It's fucked up but sometimes I still catch myself wishing I could look like a hot guy. I know that's my escapism re-surfacing like "don't want to be a woman cause that's riddled with pain, man is safer" and I'm just like "shut up already, you've had your dance, now let me be". Like it just saddens me, that shards of my broken dream still cut me, now after my realisation that I was never a guy to begin with and I'm really just a traumatised woman, but I want to make it better and make it work for me, in a way that I don't feel broken. So getting those "oh but you could go back to living a lie" kinda thoughts is just really heavy, you know? And kinda disheartening. Or rather, heart-stabbing.
I don't really have a concept of gender. Like what even is being a man or a woman. Detransitioning confused that for me. I mean, I think of myself as a woman cause I'm comfortable presenting as one and want to have a female body, but I don't feel any sense of belonging to either gender or groups of other people of either gender. I feel just as detached from women as I do from men. I think my transition was also largely seeking a sense of belonging. And I almost, very almost, found it there. But then it was snatched away from me and I feel lost again. I don't feel a sense of belonging with cis people either, although I know I'm part of that demographic. I feel kinda lost in between being trans and cis, like I've got one foot on each side, not wanting to fully step over to either side.
I don't think either of this makes me nonbinary somehow. I think it just makes me utterly confused about who or what I am due to both my trauma and my transition that I ended up regretting. It's like I have to start over from scratch and I've no idea where to go or where I currently am even. I feel like I've lost something, not gained something. Like a piece of me was ripped off and now I'm struggling to hold myself together without that piece. And I'm scrambling to find another piece to replace it with so I can stop falling apart.
I know that many detransitioned women are radfems and thus I've come across a few who are, online. I sometimes hear the same gender-confusion in their words too, and I wonder if that's just what happens when you detransition. That maybe many of us feel like we've lost a part of ourselves that we can't quite cope well without, but we also don't seem to really know what it is that we lost. But I think it largely is that sense of belonging, to the trans community, and then as we are more or less shunned from it upon detransition, that hurts. And yet we don't quite belong with the cis demographic either, cause of our transition histories. We end up in between a bit, at least for some time while trying to figure all that stuff out.
In much of the trans community, we're suddenly seen as a threat and our stories not valid anymore. However, the truscum/transmed part of the trans community seems (so far) to be very supportive of those who detransition. Although I have to be a bit careful to not be used as an example of "how harmful the tucute ideology is, cause look it makes people regret hrt/surgery and then detransition, like this poor girl here" when that in fact was not the reason I transitioned nor the reason I detransitioned. I don't want to be used for anyone's personal or political agenda, whether I agree with that agenda or not, if it's twisting my truth to mean something else. I think I'll always have to watch my step wherever I take my story. Cause it is controversal, hardly understood, often misconstrued and wrongfully judged, and definitely often used for various agendas although most of those are transphobic.
I think it's stupid. That just because some people detransition that would somehow "de-legitimise" transsexualism as a real condition. Like what, if I had gotten misdiagnosed with diabetes and gotten bad reactions from the insulin, that doesn't mean no one has diabetes and insulin shots are pure poison? That argumment is so bafflingly retarded that I don't even have the energy to roll my eyes about it or facepalm. I have a brain. I can use it. I wish certain idiots online would stop assuming otherwise.
I just ache to be at peace with my body. I know that fixing up the transition tragedy will only be half the work needed. I know that very well. I have connected with my womanhood and some of the physical aspects pertaining to that, but it's still an ongoing and deep pain, a process and my trans-escapism resurfacing from time to time is to me a clear sign that I really still am struggling to fully accept myself. I've taken huge steps in the right direction but I'm still far from the... finishing line, if there even is such a thing. My point is I'm not there yet, whatever "there" is.
I may have really bad "reverse dysphoria" and a deep sadness over my female traits I lost and over the male traits I gained, and I'm sure that regaining what I've lost and getting rid of what I've gained will be a huge relief and liftening of a burden. But I'm also sure that I'll still feel a certain sense of hollowness even when my body looks and is as though it's been fully restored and maybe even more womanly than it was before. Cause such deep effects of trauma don't just go away over an insight.
I'm pretty sure that, for example with getting new breasts, I'd feel immensely happy about that, but that I'd also get moments of panic, feeling like "these shouldn't be on my chest" cause my trauma basically wants to sexually nullify my body and keep it without female sex characteristics. Or it sees me as a prepubescent child, which I do not want to look like at all. So that's not a genuine wish, but another aspect of my trans-self-defense-mechanism. That's a conflict in my mind I will have to sort out, with or without the help of actual therapy. I could probably sort that kind of thing out on my own, cause I did exactly that about my vagina. That was a long, intense and painful journey in and of itself, but I came out of it crying out of happiness and fully loving that traumatised part of my body that I had previously hated.
