Broken without my home

Fuck... I hit a new low and it's the absolute bottom. A fair warning: this entry is very dark, sad and upsetting. It will likely worry you, but please read it all through before you panic.

This pain... it's soooo strong it makes my chest physically hurt. I can't bear this. I literally can't bear this anymore. I got angry at another useless shit thing again but it led to something else... something much worse. I realised that the reason every little shit thing pisses me off so bad is because it makes me feel like I can't do anything at all and that everything is completely hopeless. That's why I get temporarily suicidal when I get angry. But this time... that feeling stayed. Cause I looked into it, and it opened quite a can of worms. It's breaking me.

It made me feel this intense pain that's pushing extremely hard inside but it can't get out. It's locked inside. It all made me realise, after the anger was gone again, that I don't wanna live anymore. Cause it's too much. Now it broke the seal, and tipped me over the edge. I can't carry this weight anymore. I can't even lift it.

I don't wanna do any suicide attempts, don't even wanna plan it. But I can't live either. Not like this. I know I've done good. I know I've tried my absolute hardest to stay above the surface. I feel grateful towards myself and how well I've done. It's not my fault that it got too much. I almost expected it would someday. These past couple of weeks or so I've felt I've been getting worse very rapidly and losing the grip.

This is NOT a suicide letter, I'm not going anywhere. I've only just admitted to myself that this is how I feel. And I'm just venting it now. I've no intentions or plans. If or when I feel even the SLIGHTEST hint towards actually killing myself, I'll run fast to the psychiatric emergency. Because I want help and I want to be able to live. First and foremost that is what I want. I want to live but I just can't. So what I'll do now? I'll vent, I'll talk, I'll sit on my ass and continue doing nothing in my apartment that's slowly becoming a health hazard. I've more important things to worry about than some clothing piles and nasty but dried up dishes. I'll try my best to just stay calm, rest a lot, try to take care of my body as well as I can, listen to myself, just try to let these feelings exist in me and if I can release them in some harmless healthy ways that would be very good. That's my plan. And if I can't manage it, I'll call the psych.

I don't want for this detrans shit to kill me. I really really don't. It feels like it's literally sucking all the life force out of me, draining me until there's just nothing left, like I have no control over it, and it's killing me. But I keep trying to fight it and find ways to stay alive and cope. And I will continue trying.

Oh god I'm glad I didn't go to Uppsala to see my friends there this week. I kinda had a hunch I was too mentally unwell to manage it. Guess I was kinda right. Yeah, they invited me to a party there (which is tomorrow, but I've known about it for 2 weeks) and I guess that was a hint that I was invited to stay at their place and hang out, but I just couldn't. Couldn't even handle the thought of packing a bag. Let alone actually traveling. I fantasise about seeing them again. Maybe by spring. Maybe who knows what. I don't think they care or think much about me anymore. That makes it practically impossible for me to even send a fucking text message to them. That too hurts too much.

My best friend is irreplacable, and my broken heart knows that. We were soulmates. Soulmate sisters, we used to say. And we were gonna stick together forever, inseparable. Whatever happened to that? I dunno. It happened before I moved here, some 7 years ago. I love her to death and beyond, but I can't pick up the phone to text her. Cause I think she gave up on us. It hurts more and more by the day. Especially this week when I got that party invitation but no message. I didn't know what to think. And she never even likes or replies to any of my facebook posts, but she does to the friends we have in common. I always like her posts and check her page. Makes me wonder if she unfollowed me. If I'm dead to her or something.

But anyhow. That probably exacerbated my mood plummeting. And my hormones being whackier than ever since pms-ing, then period happening with extremely painful cramps and a complete inability to regulate my body temperature. Yeah, I know full well that this suicidal thing could just be cause my hormones are literally all over the fucking place right now. I've no idea what either my estrogen or my testosterone are doing, but it's not nice whatever it is. Not surprising at all if they fuck up my mood massively as well. But holy shit this isn't an okay level to be at. It's just really not. I got a doctor's appointment on the 10th, if I can hang on until then without having to go get myself locked up somewhere safe, I can bring up my issue with moodswings or what's going on to that doctor. I don't think it's really mood swings though, more like mood dip and it's not getting back up again. It just keeps plummeting.

Oh god I just wanna disappear... just lie down somewhere soft and warm and fall asleep and not wake up again. That would be so sweet. Just rest forever. I'm cold again. Soon I'll overheat. Whatever. Somehow I can't be bothered to care about that anymore. This pain of detransing is choking me, it's suffocating me. I don't wanna care about my looks anymore. I don't wanna feel this way. My chest grief spread out to include my testo changes as well, and that grief completely consumed me. Swallowed me whole. I think that's why I hit this breaking point. It felt like the chest grief alone was getting too much. Then it grew massively. And that totally tipped me over the edge.

I feel so horrible, and utterly horrified, about my body. I've destroyed it. That's all my feelings are telling me right now. That I destroyed my own body, permanently, and I can't restore it... ever again. That feeling is pure pain and it's currently digging a hole in my chest. I think most of that pain comes from the result of what my body became like, it comes from that feeling of regret and that I know I shouldn't have done it... it comes from what I can't get back... I just shouldn't have fucking transitioned! Sex change, my ass! It didn't make me a man... it only ruined my womanhood. Tore it to fucking shreds. Like a meat-grinder. It ruined me, it literally ruined me. What the fuck have I done?! What have I done to myself... how could I? How could I... I just want my body back... the way nature made it for me. How could I ruin that gift?

I did know I had natural beauty, back in my teens. I don't think I've ever told you this... or anyone for that matter... Cause as a trans guy I was ashamed of it, and now as a detrans fuckup it just really REALLY hurts to even just think about it... but I was really confident about my body when I was around 13-17 years old. I loved showing it off and took every chance I could to flash it cause I was so proud of its beauty, I loved my curves, I loved my boobs, I loved my face, even my big ass... I loved the completeness of it. I did feel complete... for but a fraction of my life... before my rapist and R destroyed that feeling. Before I destroyed my own beauty... and here I am, grieving my fucking heart to pieces.

