the easiest way for me to describe it would be to say that it makes me feel like i'm not a real person. because in a way, i'm really not. i sort of float around feeling like an orb of consciousness with no body, and it makes my whole life feel like a dream sometimes. but that's better than acknowledging that which i can't change for now, because when i'm forced to do that, it doesn't go so well. any little thing can do it. being called "she" all the time at work and at home, you'd think i'd manage to desensitize myself to that, but i can't. every one stings like an ice barb piercing through that little grey bubble of dissociation i'd constructed around myself and reminding me of what i look like, what i am, and how i'm seen by everyone. it reminds me that i am seen by everyone, whereas i'm normally content to pretend that i'm not by avoiding face-to-face interaction as much as possible. lonely as i get, i prefer not to draw attention to myself in public. i don't want people to see "this" and think it's "me".
no one ever hears my voice because i don't have one. there's one attached to this body, but it's not mine and i use it as sparingly as possible because i can't stand the sound of it. i like to cling to the lie that maybe i'll "pass" as long as i don't open my mouth, but with the exception of a couple of older folks who saw me from behind and corrected themselves as soon as i turned around, i know it's not really true. i avoid speaking up, talking over anyone, or calling to anyone from a distance just so they--and mostly i--will hear as little of that voice as i can get away with.
there are very few parts of this body that i feel are truly mine, that i feel are "real". that little scar on my nostril, that's mine. the two big toes that are completely different shapes despite being the same size, those are mine. so are the broken finger and the big, crooked teeth. and i'm fine with those things. i might be the only one who doesn't look at them and think they need to be "corrected", but they're among the few things i feel are part of the real me that i can see when i look in the mirror and they don't bother me at all. i prefer not to spend too much time in the mirror, because when i do look, i have the bitter temptation to turn to the side and see the shapes and curves that everyone else sees.
sometimes the little grey bubble bursts altogether. a lot of things can do it and i don't always know what those things will be, but it's included hearing someone gush about how a male family member is so handy (and they're so glad to have a man they can call on to do man things), hearing coworkers discuss their opinions of "transgenders" (and how they're basically all mentally ill men in dresses, but they don't judge!!), being forced to choose the ladies' room in a situation where there was no "family restroom" and there were a lot of men in the men's room, and hearing biological men complain about issues they have with their appearance--things i'd kill to have if only it meant actually being seen as a man at all. that's when i get short of breath, my eyes start watering, my hands start shaking, i become uncomfortably aware of myself again, and i have to go and hide away so no one will see me cry and panic like a stupid child. even when i'm "over" it, i'm not really over it. i can regain my composure within minutes and be back out there doing whatever it is i need to do, but it will be hours before i'm able to smile and laugh and forget myself again.
and as one can imagine, the effects of this dysphoria reach into all aspects of my life and cripple me. physical relationships just aren't possible, and even friendships are restrained, save for the tiny few who were there before-during-and-after the whole "coming out" business. people think i'm "just quiet" or "just shy" or that i just don't have a lot of confidence. and while i don't have any confidence, shyness is not my problem. i'm dying of loneliness, and i'm being held back by this awful feeling i can't get rid of. and i feel like, even if i finally get to transition and do away with it, i'll never be normal. sometimes i worry that it'll be too late. sometimes i worry that it won't be enough. but even then, i'd give anything to have it, just the same. i try not to think about it most of the time, but when i do end up thinking about it, it's almost all i can think about. and it makes me feel crushed, empty, and hopeless.
sorry if that went on too long or on too much of a tangent :^P i haven't had any way to really express or explain my feelings about dysphoria for a long time, so it kind of became a jumbled mess.