I am able to stand naked in front of the mirror… it doesn’t feel great but also it doesn’t feel horrible…

I don’t understand how dypshoria feels… sometimes it feels like dysphoria isn’t even real… which makes me so faketrans to be honest… because for you all… of course dysphoria is real… but for me… idk what even counts as dysphoria or how it feels like…

I don’t have any emotions… I’m just kinda numb tbh…

Yesterday I slept in bed half naked… it didn’t really bother me… yes I felt slightly uncomfortable and tried not looking at my hairy chest and tried covering myself with the sheets all the time and all that…

But like… I don’t actually feel dysphoria clearly… physically or mentally… I don’t flinch when called sir or a man or he… it’s just what I am used to honestly…

Facial hair makes me uncomfortable and depressed but I’ve hadn’t shaved until yesterday for two weeks and yes I did feel depressed but I didn’t have a problem touching it or looking into the mirror…

I still felt better once I shaved… like a fog lifted… but that’s not enough… that’s not enough dysphoria to actually justify transition to be honest and mixed with all my mental illness… transitioning seems ludicrous.

Spending my entire 20s transitioning, losing my family, my fertility, my youth, and then failing and not passing and ending up 30y old and lost in life… how is that supposed to be a food plan in the slightest…

When on the contrary I could man up, looksmaxx, try switching majors to guarantee a job later, try getting a girlfriend, marry with 28y old and then just be an actual worthwhile human being instead of an ugly tranny failure at 30 who transitioned because of mentall illness, escapism and no tangible dysphoria.

So… is dysphoria actually real and how does it feel?

  • PotentiallyEmily
    3·
    12 days ago

    i wrote this for a friend to try and help them understand:

    • the real reason i’m ‘sad’ is complex and hard to explain, but it’s constant and never ending. i don’t hate what i see in the mirror, the problem is i don’t recognise it. That’s not my reflection, it can’t be, that is my eyes, stuck in the face and the body of a stranger, and i can feel my soul when i see that cage. I don’t hate my body because it isn’t mine, it’s the body of the man that murdered me and took my place, and my soul is forced to pilot him and it feels like real physical agony. It feels like a daily psychosis knowing that the world just sees that killer and think it me, when i’m stuck in there and all i want to do is get out but i can’t. Me, the person i should have been, died before she was even born and i was too late to stop what little might have been left and salvageable from rotting away. So now i’m stuck in this place where transitioning isn’t curative it’s palliative, a few things got slightly better but for the most part ive just stopped things from getting worse, there wasn’t really enough of me left to ever be fixed, to ever not be in pain. I can place my life on hold, miss out on the things normal people have like buying houses and starting family’s to throw money at surgery in the hope of carving his form into something that causes me less suffering, but it will never be me. You can reshape a prison make it as comfortable as you like but it’s still a prison. And every day my soul is trapped in it i feel more and more parts of it die. And it feels like the only way to finally let her be free is to murder him back.

    so i just say im sad and change the subject instead*