Yeah, my gender is "fuckup" now, cause I don't deserve to be a woman. Wow, that sentence really hurt to write. I love being a woman, I truly do... it's the sweetest, most comforting thing ever, to truly love my womanhood like that... it's such a warming and genuine love... and being a woman is the best, most beautiful thing ever in this dark cruel world... that's one of the truly good things I saw and can't unsee, the amazingness of being a woman... but I can't forgive myself for what I've done. I erased my womanhood. And what's left is a fuckup. I don't have a woman's body anymore. I have a fuckup's body. Cause I fucked it up.

Be careful what you wish... cause it might just come true.

I don't know how to possibly survive this. It feels like I can't. Like it's just not possible. Like the tragedy that is my life has no end. It will just keep getting worse until I stop it from becoming even worse ever again. Before I pull the breaks on life. I can't find any solutions to anything. I'm just barely even here. Stuck in survival mode. I can't just sit and wait for "better times" my entire life! Cause I've never done anything else than waiting for things to get better. I've never actually enjoyed life. It makes me wonder what's really the point of it all.

And oh god... Last time I was in a psych ward for being suicidal... was because I hated my pre-transition body and couldn't live without getting to transition! Realising that now just broke my fucking heart. No, it fucking shattered it! Will I ever find peace with my body? I love my body... I want for it to be well. It's a good a lovely body that functions so well and doesn't look bad... considering its circumstances. It's very comforting and warm to hold it, the smooth skin and little hairs on it that feel good to touch... the way it responds when I touch it... but it's broken and I can't connect to what I've done to it. I can only connect to what's original/natural about it. That is what I feel is the real me. The unaltered parts. That's what truly clicking with me. Those parts are sooo amazing I don't even have words to describe how much I truly, genuinely love them. I treasure them so much, and hold onto them so hard, cause I still have them and they're mine and I need them so much. They comfort me. But the rest, the altered stuff... I can't bear it. I feel so sad for how I've hurt my body... Transitioning saved my life back in 2013 but now my treatment is killing me. Was it worth it then? If it does kill me... truly hoping it won't... was it ever worth it?

I can't think clearly. This pain is blocking my mental pathways. This pain has dug enough holes in me for me to feel it almost constantly now. Everything trans triggers me, to either sadness or anger. I don't know what to possibly do to distract or amuse myself online or anywhere. I don't have any creativity or interests. I don't know for how long except from the few random spurs. It's just me and my pain. I can't draw, I can't write. I can't unfocus, I can't breathe. I'm stuck in this quicksand and I keep sinking. That's a very good description of my situation actually: quicksand.

I read your reply to my previos blog post, X. Thank you, it was really good things you brought up. I read it on my way to see my therapist yesterday, I was just on my way to leave when you told me you wrote and sent it. So I didn't have time to tell you I was gonna read it and was happy you wrote it. Then I've just been too miserable to talk to you at all. Also got my 5th present from you today. Thank you. This one actually is wine red.

"We've fallen deep so far inside
behind the walls we choose to hide
We cannot love, we can only feed, the liar inside
Our heavy heart died long ago
We shut down truth, claimed we didn't know
and then we smiled into the face of the liar inside"
- the chorus from "The liar inside" by Human Drama.

Maybe these feelings won't lead to any actual plans or attempts. Maybe it won't get worse than to just wishing I was dead. That's bad in itself, but not as bad as actual actions in that direction. Me being suicidal doesn't always lead to actions. Sometimes it's just a feeling. Let's hope it's like that this time, and that I'll get better again soon. I do want to get better.

Can I end this entry on that note, without worrying you to panic? I hate it when anyone is worried about me. I hate it so much. But I just have to vent and maybe it's good for to know. But please just see it for what it is: me admitting to feeling this way. Nothing more. It doesn't change my actions. But I will be more careful and more keen. I will try my absolute hardest to prevent any actual attempts. That much I can promise.

Torn between my vacation and my home

This has been a bad week but I'm slowly starting to get slightly better, at least physically. My crap diet, forgetting meds, crap sleeping pattern, etc had caught up with me bad. That it was pms on top of that as well I didn't know until I woke up this morning with my first period for almost 2 years now. And I was so relieved to see that red spot in my pantiliner. I've never been so happy to see my own blood before, ahaha...

I've gotten a bit better sleep pattern, managed to remember taking my meds for the past few days, and also managed to fix up my diet slightly. My diet had gotten so bad it took a toll on my digestive system with intense stomach pains and constipation, so I had to do something. High fiber toasts instead of muffins, was the only solution I could physically manage, and barely even that. That seems to be helping a lot though, so that's good.

Emotionally I'm pretty much still as messy though. I don't feel connected to my emotions and feel constantly weighed down by them. Like a dull, pounding sadness and built up frustration constantly brewing in the background. It keeps me tense and on edge.

I wrote a reply to a post at Susan's Place that I think really captures how I feel about my body but specifically my face these days. Like I've noticed I do feel a quite strong disconnect to how I look which is probably something like gender dysphoria. I struggle to make sense of the feeling, but it's not like I reject the traits I feel dysphoric about, I just can't connect to them and it's more of a "shut off" feeling.

Like this metaphor I made, I think really illustrated how that feeling presents itself within myself:

"It feels more like a self-loving disconnect like I'm patiently waiting for my body to pick up the phone on the other end but all I get is a "the number you're calling is currently unavailable" and I just keep calling and leaving sweet, caring voice mail messages. Please call back soon, I need you. And it feels like a sad sigh of "oh what have I done to myself" without really wanting to dig into the true depth of that feeling, so it stays at a barely managable surface level."

