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mindfulwrathwrites · 5 years ago

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What Does Transness Feel Like?

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One of the most common gaps in understanding I see from cisgender (“not-trans”) folks is that they find it extremely difficult to conceptualize what transness even is. The frame of reference is simply non-existent, and this can make it very difficult to have empathy for the kinds of things trans folks go through on a daily basis. Common questions include: “How did you know?” “How can you feel like a different gender?” “Why does it matter so much what people call you?”

And I get it, I do. It’s hard to understand something you’ve never experienced. So, for the cis folks in my audience (i.e. those who identify completely with the gender they were assigned at birth), we’re going to go through some thought exercises.

I will also add this caveat: every trans person is different, therefore every trans experience is different. I can only explain from my own frame of reference and try to highlight the most common commonalities I’ve seen in the community. If you really want to “get it,” I encourage you to talk with a diversity of trans people—trans women and trans men, nonbinary trans people (masculine, feminine, both, other, none of the above), trans people of color, disabled trans people, Jewish and Muslim trans people, etc. etc. etc. There are a lot of trans experiences that I personally don’t experience.

Example 1: Physical Dysphoria

Think of a close friend or family member whose gender is different from yours—for preference, someone close to your own age, like a sibling or a partner. Imagine you wake up in their body.

Take a moment to look at yourself from the first-person perspective. What do your hands look like now? When you look towards your belly-button, what do you see? When you look in the mirror, what kind of face is looking back? Remember that it’s your face, now, your hands, your body. What do you smell like this morning? What’s the texture of your hair, if you have it today? How tall are you? Will your clothes, the clothes you wore yesterday, still fit you? What does your voice sound like when you say good morning?

What are the differences between what you expect to see and what you do see? What if those differences are permanent? Is it okay if you can never change back, if you’re stuck in this body forever? Will you get used to it? Will you ever expect to see this new body, this new face, when you look in the mirror?

Would you try to get your old body back? How hard would you try? Why would you try that hard? If you couldn’t get your old body back, if your old body was gone (and the person you swapped with didn’t need theirs back), would you try to change the new one to be more like the old? What would you be willing to go through to have a body that almost fit, rather than one that didn’t fit at all?

In this example, the difference between what you see and what you feel, that mismatched expectation, is what lies at the root of my physical gender dysphoria. When you’re suddenly body-swapped, of course, you know why this body you’re in looks and feels mismatched—but imagine you grew up in that body. Imagine puberty, when these things that aren’t yours begin to appear in earnest. Maybe it would have been so wrong, so distressing, that you would have known right away why. Maybe you wouldn’t have. Maybe you weren’t aware that pain was not a normal part of growing up. Maybe you just didn’t know there was any other option.

If you grew up in a body that didn’t fit you, it might take you a long, long time to figure out why you were chafing. It might take some deep, rigorous soul-searching. It might take extensive discussion with other people who had the same problems and managed to figure it out. Many trans folks don’t figure out they’re trans until they’re adults, in their 20s or 30s or 40s or older, because they don’t have the frame of reference, either. Some never figure it out. I count myself lucky that I got there as early as I did.

Example 2: Social Dysphoria

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that you’re pretty comfortable in your other-gender body for the moment. You’ve taken some time at home to get used to it, figured out how it works, and generally aren’t upset by it. You’ve accepted how you look and feel at this point, and you’re ready to get back out into the world.

Remember: you’re still you. Same name, same gender, same title and pronouns. Different body.

First question: how do you dress before you leave the house? Do you wear your clothes, or do you wear the clothes of the person whose body you’re in? Is it more important to match your interior experience, or your exterior appearance? If you dress in your clothes, will you be safe outside? Will you be laughed at, shunned, perhaps even assaulted?

Get dressed. You’re going to be late for work.

Let’s say you take the bus. Does the bus driver call you sir today, or ma’am? How do you feel when they do? Maybe it doesn’t bother you. Maybe you brush it off. You thank them—what does your voice sound like? Does it reinforce the bus driver’s choice of words? Does it match you?

Who do you sit next to on the bus? Who chooses to sit next to you? How do the other passengers look at you, and who are they seeing when they do? Are they seeing you, or just the body you’re in?

How did you dress this morning? Are you safe?

Let’s say you get to work with no further issues. Your coworkers call you by the name that goes with the body you’re in, use the pronouns that come attached. As far as they know, this is how you’ve always looked, how they’ve always referred to you. Do you correct them? Do you say, actually, no, today it’s different? If you asked them to accommodate you, would they? Would you feel safe asking them? Would you feel safe asking the same of your boss?

How do your coworkers talk to you? Is it the same way they’ve always talked to you, or are there subtle differences? Are you being taken more or less seriously? Who’s chummier all of a sudden, and who’s making you uncomfortable? Who are you making uncomfortable? Are you overreacting? Do you bite your tongue at the water cooler when somebody tells a funny story about you and six times in a row uses the wrong pronouns? Do you correct them when they introduce you to the new hire with the wrong name, wrong title, wrong gender?

All your documents, your email, the display on the phone, all have the wrong name on them, too. Does it bother you? Does it start to wear on you?

Breakfast was a few hours ago. Biology is calling. Which bathroom do you use? Which bathroom is it safe for you to use? Do you trust your coworkers? Do you really, really trust your coworkers? Or maybe you went out to lunch. There’s bathrooms at the restaurant, Men and Women. Which one do you use? Who will recognize you as belonging? Which would you be comfortable in? Where are you least likely to be assaulted or harassed? Where are you safe?

How did you dress this morning?

In this example, there is again a mismatch, but this time between perception and internal experience—for me, this is the root cause of social gender dysphoria. A trans person can be perfectly comfortable in their body when they’re alone, but inhabiting the social space of a different gender is, to a greater or lesser extent, distressing. It can be difficult to untangle social dysphoria from the fear of harm that comes with being trans in a transphobic society. Do I avoid wearing skirts because I don’t want to be seen as female, or because I’m afraid of being assaulted? I might like to wear a skirt, I might think they’re fun and comfortable—but I have a beard, broad shoulders and a square jaw, a deep voice. I am consistently read as ‘male’ when I’m out in public. Is it safe for me to wear a skirt outside? Is it safe for me to use public restrooms today? Whether or not I’m comfortable with my current presentation has an awful lot to do with who’s looking.

Example 3: Gender Euphoria

Maybe none of this is distressing to you. Maybe the answers to all of those questions up there are easy. Maybe none of it is a big deal.

But now, let’s say that after all of this has transpired, after you’ve been through a week or a month or a year of being body-swapped, imagine you wake up back in your body, just the way it was when you left it. All your scars in their places, every freckle right where you left it, your hair the right texture and your voice the right tone. Everyone uses the right name for you, the right pronouns, the right title. Maybe you’re absolutely elated! Maybe this brings such joy to you that you never, ever want to swap bodies again, even though being in the other body didn’t bother you at all.

This isn’t as a huge of a deviation from the trans experience as you might think—some trans people don’t experience dysphoria at all! And, in that same vein, some cis people do experience dysphoria—a cis woman who grows a beard may experience the same dysphoria as a trans woman who grows a beard; a cis man who is shorter than average may experience the same dysphoria as a short trans man.

Many trans people experience, rather than gender dysphoria, gender euphoria, where being in a body or a social space that matches their internal experience brings them great joy, rather than just an easing of pain. Even if there was no pain to start off with, occupying and presenting as their internally experienced gender, rather than the one they were assigned at birth, brings them immense pleasure and fulfillment.

Personally, I experience both gender dysphoria and gender euphoria. Being called by the wrong name or the wrong pronouns makes me feel physically ill. I detest the width of my hips, lament my lack of Adam’s apple, and get an ache in my chest when I have to stand in a group of other men who are all six inches taller than me. I hated my breasts so much that I had them surgically removed (I try not to say “I had my chest fixed,” because it wasn’t broken, even though it was deeply, intrinsically wrong for me). But I love my voice, love how it sounds when I speak and when I sing; I adore the shape of my jaw and the way my new beard draws attention to it; there is music in my name today.

From the age of twelve to the age of twenty-six, I was never, not once, comfortable. Sometimes I was in pain, sometimes I wasn’t, but there was never a time when I was comfortable.

It took less than six months of hormone replacement therapy to fix that.

I can’t tell you what the Trans Experience is. There are as many trans experiences as there are trans people. I hope, however, that giving you a window into my trans experience has given you a little more perspective, a little clearer frame of reference for the next trans experience you hear.

Be gentle with people, stand up to bigots, and for God’s sake don’t ask anybody about their genitals.

#31 Mar 2020 #tdov #tdov2020 #dysphoria #gender dysphoria #gender euphoria #long post

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kessem-the-mage · 5 years ago

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Could I possibly be transgender?

For context, I am AFAB (Assigned Female At Birth). I am currently trying to find out whether I am a boy

Heyo, it's me again. I came over here about a month ago (?) to talk about the possibility of me being transgender. Some things have changed and I have learned new things, and I have "come out" to my family as possibly being transgender.

