Dysphoria: a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.
So let’s talk uncomfortable, shall we? Trans people are most likely all experiencing a form of dysphoria. Otherwise you’d not have such an intensive need to be presented as something else or go through the horrors of expensive surgery which will still leave you, while right, in need to walk that extra mile to function fully as the true self that you are. That one chromosome really fked us up.
And while I believe that we all experience a certain dysphoria, I don’t believe it’s on same level for everyone. You ever heard of ftm guys tell you about loving eyeliner on dudes, but not letting themselves do it until they transitioned fully? that’s because they experienced dysphoria.
I figured, I’ll tell you a few of mine, so we can both laugh, and then you can know why I sometimes freeze in situations that are seemingly perfectly normal. It is normal to you. But here’s what I see:
- Make-up. Yep. I’m that guy who can’t put on eyeliner because I don’t pass as a guy, and so any slightest enhancing of the fem side of mine makes me have an internal melt-down.
- I sometimes get conscious about snacks. Is this girly? Should I not eat this? Can I spot a cis guy eating this, so it’d be safe for me to eat it too?
In cases like this, I force myself to stop, breathe, and remember we’re eating this with our mouths, not genitals, there’s no gender specifications on the damn cake, eat the goddamn cake, dammit.
- Perfume. I love perfume. I love both masculine and feminine scents, but I just lean towards masculine ones, because they. just. make. me. feel. right. And if I walk around accidentally smelling like my niece, who was just given a child perfume to play with, and dumped half a bottle on me doing so, you’ll have to talk louder to me. Because all I hear is my own blood rushing in my ears. For it works opposite then. Then I feel extremely exposed and wrong.
- Guys who claim gay guys hit on them even after they said “no, fk off”. Yea dude, try not passing for your gender, see how daily life is before I threw a rock at you, for I will!
- People who actively DEMAND transgenderness to be OUT THERE. I recently played through Dream Daddy several times, yes, I have absolutely no shame in admitting this, but that’s another tale on my orientation. And there’s one father who is trans. The only reason you get to know this, is because there’s a mention of a binder. And people were mad for it, because he’s presented a bit feminine, and oh, it’s not stated loud and clear.
I’m sorry, but could you please shut up? Some of us want to TRANSition, and NOT be TRANS men. Some of us want to be men. Fk your “cis” and fk your “trans”, I just want to be a man. The very fact that this is a thing, that in that game you can be a trans guy, and that you can be with a trans guy, is great. And the fact they didn’t put a flag over his head – I love it, thanks, he’s a normal dude, leading a normal life.
Oh, but he likes feminine shit, like gardening? Btch, my father, a cis homophobic idiot that he is, likes gardening. Chill down and come eat the cake with me. Some things, as all things should, are not gendered. It’s your perception that is fked.
- Shoe size. 39 here, hello, most common female size ever. And the very smallest male size that you can find, IF you can find it.
- I’m 29, I haven’t started transitioning, and all these teens around me – are. Yes, I feel bad about it. Because I see them live their lives, and I’m jealous, that’s the truth of it. I’m real happy for them too though. I just wish I had that chance too. Or better yet, I wish I was born a cis male, and I didn’t have to.
- I’m 165cm tall. Not so tall. Male pants tend to be long enough for me to wear calf-long joggers as pants sometimes.
- When in stores the people whose job it is to ask you if you want to try something on: do so while you’re perusing their perceived “wrong gender” clothing. But that’s fine, right? What’s not fine is when they point it out. I mean, I get it, I might be a girl who saw a nice shirt, but didn’t notice there’s a female cut version of it on the other side of the store. But now my heart’s beating in my throat anyway.
- No shoulders. I stare at a mirror angrily as much as any person who is not happy with themselves. I’m okay with my weight, I know why it’s there, so I don’t worry about it too much as long as I find thing to wear that fit me. But the shoulders… I’ve round hips, and narrow shoulders. It couldn’t get worse for me, from where I stand.
- Strangers referring to you as a wrong gender. Yes, they just don’t know, I have no hard feelings. But I don’t know neither how to react, nor what to say. I got congratulated with women’s day. He extended me a tulip and I stared at it, confused. Then took it, muttered a thanks, and dropped it on the table as a cold-hearted btch that he saw, I guess. Not saying ladies should be rejoiced to get flowers this one stupid day in the year. I’m saying my reaction was wrong, and it was perceived as negative, and you know how masculinity is sometimes so very fragile.