It's like a haunting feeling of wondering if my body is really alright, like trying to get a hold of a friend who you know is suffering but they never answer your calls. And like you really care about them and love them, and you're getting desperate like "pleeeaase call back, I care about you so much, I just wanna hear your voice" but they never do, and it worries you, but also you know they're still alive and all.

But it's also that feeling like I betrayed myself and am sorry towards myself. Like I really hurt myself and I feel so bad about it. That's what I regret the most. That I hurt myself by transitioning.

It's an eerily haunting feeling, and very heavy. Like my body doesn't wanna respond cause it's upset with me and the changes I've done to it. I'm so sorry and I just wanna help making it better, but I don't know how and my options are limited. I'm scared to hurt you more, again. This "new" (yeah old) dysphoric feeling is regards to my changes from testosterone. And I've noticed I actually feel similarly towards them as I do towards my chest: grief, and regret. I feel very conflicted about my hairiness, face shape changes, obviously my facial hair, hairline and little conflicted about my voice. Cause I do feel like those things made me "less me" like they changed my looks in a way that makes me feel disconnected to myself, cause it's not what I naturally had, it's not something I truly ever wanted (just thought I did), but it was a mistake that I came to love.

Do you remember that metaphor I once made about feeling like my femaleness is like my home that I'm missing terribly, and my maleness is like a beautiful and amazing vacation? Keep that in mind for a moment:

Essentially I'm torn between if I should reverse the changes or try to make amends with them. Cause what feeling often comes along with regret? The fear of making more regrets, no matter which way you go. I am scared to make any more permanent changes to my body due to what I personally think is dysphoria, cause I've been wrong before and it had devastating consequences. So like, me trying to reconcile and make amends with my facial hair, deep voice, etc and having decided to keep those things doesn't mean I have no issues with them.

I can't connect them to my female gender, but I also don't have the heart to reverse of them, cause my heart is torn between my vacation and my home.

I feel like that about my body. Both missing how it was originally and not wanting to reverse it cause I also love how it became. I'm both dysphoric and satisfied with it at the same time and that's a very tough mix of feelings to deal with. Cause I'm clearly not dealing with it. Like I just dunno what to do about it. I feel at a loss with it. It's an intense inner struggle of self-love and disconnect, trying to connect but not getting an answer, feeling betrayed by myself and grieving my lost original beauty. Just because I once had it but now it's gone.

Perhaps I was too quick on saying I've "integrated my male and female sides" cause this doesn't feel integrated at all. Perhaps I've missed a piece of that puzzle and became disintegrated again. And also I feel much more feminine and female than I first gave myself credit for. Or rather I "backtracked" a little bit into my detransing when I started thinking I was more androgynous than I really think I am. Truth is I don't know how much of my androgyny is genuine or "learned" from my upbringing. But I do truly feel like I need to be really female to feel right and connected to my body, although I'm not sure what that means. What's "female enough" for me? How much more female do I need to be? Is there a limit of what would be "too female" for my liking, and in that case what's that?

Boobs and pussy, hell yeah. Thin waist and wide hips too. And smoothness does feel like something I need a bit more of but I don't know how much, and voice wise I really don't know. All my gut and heart is telling me is that I need for my body to be "unmistakenly female" like no one would ever doubt I'm a woman unless they're blind. Like... give me back my passing privilege! I don't think I truly feel like my male traits are "me" in that deep sense of self kind of way, but rather that I just really like them and would panic if I lost them. I wear them like precious jewellery I refuse to take off, but I don't wear them like my actual skin or parts of myself.

I know they technically ARE parts of my actual body, and that's exactly why I struggle with them so bad, cause in my mind I don't connect to them as parts of my actual self, but like additions to my actual self. Like they're part of my style that I really really love, but I want to be able to take off my style and be naked without my male traits. But I can't. I can't take them off and then put them back on again. I don't feel like I'm naked enough when I'm actually naked because of my male traits. Like I really like my black lacey skirts and my wine red lipstick, but I would get really scared and panicky if I one day couldn't take them off anymore.

And I think I've figured out that I feel like that about my male traits. Them being permanent on my body scares and haunts me, but I don't want to lose them forever. It's especially hard when I meet people that I don't want for to see me with stubble, don't want for them to know I grow hair there, and I can't hide it well enough. Just try to imagine having sex with a full face of makeup to cover it up and being so damn worried it'll rub off on the sheets or on my partner that I can't even relax and enjoy myself properly. And forget about them staying the night cause they'd rub up against my damn sandpaper rough stubbly face in the next morning.

I don't wanna have to deal with that. For god knows how long. I can't connect it to my womanhood, I just can't. It's just way too manly. And it makes me feel so awkward and weird and uncomfortable about it. Cause like 99% of people do connect beards to men and not to women. Except from dicks, beards are kinda considered the most male body trait possible. Others don't see me as a real woman with it, and I can't blame them. Cause neither can I. My feelings just keep screaming that at me, and I can't comfort them.

I still need those traits as a temporary addition, but that I can't possibly have. Being stuck with the only two options of either keeping them forever on me or removing them to never be able to have them again... fills me with an existential crisis like no fucking other. Because both those options are wrong for me, probably equally wrong even, and I can't think of any way I could possibly solve that situation.

It makes me wanna cry. It makes me feel inconsolable sadness. Like it's just too painful. I love the way I look now, but I feel a terrible disconnect to it cause it's not how I see myself. Oh what should I do?

I think this might be a period of conflicting feelings that eventually will lead to me realising I'm holding onto the silver lining of a damaged past and not truly going for what I actually need for myself. I think I will eventually come to a point where I'll realise I simply have to let go of my male traits. Cause no matter how good they were for me in the past, they're harmful for me now. I'm just refusing to accept that. It's not my femaleness that is dead or dying... it's my maleness. And I refuse to bury it. Still holding on to its lifeless body. I can't move on... unless I let go of him.

