It begins

 Hi, my name is Neil and this is my blog one day on T.

 My friend (whom we shall call "Friend Ween" for anonymity sake) and I took our shots in his car on the side of the road yesterday morning. He gave me an "herbal gummy" for being such a good little gendermolomensch.

One of my other friends, whom we shall call "Friend Soad", had also joined us, to make sure the two doofuses shooting up T in a car didn't get themselves killed doing something stupid. Friend Ween has access to student healthcare if something goes wrong, but I don't, and neither of us have parents who are down with us being on HRT (hence why we are in the current situation). Any complications could spel a whole lot of trouble. So, friend Soad was there to ensure safety. We made sure the environment was passably sterile. It was good enough™. I'm certain some heroin addict has done worse and survived.

 To actually take the shot was the most daunting task. So many questions and concerns swirled through my head, but I sucked it up. As the French say "c'est la vie", and as the little people in my phone say "fuck it we ball."

Don't panic, dude. You got this.

I pushed back any fear I had about allergies or infection or any other Murphy's Law-Adjacent happenings as I took the supplies from Friend Ween. He handed me three objects -- a syringe, and two needles, one in orange packaging, and the other in pink.

The pink-packaged needle was around a millimeter thick. Not enough to warrant the title of "comically large", but enough for a pang of fear to run through my body and slither down my spine. The thought of sticking such an object into myself had me second-guessing myself. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding when I saw Friend Ween only used the pink needle to draw the Testosterone out of the vial. He took the needle off, and put on the orange-packaged one for the actual injection.

 The orange-packaged needle was the considerably less daunting of the two, being only around half the width of the pink, if even that. The notion that I'd be inserting this into myself was still a bit scary, but certainly less so. 

 Little nuggets of worry surrounding the whole ordeal pinballed around my mind like a ping pong ball in a room full of mousetraps. But, it was now or never.

Friend Ween took a handful of fat from his belly, and squeezed it tight before sticking the needle in. He waited for a bit, then let go of the fat, letting it draw away from the needle. 

Monkey see, monkey do. Friend Soad helped me do what Friend Ween had done to myself. For a foreign object penetrating my body fat without even taking it out to dinner first, it was surpsingly painless. Went in like I was made of butter. I pushed on the end a bit, and watched as the syringe emptied itself into me. I released the fat I was pinching just as Friend Ween had done, and with that, I was officially "on T." 

 We put our medical waste in a container, and drove around until we found a nicely inconspicuous dumpster suitable for disposing of evidence. 

It's been a day, and I haven't died a horrible death by anaphylaxis yet, so I'm pretty sure that things have gone smoothly.

Yayy