lately, i’ve been thinking about the ways i experience dysphoria. my dysphoria seems to occur in layers like a rainbow jar cake, only shitty instead of awesome.
also, i’m gonna try to keep this organized cuz dysphoria is a big, messy topic. yeah.
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the top layer: social dysphoria
for a while, social dysphoria was the worst thing ever for me, but body dysphoria wasn’t a problem. i was all like, i love my tits! yay for my tits! but i’m gonna die next time i get misgendered, zomg!
then i came out to a shit ton of people. i started insisting on non-gendered pronouns, i legally changed my name, i started wearing a gender tag, and i calmed down about my social dysphoria.
i mean, it’s still a big deal for me cuz i get read as a binary person 100% of the time, but i feel like i can fucking respond to misgendering. like, you fucking misgender me and i will correct you. i know where all the gender-inclusive bathrooms are in my town and i refuse to use gendered bathrooms. my teachers know i’m a nonbinary trans* person, my family knows, my buddies know– and most of them are supportive. basically, i’m transitioning socially and i’m fucking handling my social dysphoria like a boss.
i think my social dysphoria will always be an issue cuz, like, i don’t know what to do even do in order to consistently be read as nonbinary. i think i’d settle for confusing some people for a split second, ya know? like, “what are you?!! oh, you look like a woman/man. ok, then.” that’d be good enough, i think. so social dysphoria forever, though it’s somewhat alleviated.
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the next layer: body dysphoria
body dysphoria wasn’t an issue for me for a long time, though i struggled with it during puberty. like, shit sucked for a while, but i guess i buried my body dysphoria or something cuz there were long years when it didn’t even come up. now that i’m not obsessing over my social dysphoria, though, it turns out there’s a gross mess of body dysphoria underneath the social dysphoria. oog.
(note: for me, body dysphoria is about my tits and my…”inside-junk.” i’m not going to do anything about my inside-junk for a while, if ever, but my tits are GOING. and i can’t talk about my inside-junk cuz dysphoria. so let’s not go there, lovelies.)
so i’ve been binding more and more often, having meltdowns when i can’t get flat enough (or can’t bind cuz i have to sing at school), and fantasizing about killing a rich person and stealing their money to fund top surgery.
i do this thing where i put on 2 binders, put on my magical binding clothes (they’re encrusted with faery dust and they make me look flatter), look in the mirror, and try to see myself in there. now that i have 2 binders that work well together, it’s usually not hard to see mx. punk in the mirror. usually, i just glance in the mirror and start crying in relief.
before i had 2 binders, though, i couldn’t get very flat at ALL. i’d struggle with the velcro and the flesh, get all leaky and upset, give up on getting flatter, and squint at my reflection to try to find mx. punk.
the first time i did that was in spring 2012. except, it wasn’t really the first time. it was the first time in fucking YEARS, but when i started trying to find the mx. punk in the mirror, i remembered doing it before. i did it constantly in middle school. like, go to the bathroom– squish tits down and squint at the mirror. try on clothes– squish tits down and squint at the mirror. etc.
i think i seriously buried that shit.
so, yeah. top surgery asap. it’ll probably take years, but i’ll save the money somehow. it’s funny how quickly i went from “i love my tits” to “get them off get them OFF! GETTHEMTHEFUCKOFFME!!!!” i guess that’s what happens when you peel back one layer of dysphoria and find another layer of dysphoria.
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i don’t know where i’m going with this ramble-y post, but i think i’ll stop now. i should be doing homework anyway. any thoughts, cats? has anyone else experienced this weird layering of dysphoria? and what if there’re more layers?!! talk to me, peoples! <3