#cw: body dysmorphia

[bimbosanddolls]

Hey Kiki! I'm looking to become more of a doll as well. Can you share some eating habits you've changed?

Sure. Though let me start off by saying I'm not a nutritionist or dietitian... so take my words with a grain of salt.

I honestly haven't made any like, super drastic changes. And I've only cut two things out of my diet completely. I love my surgary cereals, but I've replaced them with healthier, multi-grain options. I've also stopped drinking sugary pop/soda, choosing water or sugar-free options instead.

Other than that, I'm just a lot more aware of things like sugar intake and trans fats, and I make more of an effort to get fruits and veggies into my diet. At the very least, I usually have a green smoothie for lunch.

I do also allow myself two days a week where I can have a treat. Because sometimes a girlie just needs a little treat.

I also try, as much as my disability allows, to keep active.

All in all, things are working really well! I've lost almost 20 pounds in about 6 months since I really started to focus on this. Still have a way to go to get down to my goal weight, but progress is progress!

Kiki's Note: I think its important to note that I am not advocating for like "thin is in" or anything like that. My body dysmorphia materialized as a young age and I always hated the person I saw in the mirror. As such, I didn't always treat my body the best because it didn't feel like it was "mine" anyway. Now that I'm transitioning, I simply want to get myself back to a "healthy" weight so I can feel good about the girl I see in the mirror. I don't know if I'll ever be "skinny" but know I'm gonna be hot af so that's all that matters.

[akaritheotaku]

Hello there! This is a little snippet I wrote a while ago.

Cw under the cut!!!

Tw: Thoughts of self-harm, body dysmorphia, and gore. Read carefully.

The mirror tells the truth because it can’t lie. But even as I stare at the pudgy girl reflecting back at me, I adjust the waistband of my underwear on my skin, desperately trying to make it look like some semblance of a change is present on my developing body because ‘it can’t be true’. No matter how hard I try, though, my stomach and legs stick out of the black cotton like thick marshmallows skewered on my bones. I hate it. I drop a hand to my midsection and pinch my fat between two fingers, a gory scene of blood pouring from my torso as I cut off more and more of the skin and fat plaguing my body playing through my mind. I twist the chubby skin between my fingers and stare with longing. ‘It’s a shame I’d die from blood loss if I tried’ I think, releasing the skin.

[an-sceal]

I got a haircut the other day, which was awesome. I've spent the past 48 hours looking at a stranger in the mirror when I pass one. I don't ever have a firm picture or solid understanding of "that is me in my body" when I look at myself anyway, just a vaguely recognized set of individual features (my ear with the elf point, my nose that is either too big or okay depending on the day, but is always the same shape, my eyebrows that are psychotic, my tattoo that is art.) Now my hair is short but still too long, which I will fix when I get home.

Before the haircut I was having a third or fourth day of feeling like nothing I was doing with or for my body was sitting correctly. Nausea from meds that are supposed to help my autoimmune disease, and bloating from meds that are supposed to help my stomach deal with the meds that help the arthritis, and fatigue from... everything? Anything? Breathing? (Possibly breathing, because allergens, and thus inflammation triggers, are high.) Clothes and hair and posture and voice were all clashing in this thing that contains me but doesn't fit. And I have had this body for many decades now, minus a part here or there, so I am very used to not feeling at home in it. Not feeling like my body is any sort of representation of who I am, or even a reliably identifiable placeholder for the spaces marked "ME".

It took me over 40 years to figure out that I wasn't a failure as a girl, as a woman, as a "female", even after I knew there were options well beyond the two I'd been given, or the notion of others thought I understood. Part of that was down to assuming I wasn't *____* enough to count. I didn't know what, but I knew I didn't hate my body, so I couldn't be trans, or even not-a-woman in some other way. Sometimes I clung to that as a defense, firm in reminding myself that I didn't, so I wasn't. Sometimes it just was, existing, a fact like my body, which is obvious to everyone else but a mystery to me at the best of times. In my mind, even though I've rarely felt at peace or in sync with "woman", I'd never had a moment where I explicitly felt that I wasn't a woman, much less one where I hated the idea. How would I have hated something that people told me I was, when I literally need to rely on the vague shape of myself and the labels people I trust have given me just to find myself in a mirror?

