Quote from: HeatherS on March 20, 2016, 06:08:26 PM
Feeling like some cruel being is ripping my heart from my chest everytime I realise my body is male.
I've felt relationship heartbreak, this is the same feeling, only a whole lot worse.
Inside my head, my broken heart and my soul, I'm female.
Outside I'm a male with feminine hips and B cup chest.

I see FTM transgender men daily on blogs and would gladly die for just 1 hour as their before picture. At the end of the hour, I'd lay down with the largest grin on my face while I wait for the white light.

I know deep down that being born mixed up gender issues is not the worst thing that could happen to me, I could have been born into a poor region of a 3rd world or war torn country, I could have been born with life limiting disabilities or not even made it past childhood.
Those thoughts keep me alive and my make me eternally thankful for psychological and probable genetic/hormonal mess my life is.

One day this caterpillar may have her moment as a butterfly, but for now it remains a beautiful nightly dream.

OMG! That amaizing! Such heart warming post

Quote

I know deep down that being born mixed up gender issues is not the worst thing that could happen to me, I could have been born into a poor region of a 3rd world or war torn country, I could have been born with life limiting disabilities or not even made it past childhood.
Those thoughts keep me alive and my make me eternally thankful for psychological and probable genetic/hormonal mess my life is.

One day this caterpillar may have her moment as a butterfly, but for now it remains a beautiful nightly dream.

Keep up the good work!

                                                                   Love, Sarina!

Quote from: Missy D on March 19, 2016, 08:43:13 PM
I have actually written this piece somewhere else before  The words are my own, but it's not new:


Here's an odd way of thinking about it  Not correct but just a little story.....

Imagine that the world is completely normal, and as we know it, but you've somehow been given a full on Elvis Presley dress up costume. It's the best one ever!!! It's got rhinestones and a huge belt and wiggling hips, thick black hair and gold sunglasses, the works... It even, somehow, has the magical power to change your voice to his.

Sadly the price for putting it on is that you can't take it off. You aren't Elvis, but the costume is so convincing, so real, that the rest of the world thinks that you are. Everywhere you go people are like: "Oh my God it's Elvis" and "Over here Elvis, sign this autograph"

They think that, because you've got the costume, you have Elvis's personality. And that you like what Elvis likes. Your friends buy you cheeseburgers and put you on first in the Karaoke. To please them, to try and get over the experience, you see if it works for you. You look like Elvis, so why not be Elvis? You go to Memphis and record a few albums, you trade your car for a pink Cadillac and you start calling your BBF Colonel Tom Parker.

But you don't have Elvis's personality. You aren't Elvis. Elvis was Elvis and you are you. There was only one king, he was THE King. You aren't. Sad and lonely little person trapped inside this stupid costume. It gets to you, this being unable to walk down the street without people, even friends and family, calling you Elvis.

When all you want to do is curl up in the corner, shed a few tears, and take off that disgusting, heavy, stifling, ill-fitting, wrong, not true to you costume and emerge from it a normal person. One of them, to be accepted as such. Never to be thought of as Elvis Aaron Presley ever again for as long as you live.

But you're The King. Or they think you're The King. You reach out to undo the costume zip. Then you realise that doing so will kill The King. Thousands will weep bitter tears... You let go. You leave the house and it's back to "Hi Elvis." and "Where's the follow up to Jailhouse Rock?"

And you can't stand it any more. You go for the zip again that night and you finally manage to tug it down just a crack. You go out the next day and someone vicious shouts at you from across the street: "You aren't really Elvis. You're just pretending."

And finally it's over. His words are, somehow, kindness veiled with cruelty. You know that it is possible to stop this. Somehow.

What a flight of fancy lol!!!    xx

OMG! This is great, I love this story.

For a long time in my teen years it was mostly just, why does my body not feel right? And not having an answer for it. For a long time it was wondering how come it bothered me so much to have curves and no one else? Why was there a part of me that felt missing? It was realizing I didn't want the body other cis girls wanted and realizing my strong desire to have a flat chest and everything else a masculine body has. Before going on T back when I didn't pass I relate to the feeling of wearing a costume you can't take off, everyone saw me one way but that wasn't how I saw myself.

When dysphoria hits me it feels like...I guess like being sucked up by quick sand, I am trying to escape but I keep sinking. I'm trapped within this frame but there is nothing I can do right now to immedietly relieve me of the intense discomfort I have about certain features or lack there of. And I have to really try hard to not want to just give up and be swallowed up.