A little thingy I wrote for myself.
Dysphoria
Dysphoria is knowing you’re not ugly, but feeling you can never be pretty. Not like other girls. It’s comparing every body part with an unobtainable standard. It’s seeing masculinity in everything you do and are. It’s being around guys to feel girlier rather than the other way around. It’s being always afraid of not being good enough. It’s having to walk the thin line between trying too hard and not trying hard enough. It’s feeling a sting of guilt everytime you put on feminine clothing. A guilt that’s been thaught from a young age on.
Dysphoria is the tears of pain and hate. It’s a camel’s back with straw upon straw of microagressions. The looks, the glares, the ogling, the stares. The misgendering and deadnaming. The mentioning of you low voice, small hips, your scar from thyroidreduction. The words normal, natural, biological, real, genuine, genetic as opposed to you. Getting thrown in the same boat as drag. Getting slur after slur.
Dysphoria is not going to the supermarket because you cut yourself shaving. It´s hiding in baggy clothes. It´s slamming your fist into the wall to just feel something else. It´s drinking yourself to sleep. It´s crying yourself to sleep. It´s not knowing what to do and not knowing how to go on. It´s painfully chaotic. It’s selfloathing.
It’s all of that and much more. It’s unexplainable.
But you can fight it.