I was pretty clear for a long time on how I'd never felt any sort of gender dysphoria. Quite the opposite-- the things I held on to, got familiar with like the extra bump of my ear or the round tip of my nose, were all times I'd felt the MOST grounded and at home in this alien ecosystem I keep my consciousness in. Times I felt GOOD about how my hair fell or my clothes sat or my insides settled into my outsides. No dysphoria for me, no, no! Euphoria!

And that’s true! I have felt gender euphoria, lots of it, and bodily euphoria as I have moments where I'm seated and perfect inside my little squishy home. It never occurred to me that those opposite times, when I would have given ANYTHING to step outside my horrible hovel of a skin prison, might be... not how everyone feels. I'm not talking about self-harm or suicidal ideation-- the escape only counts if the me I know and am is intact when I emerge. I'm talking days where every part of me I recognized felt so disconnected and WRONG in relation to who I believed my body made me that I couldn't find any response but intense anxiety and eventual dissociation to cope with it.

I am not drift-compatible with my own body.

[daftpatience]

woo woo topsurgery waitlist vent comic incoming woo woo

[diagnosed-crazy]

Most of the time, I can do fine with filters. They don’t upset me. They can be fun.

But today...was not that kind of day.

I went to take a picture today, and I was moving my phone around and clicked a setting I didn’t mean to.

The filter option came up on my phone.

And the amount that every filter I looked through changed my nose made me want to cry. I’m not usually too bad with my body dysmorphia. It usually revolves around my muscles because I am much more uncomfortable and conscious of those, but seeing how small they tried to make my nose in those filters really set me off today.

I didn’t need anything else to make me upset today. I didn’t want to spend an hour being unable to look at my own face. It hasn’t ever been about my nose before, so I’m real glad that is now a thing.

[eggtomatosoup]

what's wrong?

[propheciesanddreams]

Got called “miss” and “she” and a name I don’t (version of my government name that’s far too fem for me) a ton today.

It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.

I wish I could be one of those androgynous enbies but my body just will never look that way. I will always appear as a woman.

The thing is… I don’t hate being feminine. I just hate when that’s the only option I’m presented with. I used to think I hated the color pink, for years. Rebelled against it. I really like pink. I felt the most me when I had pink hair but sometimes I fear if I wear pink I’ll only be seen as “ma’am” “she” “sweetie (condescending)”

It’s probably too late to be stressing about this. I just hate knowing I’ll never be seen for who I am. Everyone will always try to fit me into a box.

[molabuddy]

regret.

[solarmorrigan]

[cw: weight loss, body image issues/body dysmorphia]

Consider: Steve whose migraines become unmanageable for a while, or who falls into a harsh depressive episode after everything with Vecna, or who experiences reduced mobility or chronic pain due to the many varied injuries he's picked up over the years, or any combination of the above

Steve who loses his appetite and who isn't able to keep up with the workout routine he used to have and who loses weight and loses muscle mass and fucking hates it

He's always been on the lean side, but he hasn't been skinny since probably eighth grade, when he was still gawky and growing into his frame. But this is different; this isn't awkward adolescence, something he'll grow out of, this is the sight of his ribs through his skin and his hipbones jutting out and his wrists getting too skinny for his watch. This is feeling cold all the time and struggling to lift things he used to be able to pick up without much trouble

(It's fear, too. Not just a fear that he'll never get back to where he used to be, but fear that something will happen and he'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to help. Too weak to protect anyone the way he should)