First, here are my symptoms:

Gender Euphoria - I feel happy when referred to as 'he' or called by a specific masculine name (I've tried David: it makes me immensely happy :) )

Discomfort with assigned genitalia and the female aspects of my body. This includes but is not limited to my breasts, sexual organs, wrists, hips, eyelashes, face shape, thighs.

Discomfort when referred to as female, or as my birthname. I used to be OK with being called she/her and with my birthname, but now two years after puberty and almost a year after I started questioning is when it started. Although, in my earlier years (elementary school) I did refer to myself as a boy in my head sometimes, because I thought it was fun. I also detested feminine things, and I tried to portray myself as masculine as possible at all times.

Discomfort in how I see myself internally. It's confusing, and scary. I'm not sure if I'm actually a male inside or if it is just a symptom of my depression (I have been formally diagnosed) or some sort of body dysmorphia thing. I don't see myself as a girl, I don't think.

I want to have male anatomy. All of it. Penis, flat chest, deep voice, Adams apple, everything! My parents have told me that I think this way because I think having a period is too hard or what I have to do 'as a girl' is too uncomfortable, but thats not exactly the reasons I want to be a boy. My parents tried to deter me from wanting to be a boy by saying that 'boys deal with uncomfortable stuff too!' and I KNOW that! But I don't care. I just... need a male body.

OK, those are the brunt of my symptoms. Now on to the caveats of this dilemma:

My mom pointed out the possibility of 'penis envy' to my. She said that lots of girls my age feel envious of males having a penis when they do not have one. Could I be experiencing penis envy, or is it something more serious?

I am young. Thirteen. I know for a fact that practically nobody knows or even questions if they're trans when they're in the seventh-eighth grade, so are my feelings still valid? My mom also pointed out that the human brain isn't full developed until you are twenty six, and that I cannot make a valid decision until then. I feel like that is maybe pushing it too far, but is she right? Could all of this just be me being a dumb, angsty teenager? That's what she thinks, at least.

I feel like I am faking my symptoms. The more I learned about how a trans person's dysphoria feels like, the more I start to feel that way, too. Could this be me making it up or is this normal? I am really not sure...

I am seeing a counselour right now, but we aren't talking about these things. I feel so awful keeping all of these feelings pent up but whenever I try to talk about them my counselour just steers the conversation in a different direction entirely. The only time I have truly talked about my symptoms was with my mom, and that is when she brought up the penis envy and age stuff.

I've been so confused lately, and I just don't know what to do. If any of you can help me sort this all out, it would be greatly appreciated.... thank you so much.

(side thing here that goes with my symptoms; in band we (the girls) had to try on dresses. Everyone was happy and smiling and stuff, excited about the dresses, but I was about to have a dead on panic attack. When I put on the dress, I felt disgusting and wrong. I couldn't stand to look at myself because now, more than ever, I didn't look like me. I cried a lot. Luckily, the tailor was a very nice woman, and actually the mother of a nonbinary pal that I have! She was very nice about it, and told me to ask my parents if I could wear a suit for concerts instead. Of course, my parents won't ever let me do that, but I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you, Mrs. S!)

#trans #transgender #transgender help #ftm #female to male #ftm help #female to male help #trans help #dysphoria #repost from reddit #please help im so confused #AAAAAAA

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bashfulmusician · 5 years ago

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So....I’m just going to say it and get it done with because I’ve been holding it in for so long that I can’t take it any more. Feel free to skip down to the very bottom of this because it’s LONG. It has to do with my gender identity. ((It’s seriously SUPER long and personal, so feel free to skip to the TLDR at the bottom))

So I’m ace. That’s pretty easy to tell at this point. I’ve known for almost a year now and it’s such an intrinsic part of who I am that I will proudly wear my flag (literally. I have a couple of ace pins now).

But there’s something else that’s an important and confusing part of who I am. It’s kind of a long story, but I have to get it out somewhere and somehow.

I was born and have identified as a cisfemale all my life. I loved my femininity (as annoying as social rights and expectations could sometimes be) and embraced myself. But there was also something else that I always wanted. I always wanted to wear more masculine clothing. I saw bowties and neckties and got jealous. I wanted to wear them.

But I was also born into a very strictly Christian family. I was taught by homophobic parents who proclaimed the whole “love the sinner, hate the sin” saying, yet would also make fun of LGBT+ individuals. I would never have been allowed to wear ties if I’d asked. For the longest time, this was my normal.

Then I went to college and all of that changed.

As some of you know, I’m studying social work at my university. Two of the profession’s core values are social justice and competence. Needless to say, my ingrained ideals were challenged for three years. They have ultimately changed for the better. Now I can say that I believe in the right of every human being to present as the gender(s) they so choose and the freedom to embrace and express their sexuality. Human rights should not be revoked or threatened to be revoked from people just because they aren’t heteronormative or cis-gendered. My parents have not changed their views, and I do not look for them to. But I can rest knowing that I will one day do my part to help others.

And here’s where the news comes in.

A couple months ago (unfortunately while I was visiting my family for summer break and cringing at remarks), I visited a free clothing closet. While there I noticed two pairs of suspenders and some men’s button-ups. Thinking, “why the heck not?”, I grabbed them without my sister noticing and snuck them home in my clothing bag.

Late that night, I dug out a bowtie from an old work uniform and headed down to the basement. I tried them on, hiding, and my gosh. Oh. My. Gosh. I looked in the mirror and truly understood euphoria for the first time. I realized why I had always wanted to wear button-ups and ties. I loved them! I cried with joy and happiness, so glad that I’d grabbed the suspenders and dug out the old tie. I looked different in the best way possible. A way that I couldn’t explain, but I could feel so strongly. It felt amazing and wonderful.

The next night, not able to help myself, I tried another outfit with my secret stash. I almost cried again, ecstatic and euphoric. Then someone knocked on the door.

I quickly threw on my dress, balled up my clothes, and left the bathroom. I said that I’d been trying on clothes to see what still fit. The catch though? I didn’t like what I’d seen in the mirror. The dress didn’t feel right. It didn’t look right.

I thought that maybe I just preferred masculine clothing. That happens to normal women, right? They realize they like a different style. I was still a woman.

But then I started to not like my chest. Whenever I wanted to wear the masculine clothes, I also wished that I had a flat chest. It didn’t look or feel right. I’d still have days when I felt alright wearing a dress and could stand my more feminine aspects. But those days when I wanted to wear more masculine clothes really bothered me. My gender identity was really weighing on me. Especially with all that my family had taught me and what I was raised with, I was always anxious that maybe I wasn’t straight? Maybe I wasn’t cis? It ate away at me.

Then I thought, “why not try they/them pronouns? If I’m really not cis, this will kind of prove to me and help me figure this out. If I don’t like it, then I know I’m still cis.” Gosh darn internalized LGBT+ phobia Big surprise for me, they/them pronouns felt exactly right. Then I realized I really didn’t like to be called a she when I felt this....different feeling. My name even felt wrong on those days, it didn’t sound like my name.

Also yesterday and today I experienced what I identify as dysphoria. I was unable to bind due to the heat and had to limit myself to one bra. I also couldn’t wear a button up shirt like I wanted to (weather again). Last night everything felt wrong. My chest felt like it wasn’t mine, it felt strange and so wrong to be called by my feminine name, and being referred to as a she? I wanted my born gender to disappear. I just wanted to be a person, not a female.

I’ve realized now that I really don’t know what my gender identity is. I’m saying genderqueer for now because I’m very confused. Some days I feel like a woman, others I feel neutral (I call them “they days”). On “they days”, I bind (SAFELY!!!), wear more masculine clothes (I’m not FtM, he/him pronouns don’t sound right), and use they/them pronouns. I also want to use a different name, but I suppose that will come a bit later when I’m more comfortable with this strange part of myself. For now, you can use she/her or they/them for me. I’ll still go by the same names, but I’m also going to add Emile to the list. Thank you all for reading this far, if you have, and I appreciate and love every single one of you.

TLDR: I am genderqueer. Somedays I’m a woman, others I’m a “they”. I use she/her and they/them pronouns depending on the day, but either is fine here! While I will still go by June/Juni/Juniper, I also will go by Emile. Thank you all ~Juni/Emile 💜🖤💚

#personal #long #juniper sprigs of life #juniper b'rambles #genderqueer #here goes nothing

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transssexualheart · 5 years ago

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been thinking a lot lately about the terms “transsexual” and “transgender” and how they relate and differ and especially how the definition of “transsexual” should be altered to fit our modern understanding of sex and gender... when i call myself transsexual, i don’t mean i’m sexually attracted to trans people, i mean that my birth sex is the wrong sex and i have bodily/physical dysphoria. the parts i should have are not the parts i do have, and it doesn’t mean any more than that to me. i may be gnc, i may be binary or non binary, but i am also still transsexual because i have dysphoria about my birth sex. “transgender”, to me, implies experiencing social dysphoria or, and this is controversial here, not having dysphoria at all and most likely experiencing gender euphoria. as we know gender is a concept entirely invented by humans that has no legitimate connection to sex, but that doesn’t mean gender isn’t a part of society that most of us participate in regardless, even if some participate in it in a different way than others because it makes them personally comfortable, and there’s no problem with that. usually being transsexual and transgender go hand in hand, but that doesn’t mean that they’re exactly the same thing. i am a ftm transsexual, but does that mean i identify as a man all the time or ever? not necessarily. gender isn’t real, and a “man” is only defined by a collection of rules that don’t make sense and that i’ve already broken anyhow, and everyone’s idea of what makes a man a man is different, so who’s to tell me that i am or am not a man? i know what parts of me are wrong, i know that sex is real and the one i have is the wrong one, but gender isn’t something you can see or touch.

