Cw Dysphoria - Tumblr Posts

I hate this feeling. I hate what others might say about it. This forsaken curse that makes me incompatible with the flesh suit I was born with.

I hate dysphoria. I hate it when people around the world say "it can't be that bad"

And in some cases they're right. In some cases it isn't that bad. But it's when they're wrong that dysphoria gets dangerous.

That urge that can turn to violence or sadness or both.

The urge to crush and fracture the skeleton that makes your body shaped the way it is.

The urge to skin yourself so you don't have to look wrong.

The urge to remove yourself from the equation all together so that you can try to free yourself from this feeling that you aren't in the right body.

Waking up feeling like you're possessing a stranger's skin.

Being misgendered.

Simply existing and having a thought occur that makes you wish that you could simply give up or make everything fix.

If I were in a different state I wouldn't have had to wait another year. But here I am in one of only two US States that don't view people as adults until they are 19.

One more year after this one.

One more long fucking year.

I hate this vessel I am trapped within.

I hate waking up and feeling disconnected from the very skin that portrays my being.

I want to cut all the skin off. I want to shatter every bone and destroy every last atom of the genes that forced me to develop this way.

Sometimes it's not this hard. But today it's harder than I could imagine. The only thing keeping me from desecrating this flesh suit is the knowledge that deep down, it won't change a thing and it won't make anything better.

So now all I can do is wait.

Wait until I'm old enough to actually make an impact to alter my being.

Wait until I can actually look at myself in the mirror and see me.

Wait until I can actually feel happy and like I'm inhabiting my own skin, for more than simply a week at most

Some days I will look into the mirror and see a stranger. Or looking back at me might be someone I've been searching desperately on another day, yet now grieve to see. It is not that I'm a stranger to myself, my soul I know, but these expressions, they don't belong on a face I'd read as mine. This form betrays me. These feet can't carry, and this voice can't say.. it frustrates me. And I search. I run these fingertips across it, sometimes enjoying bits of it, sometimes wondering if there's somehow I might mold it to better fit. But the truth is there's nothing much wrong with the body. I might admire it even, were I not trapped in it. But it doesn't feel like it should belong to me, doesn't feel right on me.