DYSPHORIA

Well.

Where can I start? Besides pointing out that I am currently melting in this disgusting weather. Summer sucks many, many balls.

Every day, it seems, I wake up and just find myself surprised that lo and behold, BOOBS! I actually question their existence because I look down and it’s just like… what the f**k are these things doing on my chest? They’re in the way, they look terrifying. I have a mirror at the end of my bed, purely because of the lack of space anywhere else for it, so I wake up and just see myself in the morning. I wish I could say I wake up and go oh Daym! that fine piece of human is me!

But I don’t. I sit there and say f**king hell if this was somebody else I’d be happier. I spend about five minutes squishing my boobs until there is enough flat-chested-ness going on that I can sit and imagine myself looking like that in real life. And I don’t mean squishing into a binder, I just mean squishing them out of the way. I do own binders, but then I get so upset when they don’t squish enough in the right places that I just leave it. Although it looks okay when I wear looser fitting men’s tops. Which I own like… two of and one of them I can’t even find, meaning it’s probably in the washing basket at my flat.

I am just so SICK of binding and yet so sick of having to wear women’s shit instead to support these bastards. Normal bras are satan, sports/mainly-yoga bras are too sweaty. I was about to wear said sports bra and a vest today to work. The second it reached my chest and I just saw blobs of flesh, I had to take it off and suffer a t-shirt instead for the day. I just feel so disappointed in myself when I turn to the side and see these unmistakeable globs sticking out. Don’t get me wrong, my stomach is fast becoming one of them – I weigh the most I ever have – but these are just even more wrong than that. I can’t just lose weight and they’ll go. Although sometimes I wonder how much weight I would have to lose if it meant maybe they would.

Eurgh, it just messes up your day when you feel like this. I can tolerate seeing my chest when I’m dressed, but then take off the top, take off whatever under-layer I have one and it’s just bleh. Then if it isn’t my boobs, it’s my damn hips and thighs. The only part of my look that I am happy with, is my eyebrows after I have done them up with stuff to make them look more manly. Otherwise, every single thing gives me away.

Even now, I am sitting opposite that mirror and I hate myself. I wouldn’t even mind looking like a girly-looking guy, just not a girl. Or maybe looking androgynous, I couldn’t care less if people are all OMG is that a guy or a girl? because I am kind of neither. I reckon I spend a lot of time around neutral but I just would rather look like a guy. All that gender identity is in the brain, gender expression is the outside. So gender identity is neutral/I’m not even f**king sure, and gender expression is male.

I’ve asked a close friend of mine to help me in a little experiment to change my pronouns and my name. I think it will be expanding to another little group, and also my not-quite boyfriend but not-quite ex… It’s hard to know how you feel about someone when you have all this shit in your head. Or it is for me anyway. I question everything, every day and sometimes I think if I was just socially transitioned (is that the right use/term?) enough to officially be called his boyfriend – not to mention that I HATE the term girlfriend, or missus, and would rather be called, and call him, “my partner” – then it would be like BOOM. GAY GUY IN THE ROOOOOOOOOOM!

Anyway. I have food to make before my mum comes and like, forcefeeds me or something because I haven’t had dinner yet…

Such a trivial thing in my life, this dinner lark.

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