#rain rambles #ftm #transgender #transsexual #gender theory

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hopeishappinessff · 6 years ago

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Holding Onto Hope: Chapter 36

Narrator:

Embarrassed. Humiliated. A laughing stock perhaps? No… no one was laughing. Final conclusion… an utter disappointment. He prayed for an escape… prayed that maybe he could somehow melt away into the cushioned chair he occupied. Or disappear into thin air, if at all possible. He wanted to simply spontaneously combust, because this was entirely too much to bear. Sure, he was aware that a day would come that someone would actually explain to him… him. He was a complex mixture of a human, he knew that. But now that the day had arrived for him to better understand just how complex… he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown up yet.

Through pursed, paper thin, pink lips, she sighed and kept her eyes trained on the healthy stack of papers splayed atop her shiny desk. His eyes were cast downward, but he wasn’t looking at anything in particular. He just knew he didn’t have the guts to look at either of them. Dr. Stevenson… or Dr. Yates. She was visiting him on a flat screen today, but for the first time in a long time… he couldn’t look her in the eye. No… not while they were both attempting to apparently ruin his life, yet again.

“Manic-depressive illness or manic depression… commonly known as, bipolar disorder. This disorder is characterized by extreme mood swings that include emotional highs, or mania and hypomania, and lows… depression. During the mania or hypomania phases, the patient will endure extreme euphoria, you will feel full of energy or unusually irritable. Hypersexuality, also referred to as compulsive sexual behavior or sexual addition, can also exist as a sign of the disorder and is described as a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasies, urges, or behaviors that are difficult to control. Episodes of mood swings may occur rarely, or in your particular case, multiple times a year and they will affect your sleep pattern, energy, activity, judgment, behavior, and ability to think clearly.” Dr. Stevenson read from one of the papers, now held captive between the tips of her fingers. She continued to pause occasionally between paragraphs, as if waiting for him to say something. But, what was he supposed to say? What could he say? What words could be said to make anything about this situation better? Yes, he was aware of his diagnosed mental illnesses. What he was not aware of was an ‘explanation session’… a dual therapy session with the sole purpose of explaining to him exactly what it was that he would be living with for the rest of his life.

“Dissociative identity disorder or DID… a severe condition in which two or more distinct identities, or personality states, are present in – or alternately take control of – an individual… often described by some, as an experience of possession. One can also experience memory loss that is too extensive to be explained by ordinary forgetfulness. DID reflects a failure to integrate various aspects of identity, memory, and consciousness into a single multidimensional self. Usually, a primary identity carries the individual’s given name and is passive, dependent, guilty, and depressed. The alters’ characteristics – including name, reported age and gender, vocabulary, general knowledge, and predominant mood – contrast with those of the primary identity. Certain circumstances or stressors can cause a particular alter to emerge. The various identities may deny knowledge of one another, be critical of one another or appear to be in open conflict. Possession-form identities often manifest as behaviors that appear as if a spirit or other supernatural being has taken control of the person.”

His chest was heaving, he was desperate for air… and for her to stop talking. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, he could feel the emotion brewing behind his lids… burning the corners of his eyes… itching to be released. He wasn’t even sure if she was still reading from that damned paper or if his desperation to stop hearing her truths was loud enough to drown her out, but he certainly could not hear her anymore.

“Dr. Stevenson…”

She tilted her head upward only a centimeter, but her eyes raised completely and her brows bent in the corners when she noticed Christopher sitting there, hyperventilating. It was the stern voice of Dr. Yates who finally shut her up and her heart rate immediately catapulted when she realized her patient was nearly on the verge of passing out.

“Christopher!” She half yelped, half gasped… because now his face was as red as the shiny polish on her fingertips.

“Dr. Stevenson, please…” Again, the melodic, firm sound of Dr. Yates voice was what planted Dr. Stevenson’s bottom in her chair, because she was well on her way to fleeing from the room to call on Richard and perhaps a few other security guards. She’d been on edge with this particular patient, ever since the failed observation therapy session that almost landed Dr. Yates in a hospital last year in December.

Dr. Stevenson cut her eyes sharply in the direction of the flat television screen and her lips pursed in an almost non-existent manner as she waited for further instruction from Dr. Yates. She sighed delicately and removed the glasses from the bridge of her nose, staring at the young man through the screen as he continued to struggle to compose himself.

“Christopher…” He tensed at the sound of her voice and held his breath completely until she diffused him, “Open your eyes.”

It was magical almost, the way she so easily delivered a polite command and his body responded before his mind could fully comprehend what she’d said. His eyes parted and blurred in an instant, because the tears were prepped and ready to fall, but just that easily… she’d soothed him into opening his eyes. Like the expert she was.

“Lift your head.”

Like a pained old man, he gradually lifted his head and eventually, his blurred vision had no choice but to lock eyes with her. She wore a smile on her gracefully aging face and when he saw it, he temporarily forgot that Dr. Stevenson was still in the room… staring at him cautiously.

“How are you feeling today?”

He went to drop his head, a natural reaction he’d inherited lately under the… circumstances. But Dr. Yates was quick to lift a question brow to accompany her smirk, catching his attention before he could confide in the back of his eye lids again.

Clearing his throat, he sniffled and sighed, not even bothering to acknowledge the tears rolling casually down his flushed cheeks “I’m… alright.”

With a sudden look of confusion, Dr. Yates tilted her head curiously and blinked a few times “You’re… alright? Are you sure?”

Nodding, he finally surrendered to the overwhelming urge to drop his head, but this time he kept his eyes open and simply watched the tears trickle into his lap.

“Well, if you are alright… are those happy tears that you’re crying?” She asked, confusion lacing her words.

Suddenly he became unnecessarily mesmerized by the tears he shed, but really he was just too ashamed to acknowledge the real reason Dr. Yates was questioning him… she knew he wasn’t alright. He constantly internally praised her for being so incredibly intelligent and vigilant, so he knew she knew… he was not alright. But he was embarrassed by that thought… embarrassed to admit that the response he’d just given her was really just a cover for the truth. He felt like a complete and utter failure. Here this woman was, reading directly from his personal file and dropping the truth on him in a way he could have never been prepared for. Dr. Stevenson always seemed a bit rough around the edges to him and she never seemed to be one to have much sympathy for a person like him… but in this case, could he really blame her? She was simply doing her job, explaining to him in detail exactly how fucked up he was.

“Chris, if you’ll just let me finish…” Dr. Stevenson began to ramble, but Dr. Yates was always one step ahead.

“Sara,” She cut her off quickly and politely, like a car in traffic with a driver kind enough to toss a hand up to acknowledge they had indeed just cut someone off, “If I may?”

Dr. Stevenson look peeved, annoyed that someone was doing her the courtesy of shutting her up and stopping her from sounding like a heartless witch. She sighed firmly through her nose, but obliged to Dr. Yates request by slowly lowering the piece of paper back onto her desk.

“Christopher… if I may?” She was asking for his permission now… permission to continue on with the dauting task of verbalizing just how much he sucked as a human being. With a quick glance up at the screen, he sniffled once more and nodded his head… okaying her to continue on with the torture.

“Now, from my observation Christopher, I’m not so sure if you are indeed ‘alright.’”

He didn’t bother to respond… didn’t even bother to raise his head in her direction again. She was about to call him on his bluff and he had no energy to deny it… he simply was not alright.

“Like most of us, you’ve got a story. And if you’re curious to hear it, from my perspective anyway… your story is quite remarkable,” That certainly got his attention and whether he desired to or not, his head lifted on its own accord and he frowned at her… because surely she was mocking him, “There was once a young boy who, due to a series of awfully unfortunate events, lived a very angry and not so happy childhood. He witnessed turmoil beyond his control… turmoil that no human, let alone a child, should ever have to witness. And often he felt compelled to step forth to take action against the turmoil… because it involved his family, his mother. He would do anything to protect her, even at such a tender age.”

“Christopher, I want you to understand something… that young boy, filled with anger and not so happy feelings, who was undeservingly stripped of his happiness and forced to endure a life style that some fully matured men have never experienced… that is your story. And sometimes, in order to protect itself… the human mind will create its own chapters in order to ensure you are able to stay on the path of your story. Your mind created its very own protection against the chaos around you, because it was all it could do to survive. Thus, your altered personality was born.”

Born. The way she spoke of it, of Kin… the way she explained him and his ‘birth’ was rather relieving to him. Somehow, she made it make sense. Because she was indeed an expert.