But I need more time. And some fucking useful therapy! How much longer do I need to wait for that!? And who the HELL am I even supposed to talk to about these detrans feelings? I'm spinning in circles, I'm biting my own tail, I'm fucking trapped in my misery and it's just getting worse. And my therapist doesn't get it and I can't convey it, what the hell am I supposed to do?! I'm getting desperate! I'm figuratively biting myself bloody over this. I'm so tired. I can't get anything done. I haven't managed to clean any dirty dishes or get any laundry done for months. Fucking months!!! I just keep buying new clothes, but I can't keep up with that anymore either and I'm running out of clean underwear... I keep eating on dirty plates and drinking from dirty cups. I've drank coffee from the same dirty cup that I haven't cleaned for like... a month?! It's insane! I can't do anything except from sitting on my ass by my computer and going to "therapy" that is utterly unhelpful just hoping it will get helpful soon while I'm fucking withering away in my own filth!

It doesn't bother me on a personal level, like it doesn't gross me out, but I need to be clean in public and if I can't do laundry I will stink. And I can't perfume my fucking underwear, my pussy would hate me for it. Well this entry is becoming a really whiny book on its own... but I'm just so desperate now. And really feeling like I'm just losing it. Like I've gotten lost in my grief and there's just nothing else. I can't zoom out cause it keeps pulling me down. I can't think about anything else, I can't feel anything else, it's suffocating me, day, night, every hour every minute every fucking second even. It exhausts me. Even in conversations with other people all that's on my mind is "grief grief boobs detrans detrans grief detrans hormones boobs detrans grief grief detrans" and I can't even hear what others say when it's not about that. I've gotten so absorbed in it cause I can't process it properly. It just keeps churning and brewing and boiling and tearing me up inside.

I just wanna tear my skin off and scream and smack it against a wall and stomp on it and slash it with knives and stab it and just cry all my million fucked up hearts out. But I can't release it cause it's so much it would shatter me. It is overwhelming, it is far too overwhelming. I can't carry its weight. It's crushing me. And psychiatry leaves me to my own vices WITH THIS!!!?? Yeah, fucking thanks. I don't care if it's controversal. I'm a real person, not statistics, and I'm in need of some real help, not a pat on my shoulder. Who, within psychiatry, even could help me? What sort of expert? I don't know where to turn. I'm just so sad and hurting I literally can't function.

I feel like detransition was the worst thing that ever could happen to me. I was right about fearing it in my transition. I was right about it destroying me. Cause here I am, literally living my own worst nightmare. And I'm trapped within it. I can't go back. To either how I was pre-transition or as a semi-happy trans man. It's all too late for both of those now. I just love being a woman way too much now. But I hate this situation. And I hate my huge loss of control in all of it. It feels like I'm just falling down a hill and all I can say is just "ouch ouch ouch" on my way down. But I don't see a bottom of the hill and I'm getting both really broken and dizzy. How far did I fucking climb?!

I don't even know what's going on with all of my feelings. How can I...? I don't even understand just what the fuck happened since I first began to detrans. How am I a woman?! It's weird! Like.. is this my life now? Yeah, transitioning was most definitely "life changing" alright. It's a little hard on me. I just keep ranting, I'm not getting anywhere... Let's get back to what I was saying before.

The topic of the post on Susan's that I replied to was "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" and this is what I answered to that question:

"I see my past mistakes of transitioning, self-inflicted pain, a lot of regret. I grunt at what to me looks like a man with feminine eyebrows, face stubble, a hairy chest and prosthetic breasts in a bra. I feel weird about it all, and sad...

Staring at my face I wonder how I can find my true self again by hiding it under makeup, and then I think about the irony in that thought. I used to take my femininity for granted and hate it. Now I love it but can't find it again.

I only partially recognise my own face. It both feels familiar and alien at the same time. But it's still my face, and that in itself is a comfort. It's easier with what's below my neck, except from my chest, cause I do notice that my body shape looks unmistakenly feminine, and that's comforting."

It makes me wonder if I've been trying to escape my dysphoric feelings about my male traits because I also like them a lot. Because liking something apparently is not the same as feeling connected to it.

I've always, always struggled to figure out what is "truly me" or just something I really like. Being bisexual also doesn't help with that at all. Honestly it's doing me a huge disfavour that I don't ever truly know if I'm attracted to a guy or want to look like him, or if I'm attracted to a girl or want to look like her! It's with both genders and I'm just frustrated with never knowing the difference between attraction or wanting to look like someone. I think that has a lot to do with my dissociation, actually. That because it essentially means I'm extremely disconnected to both myself and everyone else around me, and the inanimate world too... it also means that on the rare occasions that I do feel some connections, they're haphazard, whimsical and don't make a lot of sense. Like they're incomplete and not properly developed, somehow. Like a new product launched too soon so it's full of technical flaws. And I can't analyse or understand them properly so I misjudge them. Tech support? I think I need tech support for my brain.

It just suddenly made me think one of my favourite movies... it's called "Vanilla Sky" and is an American remake of a Spanish movie. I love that movie so much. It's everything I could ever want in a movie. And I really resonate with it a whole lot. Especially the mind-glitching and needing some damn tech support for my malfunctioning brain cause my dream has also become a nightmare. And now in my detransition, I feel like I'm dealing with a car crash wreck of a face somehow. In one scene, the main character David talks to his team of surgeons who are trying to find ways to fix his face (from the car crash, he got disfigured) when he says: "It's not about vanity, it's about functioning in society" and that speaks to me as well.

That sometimes I think my masculinity is making me socially dysfunctional cause people can't look beyond it and they act really fucking rude around me. How fun is it to buy groceries when the cashier is deliberately staring at something way off behind me or just into their screen, showing such blatantly obvious discomfort that they're literally doing everything they can to avoid looking at my face? Perhaps I should do what David did in such a situation in the movie: say "Why don't you say that to my face, bitch?" (he said that to a guy, a bartender) and then stare at the person to remind them of how fucking rude they are! Like that's not okay, fuckhead!