There are days he can't quite stand looking at himself; can't stand the sight of baggy clothes that used to fit perfectly, can't stand looking at tired eyes staring out of the sharpened angles of his face. He feels insubstantial this way. Like anyone could look right past him - right through him

Eddie never does, though. He never treats Steve differently, except to worry about his health - but never what he looks like. He hugs Steve as tightly as before, kisses him just as hard as before, whistles at him when he catches Steve in the middle of dressing, just like before. Like he isn't disappointed that Steve doesn't look good anymore, like he isn't even bothered

He'll hold Steve, and pull him close on bad days, and he'll let Steve be upset, but he'll never stand for Steve speaking badly about himself. He'll always push back, sometimes gently, sometimes loudly, always reminding Steve that he loves him, and what he looks like is a part of that. Reminding him that Eddie loves it all

"But you can gain it back, if you want to. When you're doing better," Eddie tells him

"What if I'm never doing better? What if I can never get back to where I was?" Steve demands. "What if this is just my body now?"

"Then it is." Eddie kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "Then I'll help you learn how to love it as much as you did before. As much as I still do."

And he says it so openly, so honestly, that even on bad days, Steve thinks that maybe - maybe he could be okay

[lostmf]

I wish I could stop counting every bite ..

[makzmollpol]

Merry Yaoimas

dysmorphia

[vinzulu]

[wisedawn13]

Little thought I just had that falls under this idea: when lwj finds wwx and A-Yuan in Yiling, and wwx tells him that he "birthed him from his own body" lwj goes through a LOT of emotions very quickly because... When? How? Who? WHO? Obviously, wwx didn't, he jokes, but yeah

Just lwj having a crisis because, despite the fact that age-wise, he makes absolutely no sense and all that, he knows it's an actual possibility. He definitely also has an initial reaction of "WHEN DID WE CONCEIVE A CHILD!?" because his brain is in chaos mode when it comes to wwx

----------

Anyway that's my silly little thought of the night. They obviously get it cleared up but it shook lwj to his core. And, despite neither of them sharing dna with A-Yuan, they are both his fathers 😌🖤

Link to thread

Transmasc WWX Canon Era Thoughts

CW // mentions of transphobia and body dysmorphia

wwx knew he was a boy when he was around 4 years old

his parents were incredibly supportive of lil wwx's gender identity

when jfm found him, he'd misgendered wwx (since he wasn't aware of the change) but wwx calmly corrected him

only the Jiangs know wwx is trans while the rest of the cultivation world believes he is a cis man

wwx is not ashamed of who he is, but there are people who are cruel so jfm and yzy deem it best if they keep the fact of him being trans hidden

wwx is not treated any differently than any of the other guys

he quickly creates a talisman that lowers his vocal range for 24 hours (he has to redo it every day)

puberty is a horrible experience for him and he becomes increasingly uncomfortable

his body changes in ways he hates and he begins binding as a teen

the whole CR arc is the same, though there's an underlying anxiety about being found out because he doesn't know how the Lans view transgender people

wwx meets nhs

they quickly become close and nhs comes out as non-binary (they/he/she)

wwx feels comfortable enough around them to come out as trans

they are incredibly supportive of wwx and never tell a soul

the next person to find out wwx is trans is lwj

this happens day 2 in the cave of the xuanwu of slaughter

wwx no longer has the means to write a new talisman for his voice and he also has to remove his bindings to avoid being hurt (more)

lwj doesn't bat an eyelash at the knowledge: "Wei Ying is Wei Ying"

after lwj falls asleep that night wwx cries

lwj continues to be the only person who knows outside of the Jiangs and nhs and that never changes as time moves on

wwx, the yllz, dies and the world hates him as a man

lwj mourns him as a man

wwx has always been a man

13 years pass and wwx is summoned into the body of mxy, a young man, and once he has a grasp of the situation (doesn't take long) he weeps

he has the body he'd always wanted

no more binding

no more voice changing talismans

no more hiding

no more hating

he is free

lwj's heart soars when he sees how happy wwx is in his new body

if nhs has a smug little smile when he sees wwx comfortable in his skin, well that's nobody's business but their own

----------

I really want to write a fic about this

Link to thread

[theharellan]

Approval + Mythal showing the cliff faces and the wild ocean beneath a dark starry night for the first time (post physical body! mythal is showing all of the new beautiful parts of this world)

Approval Meme | Not Accepting | @mercysought

He tries to smile for her.

