but I am jealous.

I see friends and family whose kids aren’t afflicted with the mental delusion that somehow they were born in the wrong body. And that makes me jealous. Because my son is so afflicted.

I see people I know, people I do not know, whose kids aren’t taking drugs harmful to their longterm health. Whose kids don’t take wrong-sex hormones to develop a body appearance they never should experience.

And I’m jealous. Because my son takes multiple drugs daily to maintain a body he thinks is healthy, but is not. He has become a lifelong addict.

I see people I know whose biggest worries with their adult kids pertain to everyday issues: work, personal life, health, and happiness all on a scale I see as “normal.”

And I’m jealous. Because my son is on a path which has affected his work situation, his personal life, his health, and his happiness, and it is only going to get worse. His plans to mutilate his body are immutable.

Sure, everyone has problems. Everyone’s kids have problems.

But I would give anything, most literally anything to not have the worries and problems and envy that I have.

This isn’t a pity party.