Whatever I did, I did exactly what was needed. And I think I could do the same wthing with my chest, but I can't do it without the breasts I yearn to have. I'm broken without them. I feel mutilated, amputated, with a phantom limb sensation strong enough to keep me captive in my own pain. It feels like the absolute worst form of self harm I've ever done to myself.
Yes, it does feel a lot like my transition was in fact a form of self harm and now my detransition is me trying to heal myself. And I've lost limbs to my own desperation and pain. That pains me more than I can put into words. I'm older now, I'm wiser. I know not to reach for razorblades or litres of booze, or scramble for any and all pills I can find, just to numb some feelings and shut down some thoughts. I deal more wisely, but pain is still pain, and it ravages me just as much, if not more. Cause the regret itself and knowing this was all self-inflicted... it compresses my chest by force and squeezes all the blood out of my heart until what's left feels like a hollow cavity of how hopeless it feels to want to comfort the inconsolable, of wanting to restore what cannot be undone. Like a sudden wish to be able to wake the dead after a loved one's passing.
This is grief. And I'm screaming, helplessly shaking the cold body of what cannot be revived... the cold body of what I killed... I'm screaming, what have I done?
That is only to paint a picture of what I feel, it's meant to be abstract, not literal. I managed to portray it quite well, as my heart agrees with it somehow. I don't know, it resonates. But my point is I need new tits to be able to work with my emotional hangups about having tits. Cause I simply cannot work with something I do not have. As if I would have lost my legs, I'd need prosthetics to learn how to walk again. Thus, I need tits to learn how to love them.
I really liked my outfit and general style for my grocery shopping today. It really got a kinda "classy but dark" vibe to it... so like a lawyer? Also my makeup got extremely smooth and neat looking with my new makeup sponge and that I managed to do the closest shave ever without cutting my face up at all. But anyway I really liked the look I had today. I think I feel extra awesome about it when I dress in what I'd consider a more "adult feminine" way, cause it further helps me realise I really am fine with having grown up to become a woman, cause that was the one thing I so desperately wanted to avoid, in my transition. So it feels like a huge step, even though it's just some pieces of fabric and residue of makeup. Cause when I look into the mirror when dolled up that way, and seeing a pretty looking woman who is around 30 years old, and not a man or a teen... I feel strangely at ease. Like that's what I am? And the mirror finally shows it.
I think it's possible that the testosterone aged my looks a bit, so that I look more of my actual age or even slightly older, as a woman now. But I looked slightly younger than my age as a man. Cause it's a pattern I often see among trans people, that trans women often struggle with "looking too old" and trans men struggle with "looking too young". It has to be the hormones, I think. And I don't think that's negative however I do need to get used to it, cause I'm still not sure who's face that is in the mirror.
Regardless of how I make myself look or if I don't do anything, I don't recognise my face as my own. I don't think I ever have though. It's always looked and felt like the face of someone else. A stranger that I know all too well. I think that's the constant and always looming dissociation though, that I just don't really connect to my body most of the time, although some parts I connect more or less to than others and how much tends to vary from day to day. It's very weird, actually. I feel like my body changes, although very subtly, from day to day. Like some days I feel like I'm significantly taller and other days much shorter instead, like I can feel it physically as though I've gained or lost several centimetres of height over night somehow. I like the days when I feel shorter better, cause I tend to feel more... pardon the pun but it's perfect: grounded.
And at other times my hands feel foreign to me. Like they're someone else's hands. It's weird but also a very magnificent feeling, like it's kinda "wow" about it in a beautiful way. I tend to wave around with my fingers in dancing motions then, kinda, to like just explore the strangeness of that feeling and be in awe about it. Also rather often my legs feel foreign to me in a very similar manner, but then also with the added weirdness that it sometimes makes me walk around to places I don't intend to go to, like I'm just not paying attention to what my brain is up to. I think that is exactly what this is: my brain disconnecting from itself and not paying attention to itself properly. And that creates these sorta alien physical sensations. They don't scare me at all. In fact I tend to feel more visually appealing or attractive when some or all of my limbs feel foreign to me, and my motions feel softer and lighter, more delicate and harmonic. Almost like I'm halfway into a dream.
These are very common experiences for me, I get them almost every day, or several days a week at least. So I'm used to it and it doesn't scare me, but it does mean I feel like a stranger to my own body most of the time, and I can't remember a time I have not felt that disconnect. To some degree or another, I've been constantly dissociating for as far back into my past as I can remember. I tend to call it a "haze" and "mist" cause it kinda puts like a filter between me and... and well myself as well as the world around me. It clogs my mind and lets me see, feel and hear through an unclear and soft nylon-stocking filter.