Seriously, I don't get that! Whenever I've met people who have very unusual looks, or who do have a face disfiguration, even if it's extreme, it's not difficult for me to just look them in their eyes and act like a normal fucking person. But then people struggle to look ME in the eyes? It fucks with me, on several levels. It feels like ice going down my spine and all I can think in such a moment is "this person must think I look so horrible they can't even stand to look at me" which is not a great feeling!

Whenever I've watched that movie in the past, I always kept thinking it must be horrible to be treated like that by strangers, and I swore to never treat other people that way. And I never have. I've always been polite and treated everyone with the same amount of respect, regardless of what they look like. Well, is my karma broken, or what happened?! I mostly just don't get it. I know I'm not actually ugly or disfigured, but being treated as if I was... it kinda puts a new perspective on things. And it makes me feel things I've never wanted to feel.

My body doesn't feel like my own anymore, but I do love it. When I interact with other people and they don't believe I'm a cis woman, it reminds me of that I don't look like myself anymore and it carves at that disconnect I feel towards my body. I am being misgendered, even when they think I'm a trans woman, and even though I don't wanna think of it as misgendering. Cause it takes me back to how I felt in my early transition not passing as a guy yet... like I'm literally back to square one again after a decade of transitioning. Fuck it hurts, man. It feels like I'm trying to navigate my life with someone else's body. It's scary, it's lonely. It makes me scared to form new relationships and connect with other people. Cause I don't feel like myself and I don't think others can see me.

Well shit I thought I had healed away all of my dysphoria but it appears I have not. I'm still dysphoric about my male traits, although I also love them. I thought that just showing myself in public with those traits would be a good way to get comfortable with having them and for a while it did work, or I thought it did, but on second thought that might be why I now feel worse about them instead. Think I'm going back to shaving my face for a while, and obsessively hiding my beard shadow with makeup again. If I'll wear a deep neck shirt I'll also shave my chest again. I hate this. I hate my fucked up situation. I hate that I gave myself dysphoria by transitioning and all the complicated feelings that come along with it.

Yeah, my maleness is my favourite vacation spot. Like a beautiful lake house with wild growing trees surrounding it. It has protected me, it's kept me safe from my internal fears about being a woman, it let me breathe, it gave me hope, and I love it as a very dear friend and life companion. But I miss my home. I miss it so much. But I know that if I leave my vacation spot I can never go back to it, because the only way I can go back home is to erase my vacation spot. I can't do that. I need my missing femaleness back, real bad, but not at the cost of my maleness. Why does my reality have to be this cruel?

Is it better... to let my body get more feminised again as I just let time pass without the testosterone in my body, even if I panic and miss the things that reverse back. And try to at least... just consider hair removal at some point. I'm so scared to let go of what I love... but I think I have to, cause it's not good for me no matter how much I love it. And I do miss the way my body used to be, so it is possible I'll get more connected to it once the panic goes down again and I get more used to my body changing again.

This suddenly became a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. I thought detransition would mean I'd just automatically want to look totally female again and not like any of my male traits anymore. But apparently it's much more complicated than that. And I might have to force myself to let go of my male traits, at some point, probably including my beard, if they really do make me feel worse... no matter how much I love them.

Sweet love and bitter grief

When I was living as a guy, I did feel like there was a certain falsehood about it all. The ghosts of my past kept whispering in my mind, that what if my dysphoria really was all just because of my traumas. I was too scared to find out. And the more time I was on testosterone, and then after my surgery, the more scared I got. Kept brushing my doubts under the carpet. And I almost panicked every time the words "detransition" and "regret" ever popped up. I had to push it away and not think about it. When I didn't think about it, being a guy felt good. Like it was empowering and relieving.

But I was running away. My fears of possibly having made a mistake got stronger within myself the more time went on. The more forcibly I pushed them away. Furiously. Eventually I just couldn't anymore. When Anna showed me her dysphoria and I felt it as though it was my own, I panicked and I knew. I knew I couldn't hide from my fears anymore. I don't miss living like that, but I miss not knowing. Truth hurts. Oh I wish I had figured it out much sooner. Before I had started self-medicating with testo. But I was so young and it was way too soon after the traumas. Even if I could go back in time there wasn't enough time back then. I was too suicidal and too fragile. Even if I had managed to figure it out at age 19-21, I likely wouldn't have been able to heal from that mess of trauma feelings and it likely would have driven me to suicide... instead of transition and detransition.

It allowed me to live and figure it out and heal at a time I could handle it. But at what price? At what fucking price?! It feels so cruel. If only the treatment for gender dysphoria wasn't so permanent. It feels like having gotten a leg amputated cause it "was the best thing to do at the time" but then a decade later realising I could have saved that leg. I feel like transitioning was like having a healthy limb amputated, then missing it, wanting it back, and knowing I could have bloody kept it. Well... technically that's exactly what happened, with my top surgery. Imagine if I had known back then, but still had to make the decision to change my body, knowing I wouldn't survive otherwise? Then it was better I didn't know. I feel like transitioning did save me but it also ruined me in the process. Like a slow-killing poison that heals you from instant death. Yeah, exactly like that. The treatment that saved my life made me ill.

I do like my changes from the testo, I do but... I still wish I hadn't started taking it. Cause it made everything so complicated and painful and I'm gonna struggle a lot to live with this permanently androgynous body. I don't want to change it back, cause now I've fallen in love with it, but I hate being in this position. Of loving my body's masculinity because I got a taste of its sweetness, but being seen as a freak because of loving it. Sometimes, these past few days, I wish to go back on testo. I don't wanna lose my hairiness and I'm starting to fear it going away. I still hold on to being a woman, its comforting embrace, and I love my female gender, but I can't help that I also love what testo gave me. And wanting it to stay. Did I go off it too soon? Was it a rash decision? I need to give myself more time off from it, perhaps the panic won't last.