“This entity became a safe haven for you, but in turn… he would often wreak unnecessary havoc on those around you, because the sole purpose of his existence has always been to protect you… which allowed you, so you thought, to protect those around you. Even as a child, your alter existed namelessly. He became your strength, your courage, your ability to stand against anyone you believed to be a threat against you and your family. But then… one day… a small bundle of happiness pulled into the driveway next door. She stepped foot from that car and swarmed you with an almost foreign feeling of peace… of genuine joy. That’s a feeling that we all crave, isn’t it? Joy? But for you, that feeling had become so foreign and forgotten… the moment you recognized it for the first time in your childhood, it became addicting. Overwhelmingly so. Sy’Diyah… Hope… she charmed her way into your life by simply moving in next door and from that day on, you couldn’t get enough of her, the way she made you feel whenever in her presence, the pure love that you could identify with that seemingly only she could fill you with, the peace… oh the peace and the solace. It was truly an addiction.”

Addiction was right. His eyes shut again and this time he managed to conjure up an entire image of her perfect face, perfect skin, perfect eyes, perfect smile, perfect hair. He imagined her right there in front of him, her sweet smell wafting around him, as addicting as it was. Her stare twinkling as she smiled lovingly at him. Her bump… the baby bump, protruding directly at him to remind him of the love they shared. He missed her, incredibly so.

“Even now, as you sit and delve into the many memories and images you’ve got stored solely in her heart for her… you feel it don’t you, the peace?”

He nodded finally and sniffled hard, because he could feel the tears brewing again “Dr. Yates I… I miss her.”

“Understandably so Christopher. Please, open your eyes,” He obeyed, parting his lids to her magical charm, “You are here, in this facility, away from your loved ones and away from the one true love of your life… because you deserve to be the greatest version of you that you can be. For them, but most importantly for you. You are not to blame for the misfortunes of your childhood or for your minds natural response to the turmoil in your young life. Had your remedy, your altered personality, not been born… I am honestly not sure that you would have flourished to be the young man who sits before us today… I’m not sure that you would have survived.”

Chris had never thought of it that way. He stared at her through burning eyes thoughtfully, pondering the thought she’d just ignited in his mind. Had his altered personality not been born from his real-life chaos, would he have survived? Was he really too weak to stand on his own as a man… was Kin seriously all of his strength?

“But Dr. Yates, his file clearly discusses in detail his lifestyle before moving off to Georgia for school. It doesn’t make much sense to me that you don’t believe he would have survived in a lifestyle that he willingly chose to live.” Dr. Stevenson finally managed to find her voice after she too became deeply enthralled in the sultry sound of Dr. Yates explanation.

“Who said it was done willingly Sara? Who said any of it was done willingly? The violent habits and the entire lifestyle created solely by the alter, the excessive desire for multiple women and sex, which as you just read is a direct characteristic of the bipolar disorder… combined with the DID… these occurrences are not done willingly. Even the slightest hint of vulnerability and weakness from Christopher, and Kin has always been the direct result. I’ve examined Christopher’s case from top to bottom, inside and out. His diagnosis is simple enough, but once closely observed, more complex than I’ve ever studied. Christopher and his alter are nearly two separate beings, if not for the fact that they indeed share one physical form,” Swiftly turning to face him, she wore a grave expression that nearly startled him, “The most interesting observation during this process… your alter doesn’t even respond accordingly to your dosages. The only reason you’ve been able to avoid blacking out in your recent sessions is because of the months of intense psychotherapy that has been forcing you to focus. You see, the top priority in your case is not to necessarily treat any symptoms, because truthfully that is nearly impossible… but rather educate you in the art of focus.”

Dr. Yates was indeed correct, Chris had been on a daily regimen with the psychotherapy sessions since his last black out and truth be told, he’d been doing an outstanding job. In every way that he could, he’d been non-stop focusing. Whether lying flat on his back on the sterile cot in his room, counting the small specks decorating the tiled ceiling. Or sitting in a corner in the recreation room, tuning in only to the faint sound of the clock ticking on the opposite side of the room… even over the chaotic sounds of the other patients sharing the space with him… he always made sure to focus. And it helped, it truly did help. The tactic, surprisingly instilled by Dr. Stevenson, aided him in his quest to control his thoughts, which allowed him to keep control of his own emotions… and more importantly, it allowed him to remain in control of himself.

“And, of course, the additional dosages of Zoloft. Synced with the focusing strategy, I believe it’s been a big help…” Dr. Stevenson muttered.

“You are correct, to a certain degree,” Dr. Yates noted, “However, the medication is only used to address the depression, anxiety, and it suppresses any anger. Unfortunately, we have to remember that the alter may not always respond to it.”

Eventually, Chris noticed that his tears had completely subsided, though he was left with an aggravating afterburn along the brims of his eyes. What was really the point in crying? It was upsetting to hear such negative truths about yourself, but he mustn’t forget the focus and dedication he’d put into this entire process in the span of a few months. Several of his psychotherapy sessions had been much more intense than others, some often brewing emotions within him that he often felt as if he could not control. But, as Dr. Yates had mentioned, he had been in control because he had mastered the art of focus. In fact, he’d been so consistently focused and if he had nothing else to be proud of in this precise moment in his life, it was that small fact. It was quite a huge accomplishment for him because for the first time since he could remember, he was absolutely in control. He smiled at the thought.

Chris

I may have been crazier than I thought, I wasn’t quite sure. But I tried not to dwell on that because then I would really start to believe it and I felt like that would completely change me as a person. I didn’t want to change… I just didn’t want to deal with these illnesses anymore. But if they continued to set me up in these sessions with not only one doctor physically sitting in front of me, but one on the flat plasma screen TV right beside her as well… I would have no choice but to know that I was insane. I was pretty positive no other patient in this institution had to endure their therapy sessions quite like this, but this is what they thought it took to get through to me.

Shifting my gaze from Dr. Stevenson to Dr. Yates, who’s bright and beaming face sat perfectly aligned in the center of the flat screen television, I sighed softly and shifted awkwardly in my seat. They were both watching me curiously, waiting for me to tell them why I thought I should be released from this sterile prison. I fiddled with my fingers and looked past the flat screen and out the window on the other side of the office. In all honesty, I didn’t know why I should be released or… if I should. I mean, I felt like I was making progress… no, I was sure that I was making progress. I was putting forth a serious effort to get myself together because I did really want out of this place. But the real world… everyday life… the place right outside of the hidden barriers of this building… it scared me. Petrified might have actually been a better term. Yes… it petrified me…

“Christopher…” Dr. Yates was speaking now and the sound of her voice alone never failed to capture my attention, so without further ado I turned my head slowly to face her… or the screen that she was presented to me on, “Are you afraid to leave?”

Lord where did this woman come from? She wasn’t even technically in the same room as me, yet she sat there and read right through me like her office was located in the middle of my mind. I could feel Dr. Stevenson staring at me, just waiting for me to give her something to write in that little yellow notepad. But, as usual, I trained my vision onto Dr. Yates and readied myself to respond to her and I even kind of pretended that Dr. Stevenson wasn’t even there. She wasn’t who I wanted to talk to… she never was. I’m sure she knew it too, thus the extravagant television set up with my therapist on it.

“In a way… yes.” I muttered.

“Why? Why are you afraid to leave the institute?” Tearing my eyes away from the screen, I peered at Dr. Stevenson from the corner of my eye and refrained from frowning at her question. I hated the way she spoke to me so… so… typically. I mean, sure it was her job to ask me questions and understand the gist of me and all that jazz… but in my opinion, she didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know how to be in tune with her patients like Dr. Yates… she didn’t know how to do anything like Dr. Yates.

“I just am.” I turned to look back out of the window and decided at that moment that I would no longer be addressing that woman. This was a session between Dr. Yates and I and she… she was just filling space in the room.

“You’ll be leaving on a fresh slate… and you know that, you’re okay with that… aren’t you? The fear here… lies in the prospect that your fresh slate will be tainted by the horrors of the outside world… please, shut me up at any time and tell me that I’m wrong Christopher… you know not to be afraid to correct me.” She said, laughter mixed softly in her last statement. Smiling to myself, I slowly shook my head to not only indicate to her that I would not stop her because she was not wrong… but also because I could almost feel Dr. Stevenson tensing in her seat. In reality, she sucked and the more Dr. Yates took over these sessions with me virtually, I’m sure she was beginning to understand that more and more.

“So essentially, you’re not afraid to leave… you are afraid to come back.” Dr. Yates finished her observation and I glanced from her to the other occupant of the room, because at this time I didn’t feel as though she deserved the title of doctor, and nodded my head. “I just… I don’t wanna mess up again.”

They were both writing, jotting down whatever it was that they concluded from what I’d said. I could never understand the purpose of the notebooks and I never much cared for them. I was focused on the hand across the table from me writing quickly like I’d just said a mouthful and almost didn’t hear Dr. Yates speaking through the television.

“Would you mind, Dr. Stevenson, if I had just a moment of time with Christopher?” She asked. Her question surprised us both and while I sat still in my seat with raised brows, Dr. Stevenson turned to face the TV before glancing back over her shoulder at me and smiling tightly.

“Sure… take your time.” She didn’t even bother to look back at Dr. Yates. She simply rose swiftly from her seat and glided quickly out of the room. My eyes remained glued to the shut door for a moment as I absorbed what’d just happened… she was in her feelings, because a woman miles away from us just gave her the boot from her own office. I almost snickered aloud, but Dr. Yates cleared her throat and got my attention before I could.