- People using my birth name. I… I wasn’t out for most of my life. I came out like 10 years ago, and actually spoke openly about it, with friends, only maybe 3 years ago, prior to that, allowing them to figure it out from vague markings that there were. Look at next post to see why. But in those lovely 3 years that I have room to breathe: I tend to forget the bad side of it. Like my name or the gender people perceive me as.
- I was afraid to speak up about being different gender than that perceived, because I was afraid to be called a transtrender or get told I do this for attention. And it happened anyway. Even though I was very quiet about it, I was still told I just want attention, and that I’m giving a bad representation to people’s children.
- People’s children. Listen… I don’t have kids by choice. Your child cannot, and should not be my problem. Let people live their lives without having to play a role for your kids. Believe me, your kids will be more grateful to be exposed to variety of people, than the white-picket-fence sort left and right. I know I’m a better person for the folk I met in my life. And they were not the kind you demand me to pretend to be for the sake of your child. You’re the parent. YOU explain. And love them hard enough for them to NOT feel the need for attention in such a nasty fashion.
- And it is a nasty fashion. I’m sad for people who transitioned and realized it’s not right for them. It means they got diagnosed wrong. It doesn’t mean we’re all confused. Nobody, absolutely nobody will go through this willingly. Ten years from now, being physically a man, I will still have to walk that extra mile to fully function as one, for the rest of my life. Not to mention the expensive surgeries, the complications that can happen during them. Why you think we’re playing here? Oh, wait, I know why. Because there’s people who literally live their lives fully as the gender they got assigned at birth, but still claim they’re other gender. Not to make their experience invalid, but boi, you’re really making it rougher for those of us who just want to be the gender we are in our brains.
- I like intense colors.
- I am pan/bi/I-don’t-care-what-genitals-you-have-at-all.
- Both those things make me nervous about the image I present and whether people will think less of me because of it. Even if in my mind I understand that’s absolutely stupid. It’s just the way it feels.
- I cried watching Love, Simon, because he came out as gay and everyone accepted him happily. Everything I just said triggers the living hell out of me.
- I was also the only dude, and 28 then, who was in the cinema. The rest were teenage girls. And they didn’t know that, of course, because I don’t pass. But would I get really judged if I was a 28 year old passing cis man in that damn cinema? Was that movie for kids? Because I watched Hotel Transylvania like twenty times, and I love it.
Lucky for me my friend who was also my age, a cis young woman, went with me, so I didn’t really feel alone or that very much out of place. But I seriously don’t think I could’ve went there alone if I came to the door and saw only a gaggle of young girls there. I’d feel so very extremely out of place, I’d bolt.
- I don’t know what to do with my legs when I sit down. I think manspreading guys have no right to even have a dick, since they apparently are bothered by it to even sit as human beings. But at the same time, may I cross my legs? Is that okay?
- Earrings. I love, love, looove guys with earrings. Just two regular, often perceived as “female” two earrings in each earlobe. It’s just so adorable, and can both add an edge or soften up the image, depending on the earrings. But when I have to put mine on, oh boy. Let me try and select something in the next two hours, just to take it out and leave it anyway.
- Over-the-shoulder bags. Messenger bags. Can I wear those? I want to wear those, they’re very comfortable. BUT CAN I?!
- I read romances. I read YA. I read YA romances. I also blog about books. But if someone’s not reading my blog and confronts me about reading a lot, I will… Most likely dodge the genres.
And here’s the worst of it. All of these things, even getting congratulated on women’s day while you’re a man, if you’re a cis guy, I applaud you if you take it with a smile, because that’s how it should be. I’ve cis male friends who are real fun, real accepting, and they do all these things like it doesn’t even matter. Because it doesn’t. It’s my dysphoria speaking. A thing I didn’t even know I have, can you imagine? I’d feel all of this, and think I’m fine, I got no dysphoria, I am fine.
No. No I’m not. Day-to-day life is hard. Because the simplest task will send me overboard. Choosing boyish sneakers in female section, because boy section got no 39 size shoes, might make me cry in the bathroom. And yes, I use female restroom for the most part. Because 1) I don’t pass, and I don’t feel like getting hassled for it when all I want to do is pee; 2) I’m here to pee, nothing else, gendered bathrooms are ridiculous. Plus, for real, if I broke down, I will rather take the safety of a “girl crying in the stall” than “dude, the fk’s wrong with you? oh, it’s a chick, why you’re in a boy’s bathroom!?”, ya know? Yes, it’s a fking issue. Congrats if it ain’t for you.
I don’t live in a safe environment, something I pointed out before, I think. Maybe it’d be easier if I did. But for the time being, it ain’t, even telling you all this was a rough road to take.