I still feel the same about my chest, or possibly worse. Cause it was a while ago that I cried and let it all out, and the tensions and grief have been building up again since. I feel like my tensions are worse than ever. I literally sit with my shoulders up to my ears and I don't even notice it for hours. When I notice it I make the effort to relax. But my tensions are a ping-pong effect: when I relax one area another one tenses, when I relax that area the first one tenses again. And it's like that all over my body. I'm never fully physically relaxed. That is a state I simply cannot reach anymore, except from right after my boob cry. Perhaps I need to try to let it out like that again. It collects so quickly.

I feel an aching restlessness crawling around within me like maggots spreading around a volatile poison. One of my family's most loved cats died a few days ago. I really loved that cat, and it was my mother's favourite. They were very close. I don't have it in my head how old the cat was, but around 15 years, I think. Her name was Nemi, like the Norwegian comic series character, that goofy goth girl with a best friend called Cyan. The cat was a dark calico, almost black with with some brown/orange spots and she always had one or two white whiskers while the other whiskers were black. She had a combination of black and pink paw "beans", a very slender and small body type but noticably overweight. Big, intense, bright yellow eyes. One of her ears was messed up from ear lice and she looked really adorkable with just one ear up. She was often either asleep in my mom's lap, begging for candy or sprinting around super energetic, and a total attention whore. She was born with my family, and her cat mother is still around and alive with my parents. I can't grieve this now. I have to bottle it. Too much. As soon as my mother told me the news my only emotional reaction was "no not more grief" and I just had to push away those feelings. There's no space for them. But it's still tearing at me, like claws scratching on my back and it leaves wounds that bleed.

I don't wanna talk about the cat or what I feel about her death. I refuse to look into those feelings anytime soon. My chest grief is suffocating me already, anything more and I would be breathing tears. But I don't feel the same about my testo changes as I do about my chest. And since I fully accepted my testo changes, I've begun to connect to them in a way that's very similar to how I used to feel about them as a man. I just love them the same as a woman. I don't know why, I just love them. My body hair and beard feels like a comforting blanket of fur. I wish there was a way to preserve it without taking testosterone, cause I don't want my psychological changes to go back to that, and I don't wanna stink pungent again either. I'm probably gonna stop taking the testo-blockers though. No harm no foul with that. Just so that I can slow down the reversing a bit. That might be enough to calm me down about my fur. Also I'm on a very low dose of them so probably don't need to wean off them first.

Somehow I take some strange kind of pride in being a hairy woman. Like a cute female werewolf. I really wouldn't mind having hairy boobs. I think that would be adorable, and incredibly cosy. Yeah I saw some pics of hairy boobs online and it got me in awe... Body hair is amazing. I just feel that and I can't lie. I find it sexy on other women, and I love it on myself. It reminds me of cats, I think. Cause they're very cute and also very hairy, and cuddly. Perhaps hairy women remind me of cats. I dream about cuddling another hairy woman and how sweet and sexy that would be. That'll be great for a new fantasy! Smoothness is so overrated, and so last century! Shouldn't the shaving craze be ending soon, huh? Just let women be hairy, for fuck's sake. God damn beauty standards... Well it would be enough to just cuddle another woman and her loving my hairiness. Cause I do know I'm exceptionally hairy for a woman.

There's also another reason I don't shave much anymore (except from my head and pussy): it reduces my sensation in the area when it's shaven. Like the sensation on my skin is a lot more dulled when shaved compared to unshaven. And I like being able to feel my own touch, even when it's just me rubbing my lower legs together or scratching my stomach. So I also feel much better physically to not shave my body.

I totally love being a woman, but for whatever reason I just totally also love having a testo-spiced female body. You remember that "candy and liquor" metaphor I made a while ago? Well, get ready for cherry rum chocolate pralines! I'm the kind of candy that gets you tipsy, cause this punch has been spiked! Well thinking about that made me feel better. I really do love my body, and it's good I can remind myself of that sometimes, despite the pain of how I ended up with it. It makes the pain more bearable. It's strange to feel that bitterness of grief and that sweetness of love at the same time. It's like the detrans coin with one dark and one light side is spinning so fast it looks like a grey ball.

I'm so tired I think I'll go to sleep soon. And cuddle with my own body in bed. It feels extra good after orgasm to just hold and stroke myself. My orgasms are so good these days, it makes me want them more and look forward to them. I don't know how but they're actually much stronger and longer lasting on estrogen than they were on testosterone. And way easier to manage multiples. My orgasms are extra feel-good and comforting. They like... vibrate all my parts back into place again. I really do believe orgasms have some kind of healing properties. I wonder if that's the real reason why females can orgasm, cause it's not actually an important part of reproduction like it is for males. But maybe females orgasm as a way to heal themselves, like why cats are purring? I dunno maybe that just sounds super weird and I'm way too tired and really fucking gay but damn I think that's a very cute and sexy theory. Like I'd totally wanna help giving some sexy girl lots of healing orgasms, if you know what I mean... ugh I'm hopeless...ly single.

By the way, just gotta share a really hot lesbian fantasy I had last... yesterday. It was so good I just kept fantasising about cuddling with her after I had orgasmed. I magined I was with a quite heavy, very butch woman who hit on me at a night club. She had short, dark brown hair and wore black baggy pants and baggy black jacket, wore no makeup, but she had golden earrings. She brought me into the bathroom (a large single stall one, that I remember from in actual night club in real life) and had me sit on the toilet lid where she touched and fingered me until I got really wet. Then she fucked me with a strapon. She had really big boobs that she had hidden under her baggy clothes and was insecure about, but let them out when she noticed I was really excited and into her. And they were just really sexy, big and hanging so I just cuddled up into them and kissed them and just buried my face in them as she fucked me. She orgasmed from me kissing her boobs and her rubbing her clit against mine. Then she kissed and embraced me as I orgasmed. Then afterwards we went out to the dancefloor and hugged and kissed in a slow dance and she told me she was very surprised that I liked her boobs.