“Christopher…”

“Yes ma’am?”

“No formalities now,” She chuckled, “How have you really been?”

“I’ve been good… better. How have you been?” I smiled.

She smiled in return “Why haven’t I thought to excuse that woman long ago?”

We both laughed, but softly because I really didn’t know how far Dr. Stevenson had ventured away from the door.

“I have been very well, thank you for asking. I haven’t had a successful opportunity to speak to you one on one since your very last session here at the school with me. I wanted to pick your brain a little off record, if you don’t mind.”

“No… I don’t.” She sat there smiling for a while in her signature pose with her hands crossed onto the surface of her desk. It didn’t really look like she even had the notebook in front of her anymore and for that, I was thankful. She really was only interested in having a completely off the record conversation with me… and in a way, I was kind of excited about that.

“I’m sorry that I could not actually be there with you, but you seem to be doing exceptionally well. Communicating comfortably and more frequently… that is phenomenal.”

“I guess.”

“You guess…”

“I don’t really like it here… the people.” I explained slowly.

“It’s not a comfort zone for you. That’s understandable. But you are doing wonderfully during your time with Dr. Stevenson. I must commend you there.” She beamed.

“Thank you.” I smirked.

There was a moment of silence that left me with my head down, unable to face her piercing stare, and I thought maybe she was waiting for me to speak again… so I did.

“Dr. Yates… I-I never got to apologize to you for what happened when you were here…”

“I cannot accept that apology.”

Quickly raising my head, I eyed her with furrowed brows and opened my mouth to speak, but… no words came out. What? Did she really just say that?

“You cannot apologize for something completely out of your control. What happened that day in our therapy session… that was something that you could not prevent, even if you tried. I don’t want you to feel remorseful in any way for actions that were not yours.”

I felt myself nodding as she spoke and though she was right, I couldn’t ignore the regret for what I did that day… but it did also feel a bit strange apologizing on behalf of that other side of me. I didn’t even know what’d happened… until they forced me to watch the footage. And as I sat there staring at the gray image of myself stalking around the room at her, eventually corning her and threatening her in a way that made my stomach churn, I knew I had to offer her an apology as soon as I got the opportunity to.

“I wanted to give you an update, about Hope.”

All the sadness and memories of that last therapy session with Dr. Yates went right out the window the moment I heard that name. Hope… my Hope… my heart.

“What’s wrong with her?” I blurted.

She laughed softly and shook her head as she watched me visibly flinch in my seat, nerves clearly on end “Nothing at all. She’s doing wonderfully… very focused on her studies now. Perhaps a bit too focused, but she’s doing well non-the-less.”

“That’s good…” My voice drifted off for a moment as I thought briefly about her face. Her beautiful face and her pink and always pouted lips and her cute baby hairs that wisped with even the slightest wind and her wild mane of hair that cascaded all over her head like a golden waterfall…

“She’s about eighteen weeks along… and she glows like a ray of sunshine every time I see her.” My heart sank… I hadn’t expected her to discuss the pregnancy. As I said before, I knew she knew that Hope was pregnant, but I guess I completely forgot that she was there with her and I was not and there was a high possibility that they were still in contact in my absence.

“How is the baby? Does she even know what she’s… we… does she know what we’re having?” I didn’t even know I was capable of speaking this fast again because everything I did in life now seemed to be done leisurely.

Dr. Yates seemed to catch onto that because I caught the smile on her face that almost looked like a proud mother watching her child take its first steps.

“The baby is fine… and healthy. She does not know the sex… because she prefers to wait for you to find out.” That right there… those words right there, lit me up from the inside out. I felt like the sun itself would consume my entire body and beam right through my chest. She wanted to wait for me to find out what the gender of our baby was… she wanted to wait for me for something in life period? That made me feel like… the proudest man on earth. It made me feel like standing up and running through the rest of this treatment program so I could get the hell out and run all the way to Georgia to her. She was waiting for me… she was still thinking of me… she hadn’t left me behind.

“Christopher,” Her voice snapped me out of my frantic and joyous thoughts and I blinked rapidly as I turned my attention to her, “My goal here is to help you. You being in this institution will not benefit you… you being out there, in the real world, with your loved ones will.”

The rapid blinking stopped abruptly and I damn near stopped blinking altogether as my heart began to race while I waited almost impatiently for her to go on.

“There is a deal in the works at this time and nothing has been finalized, but… I am working very frivolously to have you released into the care of your mother. There is an entire case pending and I’ve been preparing all things necessary to present to the board of the institute to prove that home treatment would better suit you.”

My eyes shut while she continued to speak. I’m not even sure what she was talking about, something to do with this case that was pending against me, but the only thing my mind could focus on was what she’d said about me being released. I had to repeat a mantra in my head… don’t get your hopes up… don’t get your hopes up… only for these people to let you right back down. But I would simply be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter with anticipation.

“I cannot make any promises, but I can guarantee you that if you do your part… if you continue to excel in your sessions and you continue to maintain your cooperation with Dr. Stevenson and with whatever regulations they implement for you… I will do everything in my power to get you home.”

Mentally I tattooed those words on my brain and held onto them dearly… there was no doubt in my mind that I would hold up my end of that deal no matter what.

#chrisbrown #chrisbrownff #chrisbrownfanfic #jasminesanders #chrisbrownfanfiction #jasminesandersff #teambreezy #teambreezyff #fanfiction #fanfic

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wagyubeefy · 6 years ago

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lately i've been dreaming a lot that i have a dick. i don't feel gender dysphoria but that i'm missing something, a body part, like a dick, or maybe the supernatural power to mutate my genitalia to what i feel mostly comfortable and right at the moment. is it weird? to not have gender dysphoria but feel like you should have a dick? at least sometimes? i feel confused.

Yeah, people get gender euphoria rather than dysphoria - a strong sense of satisfaction and happiness that comes with any kind of body/social gender fuckery you might be doing. It could be that you Are experiencing gender dysphoria, which is often misunderstood. It’s a feeling of discomfort or dissatisfaction that comes from your body or social perception being wrong from what feels Correct.

I’m not perpetually, actively upset by the fact i dont have a dick. I get upset when i think about not being able to have sex the way my brain thinks i was built to - the way that feels natural to me. I’m also reminded of it when i see the lack of a bulge in clothing I’m wearing. But i feel pretty normal looking at my crotch or peeing or even menstruating. I kind of disassociate from my genitalia, like i dont quite recognize it as mine when I’m really looking at it, but its not like. Active angst.

it’s just... this long, meandering dissatisfaction thats uncomfortable. And sometimes, I get more sad about that than other times - and then it is pretty upsetting. I don’t like to think about my genitalia when im thinking about sex. I don’t like to think too much about my biology. ^ that is physical dysphoria.

#Anonymous

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 7 years ago

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Does dysphoria always mean that a person is transgender? For example, could a cis woman experience physical & social dysphoria, but still be a woman? I thought I was ftm for a few years, but being called a man felt off too. Then I started playing with genderqueer labels, but lately I've been wondering if I'm just a dysphoric cis woman. Is that a thing?

Lee says:

Identifying as trans is what makes someone trans. I actually recently read a book on gender dysphoria that said “Not everyone who is transgender experiences gender dysphoria, and not everyone who experiences gender dysphoria is transgender.”

Some cis people may experience dysphoria but not identify as trans, which seems to be more common with women and especially lesbians. Gay men also seem to have a higher rate of gender dysphoria than straight men, but they don’t seem to be able to be as open about it because of toxic masculinity.

A cis lesbian woman who got top surgery

The second question in this post is a cis gay man who wants bottom surgery

Is transitioning the only cure for gender dysphoria?

Can cis people have body dysphoria?

cisgender female who’d be happier without boobs

What are some examples of cis people experiencing gender dysphoria?

Cis With Dysphoria

Can cisgender people experience genital dysphoria?

Of course dysphoria is more commonly experienced by trans people than it is with cis people, and it’s experienced by many (and maybe even most) trans folk. But some trans people may not experience dysphoria, or label what they’re experiencing as dysphoria, so you don’t need dysphoria to be trans.

Non-dysphoric trans people are still trans

More about non-dysphoric trans people

Non-dysphoric trans people

Gender euphoria

Do I have to have Dysphoria to be Trans?

I think it’s really invalidating and gatekeeper-y for someone to insist they know someone else’s gender better than they do.

If someone has questioned their gender and explored the trans community but ultimately decide that they’re cis but have dysphoria, who are we to say that’s invalid?

I think that it’s always best to believe someone when they state who they are, instead of trying to impose rules on their identity and claim they have to fit within certain guidelines to identity as either trans or cis.

If it isn’t okay to tell a trans person that they’re actually cis and in denial, it isn’t okay to tell cis people they’re actually trans and in denial.

So in the end, having dysphoria not having dysphoria doesn’t automatically make anyone trans or cis. Basically, yes, it’s possible to identify as a dysphoric cis woman or whatever makes you most comfortable.

Ren says:

There’s a lot of discussion about this (not all of it nice, or trans-inclusive). When it comes down to it, though, I’m not really sure that anybody can tell you what the answer is for you in particular.