She is glad, after all, and he is glad to be with her.

(Is he not?).

The night sky is vast and bright above them, teeming with distant stars and brilliant clouds of dust. What darkness does settle his new eyes cut through. It was made for this world, the whole of it, as certain in sunlight as moonlight.

Smooth pebbles lie hard beneath the bare soles of his feet as he stumbles clumsy towards the rush of the sea. She walks behind him, one hand extended lest he need it. When he does, when he grasps it, her touch prickles as it didn't before. Where once he felt only her touch, her joy, now his intermingles. Overwhelming, even at the best of times.

In an intermittent pocket of sand, she stops, and he beside her. A thousand pricks beneath his flesh, biting with such agony that his tongue crashes against the roof of his mouth.

"Is it not beautiful?" she asks in a voice that crests with the waves.

He has seen it before, he thinks, the thought almost petulant in his head. He has felt it, he has been it. He has felt the tug of the moons sweeping him to the shore, crashing upon the sand as Joy dances over him, delighting in discovery.

But now it is a stranger.

He can know it only through his hands, his skin; the world is what he makes of it, and all he can do is change it. All he can do is destroy.

Wisdom does not answer, for he does not know. He walks towards the waves in silence, the pebbles giving way to smaller and smaller pieces until the ground is shifting sand beneath his feet. His footprints sink, and he sees in his path pockets of bubbles where creatures shrink from the sharp-beaked birds that swarm further down the beach.

Settling in the low tide, he feels the ocean retreat around him. Sand slides beneath the sides of his feet, and he stands tall against its pull. Something akin to joy flutters in his chest, and he looks down to see the shape of his heels where the sea has pulled the water back.

It is the breath of the world, the same that fills his lungs. The same that fills hers.

And then the tide breaks over him.

Suddenly he knows why the shorebirds skirt the tide on stilted legs, why the cliffside surrenders. He stands on the bones of living creatures, ground into meal by her loving caress.

It is devouring, destroying. It changes him, his skin bursting with pinpricks rough beneath his fingers, as though a thousand pine needles push out from within.

Bitter salt coats his tongue when he gasps, cringing in the flow of the sea. She comes to him, unflinching, the trail of her dress dragging in the current. She lays her hand on him, as gentle as foam that peaks the waves. Where it settles, he changes again, skin smoothing beneath the palm of her hand.

He looks at her with eyes that sting with the same salt as the sea.

"It is beautiful," he tells her, weeping. His tears carve trails down his cheeks that she does not dry with her sleeve, but leaves for the moonlight to drink. "But when does it end?"

She is the mercy of the world, benevolence made flesh, and if anyone knows it is her. Mythal smiles in the face of his dismay, without malice.

"Never, my love, if you do not let it."

He does not know if he approves or disapproves

[clarissaclaire]

If i saw someone walking on the street who looks exactly like me i wouldnt realise because i have no idea what i look like

[sphylor]

For the kiss prompts, number 21 with Mountaindew if you wanna! Please and thank you 🖤

can i just say thank you so so much for sending this?? i havent been able to stop thinking about it all day KJNFHBS ive been tossing around some ideas in my head for a couple of months now but this helped me turn those into actual writing shjbfd also on AO3

21. …on a place of insecurity. (cw for body dysmorphia)

Dew picked up the pair of jeans he had tossed to the floor before going to sleep the previous night and stepped into them. They slipped past his calves and over his knees with ease as he pulled them up. When they reached the meat of his thighs, though, he had to shimmy them up a little. He did his fly up and turned to reach for a tshirt but paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Something felt off. He stepped closer, trying to figure out what it was. He looked at where his trousers met his waist and noticed how they dug into his pale skin, causing it to ever so slightly spill over the top of his jeans. He frowned. 