I think why it's so hard for me to describe my dissociation, is because I don't think I really know anything else. I don't have anything to compre it to. Like I don't know what the antonym of dissociation would even feel like. What's that, clarity? I mean I logically know that my body is mine, cause like who else's would it be? My late grandma's? But mentally it doesn't connect to me much at all. I connect to my pussy quite a lot, my eyes and my hair, but that's about it.
That might also actually be THE explanation for my almost complete lack of appetite this past 1,5 year: I've dissociated away from my sense of hunger.
It explains it perfectly, actually. Cause I can still feel physical hunger just the same, but my mind just doesn't latch onto it but instead shuns it as something foreign and unreal that it doesn't understand or accept as its own feeling. Like it forgot what the physical sensation hunger means and why it's there. It gets angry at it and feels threatened by it. Like a scared animal hissing at someone trying to feed it cause it doesn't trust or understand the hand that feeds it. My dissociation makes everything, externally as well as internally, feel vague, surreal, and very hard to kinda hold onto. I have a very, very huge mind-body disconnect. And they can't communicate with each other at all.
It's more or less always been like that, although shifting focus sometimes, but it used to be to a lesser degree when I was a kid, I think. I think it got worse and/or started, that general dissociation, when I was around 10-12 years old. No it must have been sooner, i was barely even aware of my surroundings as a 5-6 year old! Like I could sit in some shrub and play with my kid toys and not notice that several hours had passed and the entire school was looking for me. That happened a few times. Well at least my bullies couldn't find me either. But then neither could I. And I still can't.
I'm starting to wonder if there even is a "me" to find? Perhaps I have the wrong perspective, and that it's not about finding, cause I've been here all along, haven't I? What kind of mystical force or feeling am I even looking for? I wonder. But maybe life should be about being and creating instead of looking for things. I hate it when I lose something in my home and I can't find it right away. It angers and frustrates me. Eventually I get despondent and drained and then decide to do what I should have done from the start: let it find me instead. What goes around comes around. I think I can apply the same logic to the home that is my mind as well.
I know that I chose to cram in as much experiences as possible into this one life, before I got here, to learn as much as possible and get as much out of one lifetime as possible. Yet I keep blaming God for my misery. That doesn't add up. I caused my misery, cause misery teaches you things and wises you up. I chose the hard way, and thus the only one I can blame is myself. Although I don't think I should. I think I'm trying to reach some kind of "nirvana" in this one life, although that should theoretically not be possible, despite my two previous lives making this life my third. I mean at least it's not my first life, but still very soon for ending the reincarnation cycle. I got fed up with it. I think I'm trying to beat the odds. And where I'm at in life now... I've been opening and closing a lot of doors. It feels like for the first time ever I'm starting to actually become honest to myself. Even if that means losing all of my core beliefs and being left with nothing. Well, nothing but wisdom.
I don't fight it as much anymore, I try not to. Try to welcome the uncomfortable thoughts and let them have their say. Analyse them and find out what they mean. I have more than just a feeling that this journey will lead to most, if not all, of my core beliefs to turn out to be false. And it will hurt me immensely, but it will also strengthen me. Eventually. Am I prepared for that? No, I never will be. That's not something I can prepare myself for. But the harsh truth somehow matters and means more to me now than false comfort does. I'm really taking the "red pill" I guess, as a "The Matrix" metaphor. And if I really want to make the most out of my life and achieve the seemingly impossible for my own personal gain, I have to face that immense fear. So I will. Come hell or high water, I'm gonna learn how to swim until nothing can drown me.
Facing and living my fear of detransitioning gave me just enough strength to know I can do exactly that. Not all at once or right now, but at whatever points I'll feel that pulling towards each of those depths beckoning me from within myself. I have a lot of contacts within my subconscious mind. I'm ironically/contradictory very conscious of it and have a few actually direct connections to it already. Although connecting to them is a bit more complicated and difficult than making a phone call.
God damn I just keep ranting all night... I need sleep, but my mind won't shut up. I want that future though, but most of all I want the journey to it. I did learn to appreciate the small things. I did actually. Yeah, I know now that me and Y definitely met at the wrong points in our lives, like we talked about. But it was right in the sense that I learned a lot from it. I'm starting to see patterns in what that relationship in my past meant for my future. A lot I never could have even remotely foreseen back then, not even 2 years ago. I've changed so much, yet I remained the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment