When did I know?
I have always known. Every damn day. From growing up as a child in a conservative Christian home.
Some days better than others. It got really bad as a teenager. Take the normal unsure social anxiety and multiply times ten.
In She’s Not The Man I Married; Helen Boyd quotes her husband Betty as saying, “it’s like wearing a pair of shoes that don’t fit”. I think it goes deeper. For me its like trying to ride a bicycle in the ocean.
My dysphoria is hitting hard today. For me, my male genetalia doesn’t really cause issues. My facial and body hair is what causes the distress. I can never get my face close enough. A good razor, once with the grain, once against the grain, in hot water, high quality shaving oil, then moisturizer. Some times I shave more than twice. That’s just the face. I shave my full body. I also shave my head. A shaved head looks androgynous compared to male pattern baldness.
I hope someday I can afford electrolysis.
I understand the anorexic. Nothing is thin enough.
I understand the body modification girl. Pieced, tattooed, transdermal anchor… Always another proceedure.
I understand the cosmetic surgery addict never good enough.
Sometimes my relief is cutting. On my pelvis. Just above my scrotum. The pain isn’t pain to me. Its comfort. Its relief. Its understanding. It is release.
I know that there are some so much against it.
My life has been one long exercise in coping. All day, every day. Ever since I was told in no uncertain terms that I was defective. Friends that called me gay behind my back. Fighting dysphoria, fighting depression, fighting anxiety, fighting anger. Angry about fighting. Wanting to resign myself, wanting to accept myself, wanting others to accept. Wanting to hide from it all. Not wanting to hurt. Not wanting to hurt others. Not wanting to live, not wanting to die. Wanting to accept myself afraid to accept myself…that’s what its like. -Brenda