It's starting to get kinda heart-tearing now, this missing my tits situation. I was looking at bras online again. Something to buy. A little larger but especially more comfy. And I stumbled across a very specific style... intended for women with breast prostetics. It hit a nerve, hard, in me. I think it's exactly the kind of bras I should be getting, but fuck it hurts. I more and more have been starting to feel... well, amputated. I've always gotten phantom boob feelings from time to time, but now it really affects me when that happens, and it happens much more frequently, like several times per day, every day. It makes me feel so lost and hurt. And it's really hitting at my conscience too, cause wasn't it my choice to have them removed? Well, fuck me sideways if it wasn't.
I did google breast prostetics, to see if I could maybe buy a pair somewhere online. Well I could, technically. But with no way of knowing what the size system even means or even if they come in pairs or singular... it could be a very expensive mis-purchase. Also buying more like "breast forms" that are more intented for trans women wouldn't be cheaper at all. That's even more expensive, but at least then I'd know what I'd get. I wonder if that's something the gender clinic could help with... just to have something while waiting for surgery. I don't know. Now I really hate that it could be a very long time until that could happen. Fuck I just feel so unfathomably screwed over and like I just need to get myself restored again right away. It feels like I have a huge wound in my chest and it keeps gaping wider and getting more painful.
At the same time I'm getting increasingly more upset about my beard growth and excess body hair as well. The regret itself, over my choice to transition, cuts those emotional wounds even deeper. Cause it's literally my own fucking fault, I screwed myself over so completely. I betrayed myself, deeply. And also... I hated transitioning, felt like I was never gonna get done with becoming a guy physically or whatever... and now with detransitioning... my medical journey suddenly got even longer and even more distressing on my mind. As if someone just stretched out the road in front of me. Like a rubber band. Well that snapped right back into my face, didn't it?
I'm trying really hard to not hate myself over it. To not kick myself bloody over it. But it's just so painful... like it literally tears my heart out and abuses it. And all I can do is watch, and feel. It makes me want to scream, and destroy something. Just take some object and tear it up into pieces. Pulverise it. But it wouldn't be enough. Give me an entire factory of objects to destroy one at a time and maybe by the time I've wrecked every single item, thousands of them, maybe then I'd calm down and collapse on the floor, shaking and crying from the release of all this tension, sadness, anger, fear and pain. The whole fucking register of human emotions. Cause yes, there's love too. A deep, vibrant, warming love for my own heart and mind. That love makes me want to hold and comfort myself, instead of hurting myself more.
When I used to fear detransition, before I had discovered this truth, and lived as a trans guy thinking I was really a man... it was this that I pictured in my mind. I was right to be scared. I had every reason to fear it. It's just as horrible as I imagined it would be. Now I have to live with it. I don't know if maybe I'm slipping into a depression now. I can't make myself take care of my apartment and can barely care for my body either. I'm slacking behind a lot, using the same unclean cups and glasses again and again, just whiping off the edge. The floors are covered in piles of clothing, garbage and other various items. I can barely walk in here cause of the mess. I can't manage dealing with it. Any of it. I can't force myself to anything. I'm breaking. And it has everything to do with my detransitioning. Fuck I can't lose my will to live now, it took so long and was so hard to find it... but it's slipping.
I just want to lie down and fall asleep and sleep for however long it would take to get everything done. Everything up until tit surgery, by the way. That, I really want to be there for. I can imagine that waking up with new tits will give me the most amazing feeling of satisfaction and at-home-ness that I'll ever feel. It's like what they say, you know: you never know what you really need/want until you lose it. I think losing my tits has finally caught up with me that I really did love them. Deep at heart I'm sure I did. And now, knowing that, it really cuts me up. So... I think waking up from the future surgery of getting new tits, would fill up that void to the brim with immense positive feelings. Like it would heal me, put me back together again. I'd likely cry, lots of happy tears. That moment, I really wouldn't want to miss out on.
I can't imagine the gender clinic will be happy to hear from me again though. Not like this. I think that's the last thing they want to hear, a former patient regretting their sex change and wanting permanent stuff fixed back to birth sex traits again. I guess I'm in the 3% of transitioning people to go back and regret it then. That incredibly unlucky 3% of poor sods, huh. Well I'm gonna need to contact that gender clinic about it either which way, or if I'll have my mother do that for me, cause of the reversing medical interventions I want to seek out and get. They could help with referrals, getting things financially covered and shit like that. They might wanna talk to me in person as well. I think I'd both hate it and be relieved/comforted for such a meeting if it would happen. But I wouldn't mind it, regardless. I would feel sad though, for giving them the worst news that they could possibly get from a patient. I hate giving bad news.
This is really doing a number on me though. Like fucking hell it beats me up. I traded away my womanhood, and now I feel lost within myself and practically ravaged without it. I can't live without it. I need to get my body back again. I'm almost at the point of crying myself to sleep at night over this. I feel the weight of the tears pushing from within, pretty much every day but not every hour, but they never fall over the edges of my eyes. They're invisble cries. Drinking didn't help. I don't know what would.
No comments:
Post a Comment