A lot of people will say that it’s common for women to feel uncomfortable about their gender, because of misogyny, and also because a lot of womanhood is built on things that are inherently discomfiting (like sexualization and objectification). I can see where that argument is coming from, but I think it’s taking a lot of things for granted (like gender essentialism, i.e. the belief that gender is a static, unchangeable, unquestionable fact; a “universal female experience”, which simply does not exist; and the fact that being trans and otherwise queer can look and feel and be an infinite number of ways).

Generally, I would say that if your gender doesn’t feel right, it’s for a reason, and you should listen to that reason, and try to follow it. It sounds like that’s what you’ve been doing, which is great - but also that your journey thus far hasn’t been very fulfilling or productive for you, and it makes sense that it’s been a frustrating experience because of that.

Here is the advice I would offer. Let’s say that you can be a dysphoric cis woman. If that’s the case, what does being a cis woman mean to you? Likewise, what does your dysphoria mean to you? What are the changes you want to make in order to reduce that dysphoria, if any, and what do those changes mean to you?

A butch lesbian can consider herself a cis woman, experience dysphoria, and make changes to alleviate it - maybe the same changes that a genderqueer person or trans man would make. What would make that person trans is the decision to use the word.

If you find comfort and community and fulfillment in the word trans, then I would encourage you to keep exploring nonbinary identity - there is more out there than genderqueer. You may also consider looking into different ways that traditionally cis, but otherwise queer women experience gender: butch women, lesbians, and bi women have a rich history of expressing and understanding gender in very different ways from the traditional cis non-queer woman. It may be there that your journey takes you, and that is okay.

Here’s some resources that might give you some insight into other nonbinary identities and other queer gender experiences:

Non-binary resources

NB Flowchart

What am I?

Harper says:

I’m going to add on something a little contrary to your advice Ren, but I’d absolutely second the latter half of your advice: if a transgender embodiment is right for you, absolutely go ahead and embrace that, it is nothing to be ashamed of or shy away from if it is for you.

However, I’d absolutely say some cis women experience dysphoria, and I’d also say this is a point that can be made (and something that can be felt) without being gender essentialist at all.

Although dysphoria is often the grounding experience for a lot of trans people, and it is often the reason that many trans people seek medical assistance with their transitions.

However, if we’re going to talk about dysphoria, we need to first approach it from a wider approach. We are all living in the same world and so are subject to the same material and social forces. Each of these forces will impact us and affect us in different ways. These forces can be understood largely in terms of oppressive forces that systematically benefit the ruling class: rich, white, straight, cis men. In such a world, misogyny is a force that dictates which bodies are allowed to exist, and for what purpose.

I won’t make any rulings on what is and isn’t dysphoria, but an appreciation of dysphoria rooted in being non-consensually gendered (at birth: ”It’s a boy!”, “It’s a girl!”) can be a way forward. This notion always then reflects back onto constructions of gender that uphold cis heterosexuality: certain bodies are made to be girls, or women; and girls and women are aspects of a class that is made to always and only reflect back onto men for their advantage.

This is a violent and non-consensual state of affairs, and it is not one that will come with any comfort for anyone who doesn’t benefit from it: LGBT people, women, and so on. It doesn’t surprise me, at all, that a dysphoric experience can be attributed to an individual’s experiences within womanhood, and also to an individual’s experiences being otherwise gendered.

For example, as a trans lesbian, I experience dysphoria given the world’s instance that I should not be a woman (the “usual” dysphoria that comes with being trans). I also experience dysphoria when I dress in a way that makes me look “straight”. If I don’t dress in a way considered gay, or lesbian, etc., I get distressed, dysphoric. This latter dysphoria is completely within the axis of being a woman and the pressures that comes with to make myself available and centered around men: through the way I act and the way I dress.

I also know several cis women (admittedly all lesbians, so perhaps that limits the scope of my argument here), who experience dysphoria. Being cis doesn’t mean you can’t have a troubled relationship to gendered forces, and it doesn’t mean you can’t question them. It also doesn’t mean that you can’t, at any point, and for any reason, re-analyse your position to gender: to consider a transgender identity, or to re-consider your identification in sexuality.

I think, therefore, that the notion that “dysphoria means you’re trans” can be unhelpful; diverting women from a way of conceptualizing their profound discomfort to a world that aggressively sexualises and oppresses them. It can also divert attempts at solidarity within a community of trans and cis women, and between women and trans people as a whole. Dysphoria, and conversations about our lived experiences, can then be used to form a more cohesive (and less lonely) class appreciation of what it’s like to live under white heteropatriarchy.

In the meantime, see our dysphoria page, and the above links. Hope this helps somewhat!

#lee says #ren says #anonymous #harper says #dysphoria #questioning #caps #queer #q word #what is dysphoria #what is gender #transgenderteensurvivalguide #trans #transgender

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fluidforthought · 6 years ago

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The Gender Tag

I thought this could be fun. I know, I know I am really late to the party... but that’s ok :). I’ve only just begun to dive into gender so this is all new to me and I’m excited so let’s do this!

Q. How do you self-identify your gender, and what does that definition mean to you?

A. I would identify as genderfluid, but also have just become aware of the term transmasculine. Genderfluid means, to me, that I fluctuate between the opposite ends of the gender spectrum. One day I feel far more masculine but I don’t have a problem with looking beautiful as a women either. This is where the term transmasculine might serve more purpose for me. However, right now in this moment I prefer to masculinize myself over feminize. I am much more overall comfortable and confident with myself when I present more masculine despite being born a female.

Q. What pronouns honor you?

A. This is tough for me right now. I would say I prefer either she/her or he/him over they/them. For me personally they/them feels impersonal. I have not asked anyone to change or use he/him when referring to me but I often refer to myself as he/him (I tend to use words like boi and bro when referring to myself. I don’t feel that right now it is a big problem for others to continue with she/her. I do not like being called a woman though, I don’t like the word woman, and I can’t explain why. That being said I don’t know that I want to be called a man either. This is obviously something I am still trying to work through myself, so what a long answer. In a perfect world it would be cool if everyone could tell what gender I was representing on any given day and choose the appropriate pronouns, but they aren’t a huge deal to me. Right now anyway.

Q. Describe the style of clothing that you most often wear.

A. T-shirts and jeans or shorts, tennis shoes. I’m in the process of amping up my wardrobe to fit what I see in my head. I’ve been wearing bro tanks and khaki colored knee length shorts for the summer, some casual dude shoes or flip flops from the guys section. I’ve realized how much I love bow ties and neckties and have begun a collection of them, and would like to grow my button up shirt collection. I bought some very sleek men’s dress shoes too. I want my clothing to be the definition of dapper. Gentlemanly.

Q. Body hair... how do you style your hair, do you have facial hair, and what do you choose to shave and not to shave?

A. Right now my hair on my head is tall on top and shorter on the sides. I’m trying to figure out how I want to deal with it haha. I either just toss a hat on my head or comb it over and throw some Old Spice Fiberwax in it to add volume.

I don’t have facial hair because, well, none grows there. I wonder if I would look cool with a beard? Idk, I have never thought about that... but I’d need some help from T for that.

I like to have clean shaven legs and armpits. I’ve tried growing both out but I just get so uncomfortable and itchy, I can’t get myself past the itchy stage. I’ve always liked the idea of being able to be more free with that but the discomfort is too much for me to handle. I don’t shave above my knee though, and that means I don’t shave my junk. I remember trying to shave that area when it first started to grow but, I hated it so I just let it go. Needless to say it's probably been 8-10 years since I’ve done anything with that.

Q. Do you choose to wear makeup? Paint your nails? What types of soaps and perfumes do you use?

A. I didn’t wear makeup until I came to college. I finally starting learning my freshman year and tried to wear it as expected. But I hated how dirty in made my skin feel. How cakey and greasy. And there is a particular smell to a full face of makeup that I just hate. So gradually I quite and now four years later I am back to not really ever reaching for makeup. I take pride in the fact that I am comfortable without it. Occasionally I like to dabble with it though, it’s a fun hobby but not a necessity.

I don’t paint my nails any more either. I used to a lot but it was so much work that never lasted long enough for it to be worth it. So now I am in love with my natural nails and I have a hard time thinking about painting over them, they are healthy, no need to change them.

I’ve switched to men’s soap in the shower, a matter of fact I made the bold switch to cheap 3-in-1 soap so I don’t even buy shampoo and conditioner and body soap any more, I just use all the same stuff from one bottle. I do have a wide selection of perfumes as I wen t through a bath and body perfume phase a coupe of years ago but have faded out the use of those over time too. I bought a cologne that I wear on “special” occasions, and I tend to use men’s deodorant (IT WORKS BETTER, and smells tasty too).

Q. Have you experienced being misgendered? If so how often?

A. I experienced this for the first time about two weeks ago! I wear swim trunks and a tank to the pool and I was climbing out of the pool and a guy was walking past and he nodded and said “what’s up man?” This caught me off guard but I kind of liked it. Because he perceived me as a male instead of a female which has never happened before, which means I was passing as I was expressing to an extent and that was a really epic feeling. A little kid once called me sir due to my short hair but his mom was quick to correct him saying that I was a lady. I didn’t like that.