There was a knock at the door and the sound of creaking as it opened.

“Hey, firefly. Are you ready to come help me in the greenhouse?” 

Dew didn’t turn to greet Mountain, he didn’t even lift his gaze to look at the earth ghoul’s reflection in the mirror. His eyes were still fixed on the fat of his waist and his brain was filled with roaring static. His view of the mirror was blocked, though, as Mountain stood in front of him. Dew sucked in a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been withholding and looked up at Mountain

“What’s wrong, droplet?” The concern in Mountain’s voice echoed the expression on his face. 

“I-” Dew faltered. He felt stupid for feeling so weird about it. He looked down at the ground in shame. Except his gaze never reached the ground, it got caught again on his waist. 

Mountain followed his line of sight and smiled softly. “I see...”

“I gained weight, Mount.” Dew’s voice shook slightly as he said it and he felt even more pathetic.

“You did.” Mountain agreed. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling too great about it, though?”

Dew shook his head and Mountain hummed as moved to kneel before Dew.

“I can understand where those feelings might be coming from… May I touch you?”

Dew nodded and Mountain gently placed his hands on his waist. “Do you remember how thin you were when you were first summoned? I do,” the earth ghoul brushed his calloused thumbs against Dew’s soft skin. “Your hip bones jutted out so prominently,” he moved his thumbs to circle the bumps of Dew’s hips, delicately pressing into the small layer of fat between the skin and the bone. “And your stomach looked like it had never been home to a good meal in its life,” Dew shuddered as Mountain pulled a hand away from his hip to stroke down the gentle curve of his belly. “I thought you were the most beautiful ghoul I had ever seen. But I also didn’t know if you were gonna make it-” Mountain’s voice broke slightly as he looked up at Dew, who wiped a tear from his cheek before the earth ghoul could notice it falling. “I still think you’re the most beautiful ghoul I have ever seen. But now? You have never looked more alive.”

Dew didn’t know what to say. He was overwhelmed with emotions that he couldn’t even name. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to tell Mountain how much he appreciated his words, his whole existence. To tell him how grateful he was each and every day to have met him. But he could only manage to say one thing. 

“I love you.”

Mountain smiled, clearly knowing everything that those words meant in that moment. “I love you too, firefly. Each and every part of you.” He lowered his head to press a kiss into the softness of Dew’s stomach, his lips as soft as rose petals. He moved further up and pressed more kisses into his skin. Over old scars and new curves. Looking up at the mirror, he saw every so-called imperfection suddenly made perfect. He wondered if this was how Mountain, how everyone in his pack, saw him every day. Mountain worked his way up Dew’s body with his kisses until he reached his face, where he stood up, planted a kiss on the tip of Dew’s nose then backed away.

“Hey!” Dew frowned.

Mountain laughed lightly. “What?”

“You forgot a spot.” Dew pouted and pointed to his lips.

Mountain raised an eyebrow. “You’re still meant to be helping me in the greenhouse today, remember? I can’t just give you your reward for that now.”

Dew somehow managed to pout even more and Mountain rolled his eyes. He bent down and gave Dew a little peck on the lips. 

“A little taster, then. Just for you.”

Dew laughed and shook his head “I guess that will have to last me all day.” He threw on a shirt and quickly brushed his hair before putting it up in a ponytail. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror again. This time he smiled. Only a small one, but it was a smile nonetheless. 

The fire ghoul looked up at Mountain’s reflection in the mirror. “Hey Mount?”

“Yes?”

Dew turned around. “Thank you.” Mountain crossed the room and cradled Dew’s face with a large, warm hand. “Thank you for letting me love you as much as you let me.”