So I know no one is going to look at this, and no one is really going to care, but it like putting it out here for myself. A little journal. Here’s my second long one.
So pretty much every trans person had a bit of body dysphoria right? Whether it can be a little to a lot, it’s still there. The only person who knows about me being, well, ME, is my best friend. But that is still just one person. My family and all my other friends don’t know, and I can’t tell them. I might never, but I’m hoping I’ll have the confidence to do it after college. But that’s also the problem. Since I can’t tell them, I can’t just ask them to change my (girly) name or pronouns, and my mother has taken even getting a haircut off the table. I can’t even wear my binder most of the time because of school and its ‘change clothes for gym’ policy. Since I AM in highschool, and everyone knows how that is, I rather not come out there. But I’ve known this for a long time, I think I even pointed it out in the first labled neon talk, so why am I saying it again? Because it still feels true? It does, but I’m bringing it up again because of my dysphoria.
Now, I usually do not have a lot of dysphoria, there are even occasional days where I have little to none and I feel very confident. But some days, like today, are a lot more common. Today I woke up and went to take a shower. A lot of things come with taking a shower, you know, like being naked. Now this isn’t usually a problem because everyone changes their clothes every day, but it’s so much different for me getting ready to take a shower because there’s a mirror there. You can’t just NOT look. So I do, and that’s always what starts it. I look and I can see a person who is NOT ME in all their hideous glory. I stand there, ALL I can do is stand there. I can’t punch the mirror, that wouldn’t change the reflection. I can’t take the toy scissors on the counter and cut everything off. I can’t savagely rip off these, these THINGS off my chest, because that would only leave a bloody mess. And I can feel it, like everyone does when they are about to cry. The slow warmth crawling up my face, the warbled vision- I DONT cry. I don’t I don’t. And I just feel this weight just laying down and taunting me. Don’t look, I keep on looking, I need to stop looking. That’s not me, it’s not me, it’s me. I don’t like me. That person is gross, their face is gross, their body is gross. I am so gross. Why did this have to happen to ME? All I want to do know is scream and even that is not an option.
Then I finally stop looking, I stop looking and go behind the curtain. I’m still a mess, I’m always a mess.
But for right now I’ll have to deal with it. Knowing that it IS for right now helps, but I wish time would go faster, and that I wasn’t such a coward. I want to control this, I want to be able to look at myself and go ‘Yep. That’s me!’. I know that this won’t happen for a long time, and the me in the mirror is set to stay. I’m here to wait it out, nobody likes waiting, let alone me, but I don’t really have much of a choice.