You know… I guess it’s time for some confession time. A little bit of more of a history of me. I’m not sure if I’ve ever come out about this, but I feel like it bares repeating because honestly, this is probably one of the things that could hound me to my death — suicide or just from psychological stresses manifesting into the physical realm.
Does anyone know what gender dysphoria means? *waits* Anyone?
Well, maybe a more trendy term y’all might know — that isn’t nearly as scientific — is transgender. The latter term has transformed over the ages in meaning. Sometimes it’s a noun and sometimes it’s an adjective and yet other times, depending on how it is used, suddenly it is an insult even if you mean it in all the best in the world.
So, I stick with gender dysphoria unless I absolutely know the person — like my partner… I use transgender with him because he uses the term himself.
I’m sorry, but this is going to be a major rant… A heads up here. I just need to vent and get this stuff off my chest.
Gender dysphoria also is known by another name: Gender Identity Disorder. Now, honestly that is an insult. There is nothing wrong with us! How dare anyone say that just because we don’t like the bodies we were assigned at birth (dysphoria = discontent, for those who don’t know), doesn’t mean something is wrong with us. It isn’t our bloody fault we were born a boy or a girl when our minds tell us we should be the opposite in every rotten way.
Well, now you know.
I suffer from this.
Not officially diagnosed. I doubt I ever will be. It isn’t a kink. I’ve just given into the facts — the truth. No amount of corrective surgeries will ever correct this grotesque male form. Sure, I get hit on a lot. Sure, I get flirted with until I’m so red in the cheeks that I need ice. But why should I care when I’m not comfortable with my own body? They are flirting with a male bodied person. That is what they’re interested in. That is what they want.
God! How I wish I could just strip off this shell and toss it aside like some cruel cocoon.
I am so sick and bloody tired of “because you’re a guy.”
“You’re a guy, you should enjoy getting dirty.”
“You’re a guy, you should enjoy working on cars.”
“You’re a guy, you should drive a pickup.”
“You’re a guy, you should marry a girl and breed.”
“You’re a guy, you should be proficient with tools.”
“You’re a guy, you should have all the answers when a gal asks you a question.”
“You’re a guy, you should be a leader, not a follower.”
“You’re a guy…”
JUST SHUT IT ALREADY! *sighs deeply*
Okay, okay, I’m alright… happy place, happy place…
Weight loss… heh… Y’all want to know my true motive behind it? It’s pretty rotten. Entirely vain really. Health is entirely secondary because if you don’t enjoy your life, then what’s the point of being healthy? To live a long, miserable existence of just passing the days?
My motive is to become thinner. To try to obtain a body that will allow me to dress more androgynously. To maybe, just maybe enjoy going outside and maybe, just maybe enjoy what I’ve been ever so erroneously given. I’ve got to make do with what I’ve got.
Well, I’ll probably lose followers with this post. Y’all’s issue, not mine. Whoever does stay, thank you for understanding and, by default, showing your support. I really do value it. I don’t blog for income. I do it to share.
Until later, be safe, be dry, and enjoy y’all’s days,
P.S.: I suppose I should mention, before anyone thinks it, that all those heart issues, etc are legit. Those issues are the reason why I can’t really move forward with anything. Any treatments (hormone replacement therapy, etc) can cause pretty nasty cardiac side-effects which for me could/would be life threatening. I hate my body, but I love my partner more. He’s one of the few things keeping me sane.