This isn’t Bravery

⌈This might me triggering for those suffering from depression and/or dysphoria⌋

People tell me, how brave I am for taking this path. For transitioning. They talk about it as if I am some sort of hero. But I’m really not.
What exactly is brave about this journey? This is not a choice. It was forced upon me. 
Being transgender means being in pain. All the time. And you can’t escape it, because it is who you are. I’m trapped in this body of a stranger. 

It’s not simple
It’s rusted nails breaking skin
Lightning flashes in a hurricane
The crack of a body hitting the pavement

It’s the pinch of nails in your palms
The tremble of your legs when you think they’re watching
The ache in your chest when your binding is too tight
But not tight enough

It’s not a stormcloud, it’s a typhoon
It’s not a discomfort, it’s torment
Its the steel beams in your chest snapping under pressure
Your skeleton crumbling so maybe your chest will be flat then

But all those rusted nails and steel beams
Heated by the fire and fury of passion
Remold into something new

Someone who can stand a bit straighter
Speak louder
Tip their chin up
And show the world who they are
Who he is.

Dysphoria is a skyscraper crumbling to ash
But it’s also scraps of wreckage
Reminded into a safe haven
A place of rest
A place of comfort

— Skypath, “Dysphoria”, hellopoetry.com

I’m not brave. Not at all. But if I want to survive, I have to do this. I have to do this to be able to be happy. Because after all those years I stopped pretending, I’ve smashed the mask I was wearing to please everybody else but me. And yet, they call me selfish.
I hate the fact that I feel unsafe in my body without being able to change anything about it on my own. What can I do to endure the pain? Sure, I can bind. Sure, I can wear a packer and the clothes I want. But that doesn’t help me escape. I read. I read a lot. I try to run away from reality as often and as long as I can and I’m losing track of my life during the process. I have to do so many things. But here I am, sitting in the living room at 3am being scared of my own future. Or am I? Currently I don’t really feel anything. I’m sorry for being miserable. But this is my life. This is the truth.

Extra lessons after school
Explaining how you are not yourself
Such small words used so simply
Cut like knives through your chest
‘She’

Paraphrasing arguments
Summarizing discipline
Faceless family with too much on their own plate to understand
Why you don’t like what’s on yours
‘She’

Tightness in your chest not because your binding is too small
But because it isn’t
The name of a state has never hurt so much
‘She’

You look in the mirror and grimace
Shower so fast you don’t have to see yourself
Roll their words in your mind until you’re leaning over the toilet
‘She’

Humming summer days fade into early autumn nights
Long days enforce what they have already told you
Dress code laws repeated by tongue
And hasty dressing in changing rooms
Hoping they won’t notice you
‘She’

But you are an active volcano
There are wolves in your chest and lions in your brain
And they can’t change you
You get home and look in the mirror and sign into skype
A simple word that only drops one letter
Has never had so much power

He.

— Skypath, “She”, hellopoetry.com

I’m so incredibly tired. Now that HRT is getting closer, it’s getting harder to wait for it. August 22nd will be my first appointment for the endocrinologist. After that all I need is my therapist writing the description. I’m so close. And while I’m getting closer to myself, with every step I take I walk further away from my best friend. That’s how it feels like. She keeps ignoring me when I correct the pronouns she uses. She rolls her eyes at me when I’m openly dysphoric because I can barely hide it anymore. For fucks sake I’ve been hiding it for 11 years!

I’m desperate

I want to help myself, I want to cut myself free from this body. I want to hit myself over and over again to wake me up from this nightmare but I am awake. 

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