A Strange Case Of Dysphoria

So, dear readers of the page, I am experiencing some dysphoria again. I fucking hate how it comes and goes. Like, one day (or even one hour, one minute) I’ll be fine, and the next is no bueno.

Right now, it’s all woe is me. I’m sir’d all the time, and I am too scared to correct most people. Especially now, during winter (not even winter yet) where I’m wearing big coats and things like that, I am getting heavily sir’d.  It is extremely frustrating and painful. I really don’t know what to do.

I need a shit ton of money. One, I need to pay off my damn student loan. Two, and more important for me than that damn student loan – I need money for transition. I need an orchi so I can stop taking the spiro. I think it is really fucking with my kidneys pretty badly. More on that at a later date. I need to get my name changed. Fuck, I need to get my voice in order. It is still very man-like, and, aside from my face, is what brings the sirs on hardcore.

I have recently begun thinking about FFS (facial feminization surgery) and a boob job. When I started transition, and even up until a couple months ago, I wouldn’t have thought these surgeries would be necessary for me to live as authentic a life as possible. And an authentic life, for me, means society at large seeing me as a woman, even if it is as an ugly woman.

FFS is stupid expensive. We’re talking tens of thousands of dollars. Making tiny changes to the bone structure of my face would allow me and everyone around me to not have to play the gender game. Of course, my friends gender me correctly. Even then, though, I have doubts as to their beliefs. I know I shouldn’t care. I have an amazingly supportive wife in Egg; I just can’t helping thinking that a little work on my face would help.

I think I already covered the BA thing. Dr. Tangpricha just told me not to expect much, if any, more boob growth. So let’s just throw another five thousand in the transition pot why don’t we? Fuck, this is getting depressing.  The boob job is doable. HAHAHAHA who am I kidding. I have never had five thousand dollars. I would be surprised if I ever do. But I’ve got to find a way to come up with that.

If I can scrounge up a paltry eight thousand dollars, I would be able to get my orchi, a BA, and my name change. I am still shooting for an orchi and name change in 2018. I don’t know how to manifest that shit. Maybe it’s time for some spell work?! And some good, old-fashion hard work. I’m not against working. It’s just that every time I start working, I get sick. I was on disability, but disability does not give enough money, and even though my Crohn’s is actively flaring atm, my bipolar disorder is in check. When I was awarded disability last time, all of my issues were popping off at the same time. It was a nightmare.

The thing about disability though, at least for me, is that it made me feel worthless. Now, I am beginning to feel worthless again, but I am not being paid for it. I think this sucks even more. I need a job that will respect my pronouns and gender identity. Fuck, I’m going to make myself even more sick than I already am. Oh wells, dear readers of the page, I hope 2018 is better than 2017.

I shouldn’t complain, and I need to stop. I have a wonderful Egg who provides for the both of us. And I cannot forget my parents. Fuck, I am one lucky bitch. I could have completely unsupportive parents and a wife who wants to divorce. Instead, unlike many of my trans siblings, I have clothes and food and shelter and loving (insert caveat) parents and an eggcellent wife who supports and loves me for me.

It’s just hard, you know? Well, if you’re cis, you prolly don’t. Recently, I told one of my friends about FFS. She looked at me in horror – like, why would you want to do that. She cannot understand. She can accept that I’m trans, but I don’t think she really understands what that means, and what dysphoria is and all that entails. I shouldn’t expect her to. Her reaction kind of caught me off guard, though. After explaining FFS, as I said, her face was one of abject horror as she wondered out loud how I could ever want to go through something so invasive. But damn, I look like a man, and there are no if, and, or buts about it. She is a kind soul, and one of my closest friends, but in that light, well – it was hard for me, and still is. I just want my closest friends to understand that a lot of these surgeries that people deem elective are not elective at all. They are life-affirming and life saving!!

The more I write, the more I think. I think it is time to stop writing. Sorry, dear readers of the page. I’ll write more soon.

p.s. I haven’t forgotten about electrolysis. I am choosing, actively, not to write about it at the moment.

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