Q. Do you experience dysphoria? How does that affect you?

A. I wouldn’t say I really experience dysphoria. But I do experience a lot of euphoria. When I am going about my life as a female I don’t excessively hate any of my parts. I don’t experience feeling disconnected with my anatomy. However, when I pack, I feel absolutely on top of this world. I am far more confident in myself and more courageous. And it has only been the last couple of months where when I am packing I wish so badly that I had a binder, to simply complete the feeling, the whole desired expression. But when I don’t pack I don’t feel any less than I am which I am very thankful for.

Q. Children, are you interested? Would you want to carry a child if that were an option for you? Do you want to be the primary caretaker for any children you may have?

A. Children is the hardest question ever!! I still feel confused about whether or not I want them. I’ve always felt like I would want to carry a baby, to experience that intense connection with a human being for 9 months, I’ve always thought that I would like to understand what it is like to be pregnant. But I’ve never really seen myself keeping it (like maybe I carried it as a surrogate or something). I’ve never felt very comfortable around kids, I don’t know how to act or talk or simply be with kids without feeling an insane amount of awkward. I don’t know why this is the case I have four younger siblings I should be comfortable.

I don’t think I would resent having a kid if it happened, especially if it was with a long term partner, the thought of a small family is something I have always loved but just never decided if it was really what I want. Maybe fur babies??? ;)

If I did have my own kids of course I would want to be the primary caretaker, well me and my partner together. I would want to be able to support them and love them and teach them and watch them grow everyday.

Q. Is it important to you to provide for a family financially if you choose to have one? Is it important to you that you earn more than any partner you may have? Do you prefer to pay for things like dates? Are you uncomfortable when others pay for you or offer to pay for you?

A. Money isn’t as important to me as it probably should be. I have always wanted to put love first. I believe that with love, you have everything. But if I did have a family absolutely I would want to be able to provide for them. I would want to be able to spoil them and surprise them. I would want to be able to set up autopay for my bills because I had money left over every month and never have to worry about waiting for the next paycheck before I could pay the electric bill.

I don’t care who makes more money, that shouldn’t matter, setting unfair pay based on gender aside... I don’t like that competition.

I wouldn’t say I prefer to pay for dates, I like to take turns. If the date was my idea I pay, your idea? You pay. Evening stuff like that out I think is important. And yes I am uncomfortable when someone offers to pay for me, and that goes for EVERYONE, even my grandparents. I want to pay sometimes, again, let’s even things out. I always feel obligated to pay back.

Q. Anything else you want to share about your experience with gender?

A. I didn’t even realize I needed to step back and look at gender until a year and a half ago. And now that I have, I fell so proud of myself. I’ve made baby steps to feeling more comfortable in my own skin. I have realized that I don’t need to be so concerned with what others think, I am me and that is truly all that matters. I have never felt so confident. I am talking to strangers, I’m sharing love with people when I used to feel the need to bottle it up and save for very specific people. But everyone is deserving of love.

I keep saying I feel my heart has grown three sizes sense I started looking at my gender. I feel more open and accepting than I ever have before and that is liberating. I’m sharing more and more of myself with people when I’ve always been so, so shy and quiet. I’m letting people in and I’m allowing myself to form in the public eye and I’ve just never felt so excited!

I’ve realized that I simply want to be a gentleman, so that is just what I will be.

#gendertag #the gender tag #2018 #gender #fluid #genderfluid #q and a #transmasculine #exploring #building confidence #pansexual

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elisabettacormac · 4 years ago

Text

CHARLIE JANE ANDERS: I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW

CHARLIE JANE ANDERS

I’ll have you know

“Tell me about your dreams,” Dr. Webbo says, without looking directly at El. Instead, she keeps her gaze focused on the middle distance, because El’s vitals and medical records are scrolling across her corneas.

“Boring. Weird,” El says. “A lot of shoe salesmen trying to get me to wear birdcages on my feet. I wake up feeling amazing, though.” Dr. Webbo’s private office looks just like a secluded meadow full of wildflowers.

“Hmm. It says here that you’re only on the most basic sleep package. Your dreams are keeping you young, but they’re not teaching you anything.” Dr. Webbo refocuses her view, and now she’s staring right at El. “You’re a hundred years old now—happy birthday, by the way!—so it’s more important than ever to keep learning.”

“What if I don’t want my dreams to teach me?” El says. “I still learn the old-fashioned way: by making a series of increasingly disastrous choices.”

Dr. Webbo doesn’t even laugh at El’s joke, which, let’s be honest, was only half a joke. El did try to re-skill as an interior-decor coder at age 83, right when all of the decor-scripting languages were becoming obsolete. And then there’s the matter of El’s roommate, whom we’ll get to soon enough.

“This is a quality-of-life issue.” Dr. Webbo furrows her high forehead, causing her locs to shift around. “You could live for another 25 or 30 years, and you want to make the most of the time you have.”

“Yeah. But I read online that these dream lessons are just a lot of mind control, to reprogram your behavior. That’s why they want to give them to old people, so we won’t make any trouble.”

“Don’t believe everything they say on the bubbs,” Dr. Webbo mutters. Then she shrugs. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah.” El takes a deep breath. “I want to do it. I want to start hormones and nano-therapy. I wanna transition from male to female. As a hundredth-birthday present to myself.”

Yes

“Are you sure? It’s a big step at your age.”

“Yeah. This is probably the first good decision I’ve made in 40 years.”

Dr. Webbo asks El some more questions, but meanwhile the doctor’s already using her left index finger to click “yes” on a bunch of boxes. El produces a hologram of her therapist, Dr. Russell, winking and giving a big thumbs-up, and Dr. Webbo only glances at it. Seems like gender transition has gotten easier and less gatekeepery since the last time El looked into it.

El always pictured the first gender-confirmation treatment being a kind of glittery mist blown into her face from a cupped palm, like fairy dust. And yeah, that’s one of the options, but there’s also a kind of body paint (starts blue, turns pink, very on-the-nose) and a lozenge you can put under your tongue.

But El wants to make a wish and snort fairy-dust, so that’s what she goes with. Head rush!

“You should start noticing the effects pretty much immediately,” Dr. Webbo says. “Your body will look and feel different, and you might have some mood swings.” She gazes at the enhanced scan view. “Meanwhile, I’ll mark on your file that you declined the dream enhancements, but they’re still going to send you some literature.”

El’s head is still swimming from the sparkly flakes, and her whole brain is doing a happy dance. Today is the first day of my life as a woman, El says to herself. I finally found myself, and it only took a lifetime.

Then she registers the thing about “literature,” and starts to argue—but stops. After all, she’s starting her second century on this planet, and she just finally took the plunge and flipped her gender. Today of all days, she ought to be gracious. “I’ll check out the literature. I promise I’ll think about it. I’ll even talk to my roommate about it.”

Dr. Webbo shakes her head. “I would avoid discussing this with Goaty, if I were you.”

El still doesn’t feel any different when she by-scrolls away from the Hyper-Endocrinthology Center—but the world looks quite transformed. Her gender marker changed in every datasink while she was finishing up her birthday checkup with Dr. Webbo, so everywhere she looks, the shops are advertising these wraps that morph from sundress to corset-dress at sunset. Cartoon characters and knights in armor call her “Ms.” or “Ladyperson” as they pass on the scroll, and even the trees appear fluffier. Of course, every window and streetlight offers El various hundredth-birthday deals, which she’s dreaded (one reason she gave herself something else to celebrate today).

The newsbubbs are full of occurrences that would be terrifying on their own, but which collectively form a gaudy tapestry. The artificial reef we built off the Gulf Coast has been singing again, mostly Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin. The Martian robot commune is threatening to shoot down any humans who approach. Five million people are threatening to go on an emotional-labor strike. The Patent Office is once again recognizing Inaction Patents (for new and innovative methods of refraining from doing something) and has already received thousands of applications.

By the time El gets home, her back aches and her knees are doing her a mischief, and all her euphoria at finally making the big change is wearing off. All she wants to do is sit down, maybe watch some stories. But of course, her roommate greets her at the front door, bouncing and demanding to hear every single detail.

Goaty is seven feet tall and teal-colored, except for a purple beard, and today they’re wearing a long crimson necktie and some Bermuda shorts on their woolly goat body. Plus very serious square-framed glasses.

“Not much to tell,” El tells Goaty. “Just a routine checkup. Oh, and I changed my gender at last. Feels good so far.”

“You don’t look a day over 90.” Goaty claps their hoofs.

Goaty’s ingratiating tone makes El suspicious, so she squints at them. “You’ve lost another 2% of your value.”

“That’s the trouble with a floating exchange rate,” Goaty says in a fake-cheerful tone. “Sometimes it just don’t float the way you want.”

When El decided to put all of her retirement savings into a new cryptocurrency, she never expected to end up actually sharing her apartment with the evolved form of Goatcash. For the first few years, Goatcash was fine, accruing value faster than a flesh-and-blood goat could chew through a trash pile. But something happened—the sort of thing that seems to happen all too often lately—and now Goatcash is a sentient being, who lives with her. And sometimes Goaty randomly devours all of El’s junk food, usually while taking terrifying dips in valuation.

