Bennu Station, 441:6
I am human. I only mention this because of what I know some will say. What some have probably already said. On my mother's side, somewhere in the past long lost to records, there was a Riamo mating.
I know they are welcome in the core now, but their genes are not. And I've been denying it to myself for a long time, but as much as I try it is impossible to ignore: I have raymores. I have been speed running the stages of grief, but looped back around to denial.
At first I would catch a glimpse of my wrist in some bright reflection, and think, "Huh, I can kind of see my veins," but it was nothing to worry about. Almost everyone can see their veins a little in some situation. But then I saw a picture from my recent trip, and there was no denying it. My skin is turning translucent. It will likely only be my wrists and neck, but I keep thinking of those unfortunate humans I have encountered whose whole body has faded, a clear view to their innards if they weren't clothed.
I know I shouldn't think this way, especially given what lies in store for my future, but I find being able to see someone's bones revolting. I hate myself for admitting that, or maybe I just hate myself and what I'll become. I keep trying to delude myself. Looking at my arms in dim lighting, from just the right angle. Convincing myself it's just the lack of sun exposure from being at Bennu for so long.
I even went through pictures from the last few years, searching for ones where my arms were visible, to provide proof that nothing has changed, that I'm the same person I've always been. But my photo search had the opposite effect. I realized my neck started showing signs at least a year ago, and I have been blissfully ignorant. But my jugular---oh god---how can anyone stand to look at me. And it's not even bad yet. I can still pass from far away. I feel like my self-loathing is already maxed out, and I literally cannot imagine how I could feel worse in the future, but I know I will look back on myself in this moment and give anything to have the skin opacity that I still possess.
And other people. I've become like some vampire on a reconnaissance mission, constantly judging the play of light on a dark neck, wondering at the tug of a sweater toward the wrist. One woman caught me, and I intentionally gave her chest a once over just to hide the shame of my compulsions.
Long sleeves and high collars. I've never liked them, but if I adopt them now it could be plausibly passed off as a fashion choice. It would at least stop me from scanning my skin for new signs of translucency in every reflective surface I come across.
Some people are able to embrace it. Lean into the look. I've always despised it, and known that my hope of self-effacement is essentially zero. The fetish videos with severe forms of it make me literally sick. I know I am more than what I am capable of intellectualizing as a small part of my physical appearance, but I've always liked the colour of my skin. Like oak bark in the rain. And it's going to turn into some synthetic cover that protects machines but allows constant monitoring of their innards.
I can't fucking imagine how I'll come around to acceptance, but I hope I do.