Thursday, March 5, 2015

3-5-2015 Entry: ...

God am I in a mood this morning. I am so pissed off I can barely function enough to type right now, but I need to get this off my chest. I am sick, sick, sick, sick, sick, of having to wear men’s clothing to work. Most days I can just push it out of my mind but today it’s just too much to handle. It really all started with my wife (who was probably trying to do something nice) critiquing me on my brown shoes with a black belt and a black shirt. Now, I know that you aren’t supposed to wear a black belt with brown shoes but since I usually sit in a cube all day long and don’t really see anyone who would care about my accessories matching my outfit, I have generally said fuck-it to this rule (also, I really don’t like the way my black shoes look). It’s honestly a rather arbitrary rule that’s only really noticed or commented on by condescending people and I could care less what any of them have to say anyways. But more than this rule being arbitrary, I find it deeply insulting to my personality as a transwoman. I really don’t care what fashion rules exist for men, because I’m not a man!! I’ve never been a man and I am so fed up with having to play the part of a man that I could just throw myself off a cliff in order to never be gender-policed into male-normative behavior or expectations again.

I know that I’m probably reacting irrationally to this situation. My wife meant well. I probably did look tragic, but I made the choice to not let it bother me because I look so tragic already that what does one outfit really matter?

I know what I’m writing here isn’t groundbreaking or probably even very noteworthy, but goddamn if it doesn’t seem important to me right now. Gender dysphoria is just downright awful, my friends. I feel awful. I feel so hopelessly angry and frustrated with my body that I could just scream. I’m too tall, I’m too fat in all the wrong places, my facial hair is too visible (even after I’ve just shaved), my hair just looks like a boy’s haircut gone tragically wrong, my voice is too deep, my face is too masculine, my feet are too big, and my hands are too big. I honestly don’t know how I will ever even come close to passing as a woman, and that’s the source of all of my frustration right now.

I know, rationally, that the effects of HRT haven’t really begun enough to be visibly evident, but even when they finish, I’m still worried that I’m going to be little more than a man-lady, and that just makes me want to cry. I don’t want to be a man-lady. I want to be a woman. That’s the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted in my life, ever since I was a young boy. I just want to be a girl. Not a girl who had to go through so much pain and agony to get kinda-sorta there. I just want to wake up tomorrow morning and be a woman physically.

I hate the way I look. I hate the clothes I have to wear. I hate being seen as a man. I just want relief from my suffering. I want this pain and frustration to go away. Sometimes, I lay in bed at night after my wife has fallen asleep and I pray to God asking if I can just die in my sleep that night. I beg and plead that I won’t have to wake up in the morning and be a man anymore. Obviously that prayer continues to go unanswered, and I’m forced to suffer on through another day in this body that makes no sense. It all just seems so pointless.

I honestly don’t want to post this entry to the blog because I don’t want the surge of pity that will probably come with it, but I vowed to document the process as closely as I could and this kind of gender dysphoric depression and frustration is unfortunately part of that process, so here it is. Do with it what you will.



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