I never thought I’d be writing something like this—not from a hospital bed, not with tubes in my arms, and certainly not while fighting to simply stay alive.
My name is Vivienne, and I am a transgender woman. My journey to becoming who I am has never been easy, but I’ve always believed in truth—living mine, even if it came at a cost. And the cost has been… everything.
When I came out, I lost my family, my job, and the place I once called home. But I gained something much more powerful: myself. I was finally able to look in the mirror and say, “There you are.” For the first time, I was not a stranger in my own skin.
But truth comes with wounds.
Months ago, I was attacked on the street just for being me. The hate didn’t just bruise my body—it shattered parts of my soul I thought had already healed. The doctors say I’m lucky to be alive. But lying here, surrounded by machines and silence, I wonder: is survival enough?
This bed has become both a prison and a sanctuary. I dream of walking again, of speaking without pain, of standing tall in the sunlight as the woman I fought to become.
But recovery isn’t free. And I can’t do this alone.
I’m not asking for pity. I’m asking for hope—for help, if you can, to support my healing. Every donation, every prayer, every message of strength reminds me that I’m not invisible. That I still matter.
Your kindness doesn’t just pay medical bills. It rebuilds a life.
Please help me stand again—not just for me, but for every trans soul too afraid to speak, too hurt to reach out. Let’s show them there’s still beauty, still love, still hope.
With love from my fragile heart