It was a very sweet fantasy. I dunno but since I was at that lgbt group last time and totally got super blushy over TWO hot butch women there I kiiinda realised I totally have a thing for that. So erhm it sparked my sexual fantasy creativity. The woman in that fantasy looked very different from the irl ones at the lgbt cafe though. Well, thinking about that suddenly got me very horny... no wonder why!

Just one last thing: I'm not sure why I don't feel like talking for these past few days or however long it's been... I just need a bit of distance. I think it was just starting to feel a little suffocating cause too much internet socialising in general and I just need to recharge my batteries. If you'd want to reply to this text that's fine and I'd want to read that, even if I may not feel up for responding right away. But also fine if you don't wanna reply to it. I've read most of the messages you've sent me so far. Just so you know about that. I'm going to bed now and no idea when you'll see this, but I might be asleep this whole day... so yeah.

The picture of my pain

It just struck me right now... that when I lived as a guy but was still pre-op chest wise, I never managed to imagine myself with a flat chest. Like when I tried to it just became the image of a blurry, nipple-less wall of skin with no details at all. Like a badly photoshopped photo. But now that I imagine my chest with new boobs, I can not only imagine a pair in what I think would be a reasonable density/firmness of silicone/saline implants, or a size I think I'd feel very comfy and pretty with, but also what my actual nipples could look like on them and even some random scarring under them. I do improvise with what sort of scarring I think I'd end up with though, and where my current scars could likely end up.

But not only that, I can also imagine what they could feel like in my hands, being squeezed around, their weight, and also that I think it would actually amuse me that they'd stand upright when I'd lying down on my back, which natural boobs don't do. I think I'd really love just playing with them on my own. Very carefully and gently at first, then more intensely as they'd heal from the surgery. And I think it would be very good to do that first before letting someone else touch them. To just familiarise myself with them, and see if I could figure out what sort of touch I may like or dislike, etc. Almost like masturbation! Actually, I'd definitely include boob touching into my masturbation routine then.

It's just not quite sexually satisfying for me to touch my breast forms while masturbating. Cause I just want to feel it but I don't and I can't, and that leaves me with an empty, hollow feeling. Like no matter how far I stretch my arm I simply cannot reach.

Okay I just spent an hour or so googling info and images of breast reconstruction surgery after mastectomy. I saw several pictures of women who got simply implants (and some also new nipples but that doesn't apply to me) and that was helpful for me to see where their mastectomy scars ended up. Somehow it wasn't quite what I had expected and this gives me more to think about. Also remembering that the location of my scars used to align with where my nipples formerly were. I think I would end up with one of two outcomes that I can't quite figure out which one:
1.) My nipples don't need to be relocated and end up at the peak of the boobs, then my mastectomy scars will run across the boobs but a couple cm under the nipples, visible from straight ahead but not centered on the middle.
2.) They will need to be relocated to end up at the peaks, then my mastectomy scars will run right across the boobs with the nipples at the centers of them, and the scars would be horizontal across the boobs when looking at them straight ahead.

Either way though, those mastectomy scars will also continue towards the sides under my arms. I wonder how or if they can be stretched. Because looking at the pictures online it seems those women's scars could and did stretch quite a lot. Length-wise, I mean. But also a little in width. I'd be fine with that, I guess.

As for reconstructed boobs in general, the ones with just implants put in look far better (in my opinion) than the ones made of tissue from other parts of the body. Those do look kinda... ugh I don't want to be mean, but... a little patchwork-like and awkward, to put it as kindly as I can. And that is quite off-putting for me, I have to admit. Cause if that turns out to be my only option... I'm seriously gonna have to think about it. It's pretty much for the same reason some phalloplasty dicks tend to look... kinda undesireable and not entirely dick-like. That those breasts then also, in very much the same way, also look kinda undesireable (to me) and not entirely breast-like. Like they look very obviously unnatural and hand-made.

I'm young, highly sexual, want to get new breasts to increase my confidence and reduce my intense dysphoric feelings... so if the only kinds of boobs I could get would be impeeding on my confidence and make me feel like I look like a creation of Frankenstein, especially with sex partners... my self-image would undoubtedly also suffer. Like if I would end up not wanting to take off my bra even after surgery... I wouldn't have improved my confidence much at all. So if at all possible, I definitely want to avoid having to add extra skin flaps from other parts of my body. But if I simply don't have enough skin on my chest to stretch for implants... I'm gonna have to consider getting such flaps, and really think that through.

Like would that be better than staying flat? Yeah... yeah it most likely would. Cause it's the flatness itself that bothers me the most, and not being able to show clevage with clothing, and that there's simply nothing there when I feel with my hands. So even if I could only get boobs that I'd not like the aesthetics of while bare, I'm pretty sure that the feeling of them simply being there, even if I'd always hide them in bras, would still be a lot better than how it is now. Although very far from ideal.

So, after only having thought about it for like 2 minutes... yeah, I most likely would do it even if that would be my only option to get new boobs. But I'd likely also struggle to love them. I'd like them and be happy to have them, and be relieved of much of dysphoria, but that alone is not love. An absense of feeling utterly horrible about my chest is not loving my chest. That is being okay, accepting, but not exactly extatic about it. If I'll end having to go that route, I'll likely beat myself up even more for having had that mastectomy to begin with. I think it would fill me with a very strong grief that my chest would simply never look good again, and being unable to do anything about it. And always feel broken. And that's a tragedy I'd rather not have to deal with.