“Today of all days, I don’t want to have to worry about you,” El says to Goaty. And then she can’t help mentioning the exact thing that Dr. Webbo told her not to: “My doctor thinks I should get my dreams enhanced.”

“Whoa. I’ve never dreamed, unless you count my birth, when I experienced delusions of liquidity.” Goaty strokes their glorious lavender plume of beard with their left hoof. “But don’t you want to make the most of your dreams? I’ve been watching you sleep, and I have to say you’re pretty uninspiring.”

“You’ve been ... watching me sleep.” El can feel her microbiome go feral.

“What?” Goaty turns shrugging into a dance. “You watch me sleep all the time.”

“That’s only because you sleep all the time.” El snorts. “You should get a job. Whatever kind of jobs they give to failed cryptocurrencies.”

“I’m a success on my own terms!”

It’s just barely nighttime, but El feels exhausted. Big day.

She crawls into bed and feels the gel slowly ooze over her, getting in her pores. While she sleeps, the gel will rejuvenate her cells, like always, and stimulate her neural pathways. She only looks up a few times to see if Goaty is watching.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the “literature” that Dr. Webbo promised arrives. Instead of the usual dream nonsense, El’s ninth-grade volleyball coach, Mr. Rayford, is standing next to her first real boss, Jayjay Manter, and they’re both talking to El about the benefits of enhanced dreaming.

“Just think. You could learn a language, or even become a juggler.” Mr. Rayford juggles three volleyballs.

“I dunno,” El says to these authority figures, whom her conscious mind barely remembers. “I worry there’s a thin line between sleep-learning and indoctrination.”

“All learning is indoctrination,” says Jayjay, with the smirk that El remembers from all those awful staff meetings. “Information is never truly content neutral, right? The point is, you don’t want to be left behind.”

El keeps arguing with them until she wakes up, feeling crampy. Goaty is making a big show of not looking at her.

"Here’s what I don’t get, though.” Goaty is doing some painfully incompetent goat-yoga. “You’re happy to alter your body, and to some extent your mind, by flooding yourself with female hormones and nanotech. But you don’t want to enhance your dreams? You could learn to code in Whut, or understand the new disunified ultrasymmetry physics.”

“Could I finally understand why I put all of my money into a cryptocurrency that keeps trying to eat my drapes?”

“Hey!” Goaty stops in the middle of violent planking. “I never promised to keep gaining value. Or to be a perfect roommate. All I promised is I would solve the Byzantine Generals Problem. Have you been attacked by a Byzantine general even once since you invested in me? No, you have not. Success!”

El keeps noticing weird sensations, like she can actually feel her fat redistributing to her chest and hips, and her skin softening. She almost cried at an ad for shower-grout caulk. She can still remember being in her mid-50s and desperately wanting to transition from male to female. It was right after her divorce from Bessie, which had felt like the end of her life, even though the marriage had only lasted seven years.

Back then, one thought stopped El in her tracks: What if I’m just too old? The idea of starting over at age 54, or 55, just seemed insurmountable, and El pictured everybody looking at her and going, Who do you think you’re kidding? But after she decided not to take the plunge, she kept meeting people her own age and even older, who’d transitioned “late,” and who seemed serenely happy in their own skins.

For decades, El kept finding reasons to hold off, like Why not wait until after the Robertsons’ picnic? Or Maybe once I’ve made myself indispensable at this new job. And then there was always another occasion where El probably ought to make an appearance as a distinguished older gentleman rather than ... whoever she was going to be after transitioning. And that was part of the problem, really: El had a hard time visualizing the person she was going to be, and how people were going to react to her, and she was really good at convincing herself that it was fine either way.

Until one morning, El woke up and realized that a) she was 99 years old, and b) she no longer gave a shit. And it was not too late at all, because it was never too late, and whatever El did, she would still be the same person, in most of the ways that matter. And the harder you try to get “taken seriously,” the less serious you’re actually being.

El goes out and scrolls to the tea-dome, where some friends around her age are getting wrecked on Lapsang souchong and shortbread. Everybody congratulates El on the birthday and transitioning and just generally still being a work in progress.

Turns out Yen and Harriet and a few others have been doing the “enhanced dreaming” thing. “I woke up having memorized all of Samuel Coleridge,” says Harriet with a laugh. “You don’t want to get left behind.”

“I can do my own taxes now, thanks to the enhanced dreaming,” adds Aaron. “You don’t want to get left behind.”

“Why do you all keep repeating that phrase?” El says.

“Which phrase?” Yen asks.

El repeats it: “’You don’t want to get left behind.’”

“I never said that,” Harriet protests.

That evening, El has a hot date, so she reaches all the way into the back of her closet for the dress she bought 20 years ago and never wore, and she feels a moment of panic as she slips it on. Like this dress could burst into flames as soon as she clasps the clasp. Her skin is so sensitive, all of a sudden. “What’s the point of dying without ever once getting to be real?” El says out loud. She wiggles her thumb and a mirror appears, revealing a round-faced woman with her white hair in a bob, who could be one of the old ladies on that comedy show El used to watch. She looks cute, but unremarkable. Which ... is perfect.

This is the person El was trying so hard to visualize, back in her 50s.

She hasn’t really been aware of her own body for a decade or two, other than as a flawed vessel that could break down at any moment. What if her body could be a source of joy once more?

El’s date, a 117-year-old nonbinary person named Ray, insists on getting a pitcher of margaritas, because what’s one more artificial liver replacement? The two of them eat nothing but chips and guacamole and red-hot salsa. Ray is extremely cute, with pink streaks in their hair and a velvet jacket. But they mention that they’re also doing the “enhanced dreaming” thing—and they also randomly keep saying, “You don’t want to get left behind.”

El ends the date early, even though she was having a pretty good time.

The weird sales pitch is back in El’s dreams. This time, it’s Dr. Lathorp, the marriage counselor who kind of took Bessie’s side during their divorce. “I’m glad you’re working through your gender issues at last,” Dr. Lathorp says, with maximum condescension. “But listen, you need to sign up for the enhanced dreams. You don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t understand.”

“You mean, I don’t want to get left behind. That’s what everyone keeps repeating to me. Like they’ve been brainwashed.”

“‘Brainwashing’ has a lot of negative connotations. But nobody wants a dirty brain.” Dr. Lathorp sounds exactly the same as when she called El a supporting character in her own marriage.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass,” El says.

“I’m trying to help you.” Dr. Lathorp is scribbling with a pen that has no ink. “You don’t want Dr. Webbo to report that your faculties are impaired, or you could get put on Supported Living. You might not be allowed to leave your house without supervision, for instance.”

“If you were gonna threaten me, you shouldn’t have chosen the form of someone who was so bad at their job.” A chill is going all the way through El’s bones, and she suddenly doesn’t feel super confident of breathing.

When El looks again, Dr. Lathorp has turned into the state legislator that El interned for in college, Mitch Something-or-other. Mitch is holding out a piece of paper and saying, “C’mon, sign this, will ya? I have places to be.”

"What's the point of dying without ever once getting to be real?"

El ignores Mitch in favor of studying her surroundings. They’re in Mitch’s old office: glass case of softball trophies, shelf of unread books, beautiful desk supporting a crappy computer. El starts pulling books off the shelf and throwing them on the floor.

She’s just remembered two things: dream geography is bullshit. And El studied interior-decor coding for five years.

There, at the back of the bookshelf, El finds a ragged hole in the fake wood. She pushes her hand through, and then her whole body, until she’s in a dank secret passageway. Behind her, Mitch keeps explaining the many benefits of dream enhancement, in a stentorian tone. El keeps going down the passageway as it gets deeper and narrower, until she finds a bunch of roots dangling from the dirt over her head.

El can’t help giggling at the literalism, as she pulls on the roots and gets herself root access. As she suspected, there’s been some corruption here: a malicious codeset that embeds instructions like DON’T VOTE, NEVER CHALLENGE AUTHORITY, STAY HOME, YOU DON’T WANT TO GET LEFT BEHIND. She wishes she had a way to make screenshots of all this, and then her dream helpfully provides an old-school digital camera, like from her youth.

“I’m leaving,” El tells Mitch, who’s followed her down into the tunnel. “People are going to find out about your scam. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll clear the hell out of my dreams.”

“But—” Mitch Something-or-other sputters. “You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“Terrible mistakes are kind of my thing,” El says. “But you know what? I’m a success on my own terms.” She doesn’t even realize for a moment that she just quoted Goaty.

She pushes her way back into Mitch’s office, and keeps shoving through doors, until she finally pushes out of the gel’s dreamscape.

Back in the real world, El sits up, with the last of the gel evaporating off her skin. Goaty is lotus-positioning at the foot of her bed, staring at her.

“Whatever you just did, you should do it way more often,” Goaty says. “You’ve never slept this entertainingly before.”

El just rolls her eyes, and searches her image folder for the screenshots she took of the secret code at the heart of the enhanced-dreaming program. “You know what?” she says to Goaty. “I think I’m turning into the kind of old lady who makes trouble.”

Goaty is too busy trying to eat her only dignified pair of pants to answer.

Charlie Jane Anders is the Hugo, Nebula, and Locus Award–winning author of All the Birds in the Sky and The City in the Middle of the Night.

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