When you've had the idea that "feminine woman = giggly stupid womb with legs" pounded into your vulnerable skull meat so many times the only way you can enjoy life is extreme compartmentalization and ripping your mind up into not two but three different people: Dead Ex-You, a Trans You conduit and security blanket, and the Stage You at the end that's chock full of your actual interests and flavor but has been cordoned down to a literal song and dance routine. This is just sad.