Another detransitioner told me that he sees his transition surgery scars as "battle scars" and I like that sentiment. I don't know which surgeries he had, I only know that he had been on estrogen for 17 years, needs to take testosterone for his detransition and that he had some sort of gender transition surgery/-ies. I didn't want to be too prying and ask such a question. I know that can be very sensitive, but of course my mind wanders to exactly what sort of surgeries it might be that he wishes he hadn't done. But anyhow, what he said makes me want to refer to my mastectomy scars as battle scars too. It almost looks like someone tried to cut my heart out, or take the air out of my lungs, but I survived that, and the wounds healed.

And I'll always be scarred, one way or another. And scars themselves are not something I consider ugly or unsightly, or even necessarily undesireable. But sometimes they carry a lot of emotions with them, if they're reminders of a painful past, or decision. Like for every time someone who sees my self harm scars on my arms comments on them and tells me I shouldn't harm myself, that is a painful reminder that no matter how many years of not cutting myself, someone is always gonna come by and talk to me as if I was still actively creating more new wounds. It's been 3 years. Every self-inficted scar on my body is at least 3 years old. I've quit for good. But strangers don't see my past when they look at me, and they judge. And they don't trust me when I say I've quit. Having my past being interpreted as my present time, over and over again, is painful and frustrating.

And just as likely, I think people will continue to ask me about "my chest surgery" even decades from now. I know I have a picture of my pre-op chest somewhere. I've been wanting to look at it again, but also I worry that doing so would fill me with emotions too heavy to bear. So I keep postponing it. But I should, shouldn't I? I should, I know that I should. I want to, but fuck it hurts.

Fuuuck... they were beautiful. Such heavy grief hit me instantly, like a block of lead in my heart, weighing me down into my chair, as I look at that picture. That one and only picture ever taken of my bare pre-op chest. It doesn't show my face, but I know I was distressed when I took the photo. It was just a few days before the surgery. It's a little blurry but clear enough to see. They're small but not tiny, and not really saggy, still kinda round. And that's after 5 years of binding. I can't remember what they felt like. My mind has forgotten. But I want to leap into that picture and feel them again. At least for just one last, very loving goodbye. But I'll never feel them again. Oh fuck I really miss them now. Fuck, size doesn't matter now that I see what they actually looked like. I want them back. I want them back so bad...

Latent tears... Even in this moment I cannot cry, but my nose is running extra much as though I'm crying, and I can feel the pressure from within. Please, let me cry... I'm begging please... it's been 3 fucking months of needing to release tears but they just won't reach out. It has built up a pressure that is now literally causing me a headache and nausea. Or that's me being starved cause I haven't eaten today, I don't know, but this pressure of internal tears made it worse. I might need to puke soon, cause I'm not feeling too good.

If there was just one thing I could go back in time to undo, it would be that surgery. It's rare, very very rare, that I regret something so completely that I wish it entirely undone. I think this might even be the only such thing ever in my entire life. I just took a painkiller some 30 minutes ago but it's getting increasingly worse and my head literally feels several kg heavier. But this grief is nearly tearing me apart, it feels like something's shattering inside me. Like glass being crushed against my ribs. But I can't get my natural breasts back. The only thing I can do is to mourn them and the loss of them. And try my hardest to get reconstruction financially covered. And if not, beg my parents to pay for it with their retirement savings. I'll get it somehow, cause I can't continue like this forever.

Granted, it's only been 3 months and surgery is far away either way. I can't know what I'll feel in 1 or 2 years from now. Maybe most of my grieving process will be over by then, or maybe I'll cry all the way to the operation table. I suddenly feel a slight loss of control of my entire body. I can't feel it as much. My hands are slowly going numb. Am I passing out, or dissociating, or getting sick? Not that I care or even worry in the slightest, it's just a bit weird and makes writing difficult. Perhaps I'm just tired and exhausted. Or I'm coming down with a fever, or it's just my headache. Sometimes when it gets really bad, it causes nausea and loss of sensation in the rest of my body. I don't know why. I think it affects my blood flow somehow, or it's my blood flow that slows down which then in turn worsens my headache and causes nausea cause not enough blood in my brain. I've no fucking idea.

But it seems kinda likely that my blood flow has slowed down quite a lot right now, but it's happening very slowly so I don't crash quickly and I'm still conscious. Perhaps not for much longer. If my vision starts to blacken, I'm gonna lie down in my bed, cause no use trying to write at that point anyhow. I wonder if I can go out for a cigarette without crashing or if I'd just fall over halfway to my balcony. I kinda need a smoke but not sure if I can manage it physically.

It doesn't seem to be getting worse. Perhaps it is just psychological, or psychosomatic. It's hard to tell, but I seem to be getting better now, actually. My hands feel almost normal again and my head feels slightly lighter. Maybe the painkiller is working after all. Sometimes those fuckers just take half an eternity to do their damn thing. I should go to bed soon anyway. I'll post this as edited as I can manage. Mainly just tying up some loose ends. Maybe drinking som fluid replacement stuff can help a bit. Some electrolytes might be just what I'm lacking. I think I should be able to stand up and walk around by now. Just carefully. Yep, working, but my balance is fucked. Okay I got my cigarette and I didn't crash anywhere.

Yeah, I miss my boobs. More than I can even fathom it myself. Not having them anymore makes me feel like I have two holes in my chest. Like a porcelain doll that got stabbed twice. And the gaping abyss from inside the hollow doll that is staring back at me is dark, cold and heavier than a mountain. It is pain, concentrated and thick. And it's seeping out through the two holes, as though the doll is filled with fluid, and it seeps out like the tears I can't cry. And that is my mental image of exactly in what way I feel broken. Like that porcelain doll. That's the centre of my pain, just centimetres from my heart. Like someone smashed my ribs in where my boobs used to be, and I'm mentally bleeding from the impact that repeats over and over every day. And like I'm not just flat, but carved open and hollowed out. I made a terrible, utterly devastating, mistake. And I cannot call it anything other than a mistake. I betrayed myself, very very deeply. I do not know how, or even if, I can heal that mental wound.

Wistful thinking

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.