Similar to the thread I made about how did one cope with their dysphoria, I wonder what dysphoria was like for some members here. In my case it was odd. I had some dysphoria for sure before age 19, but around end of 2013 until I came out the following May I was very out out to lunch. I tried to pre-occupy my mind with studies and videos to increase my knowledge about the world around me (not trans-related). I recall however, feeling kind of like an empty shell. It wasnt too horrible, but it wasnt fun either. Once I started to buy a new wardrobe and start being more female I felt way way better and so damn excited. I stopped for about a month and a half or so a few months later. At that point I was convinced that it was a phase and I was doing it  for no good reasons. I dressed like a man and acted like one. I could remember telling myself that this is how it was suppose to be and for about a week felt fine enough. Then came the waking up at odd hours (poor sleep), the longings of wanting to be a girl  and that feeling that I could be a ''man'' again turned into a huge drag that felt crappy. This was about 2 weeks in but I still didint go full femme again until about another 3 weeks as I was stuck between what I want and what I felt I had to be. I allowed myself to continue my dream of living what I have wanted and started to present female again near mid october. After that I made it my mission to keep on going. I recall that money was tight though as I quit a good paying job and thought about joining the military. I would have had to go as a man and just the thought of that made me very anxious so I put it to the back burner. Over all life was ticking upward quickly until life imploded April last year. I thought I had to go back and I was a failure and not a true woman so I did try a detrasntion, but unlike trying to male in 2014 this was worse. I was anxious, depressed, panic attacks and much more. I started to self harm, I drank all things I didnt do in 2014 or before. Much like 3 years ago, my dysphoria did make me vomit, but during my last stab at ''manhood'' i would vomit like 7 times in a 5 minute period. As another form of self harm and to re-gain weight I came close to eat 3 whole bricks of butter. Not to mention the hopsital visits. Since living full time again I have been so much better, I can live and have my goals again. But I went through the pits too and thats what dysphoria looked like for me. May I be so bold to ask, what was dysphoria like for you??

Hugs-Ashley

It's kind of funny, because I just woke up from a dream in which I had a whole bunch of dysphoria.

I was at a party or event of some sort (I was not properly dressed for the occasion regardless of identity, but no one seemed to notice the sweatpants--which is odd because I don't think I even own sweatpants anymore) and I was having my picture taken in a sitting position. I had my promise ring on my right pinky and a blue ribbon on my left pinky. The people watching me get my picture taken (one of which was an older, more rigid-minded person in my life to whom I have not come out) asked me to take both the ring and ribbon off after the first picture, and then the horrible gut feeling started. I became aware of my posture and everything that I was doing. I had realized suddenly that I was sitting in a posture where my legs were split way apart and my arms were dangling between my legs. I realized that I didn't want to look that way in the pictures and so I wanted to adjust to a posture in which my legs were together or even crossed at the knees and my hands were stacked on top of each other, resting on my knees--a more feminine posture. I wanted to shift, but everyone was watching so I felt pressured. I stayed sitting in the same posture and tried to ignore the voice telling me this wasn't right by focusing on smiling and looking happy. That describes a LOT of aspects of how my dysphoria is now. Not all of it, but a lot of it.

As for how my dysphoria was in the past? Three words:

Constant psychological warfare.

It usually translated in every case to a feeling of worthlessness. I never felt like an empty shell, but I did find myself despicable.

I guess that led to either withdrawing from most activities other people were doing in life, and feeling like there's no point. If you've seen the film Trainspotting, imagine the sort of mindset of those characters. The main character explains while you're preoccupied with a single massive addiction, your only worry in life is where your next hit is coming from. If you quit drugs, then suddenly you're faced with your worth as a person, worrying about where you are going in life, bills, people, depression, etc. It's been much like that for me, only without any of the pleasures of being high. Dysphoria was a kind of underworld I was living in and not much really mattered there. I didn't have to worry about anything else while feeling inherently worthless. 

Trying to escape it was a bit like trying to get off drugs. It gets harder before it gets easier. The time you wasted comes into view. You feel absolutely horrible, and the transition process doesn't feel comfortable either. Now you have to learn to live life all over again. It is a long climb to the surface.

The only difference to my mind between dysphoric depression and a dire addiction is that depression has no high to keep you coming back for more. So it's a little bit easier, because there's a chance the "high" will be the life you want at the end of the tunnel. Even so, the similarities between the time spent in dysphoria and a miserable addiction are disturbingly similar to me.
 

Also,

When I was little I was more preoccupied with just living. If I wanted to be a ladybug for Halloween, Mommy made me a lady bug costume, no questions asked. If I told my parents or brother I wanted to be like Jubilee from the X men or Dot or Hexadecimal from Reboot, Jenny from Buckey O'hare or Ripley from Aliens when I grew up, no questions asked, I was humored as a child and it was left at that.

From the onset of puberty I'd have nightly crying fits. I couldn't ever really tell what was wrong early on. I'd wake up my parents and brother some nights because I'd be having such a loud fit. With my long term use of ritalin growing up, the body/facial hair was VERY slow to start, but when it began I felt just sheer terror and disgust. I tried everything from stealing my dads razors to shave it off, plucking each hair one by one from my face or body with tweezers, or I came across a lighter and would BURN/MELT the hairs away. I couldn't explain it, I only knew it was wrong, and it had to be stopped, and if it couldn't be stopped I didn't know what I would do. The crying fits at night got worse, I knew enough by this age what was wrong, and I would make up stories about why I'd wake up screaming/crying/bashing my head against the wall of my bedroom or bed post, to try and explain why I was upset without actually telling my father what was wrong, like, for example I was 'terrified of death, and realized one day we all will die.' (What I was really terrified of was living the rest of my life the way my body had began changing..)
Don't even get me started on my first wet dream.. I felt nauseous for over 6 months..

I finally got really good at shaving, but people started noticing the razors would be disappearing really fast, I was finally off of ritalin, and puberty began full swing.. self harm started around this point and drug abuse. Instead of waking my family crying every night, I'd cut and burn myself quietly in my room or the bathroom. I still ritualistically shaved all traces of hair from my face arms, legs, chest and stomach. (Thankfully there never really was much, but it still had to be done.) I'd finally discovered makeup, and nail polish, and found some of my mothers OLD clothes from high school that fit me and stole them. (Some really funky gothier stuff that really clicked with me.) I think somewhere around here the last piece of the puzzle fell into place for me and the awful dreadful white noise became a dull roar that could easily be tuned out. Mom and Dad flipped their wig. Instead of obey, I'd bring my outfits to school with me and change in the washroom.. I'd be sneaking out every weekend to go to the city in full on girl mode, and it was awesome..!

Then I graduated highschool, suddenly life stopped being about just living and enjoying my life and it became a mess of 'What am I going to do now? I'll never get married or have a job or a decent life if I stay a weirdo.' All of my fathers hurtful words from before now echoing in my mind, somewhere along the lines I gave up. I gave up who I was and I abused myself more and more until I finally fit the mould of what my parents, employers, the world, expected of me. I still wore makeup and painted my nails, but shaving my legs and the like became more of a seasonal thing. I'd go entire winters/fall without. I became an autonomous, dull, malicious, husk of a person who cared about three things; paying my bills, competing with other males and winning (in every way possible) and in my free time, I'd be drunk. I had plenty of girlfriends, but I would always be furious whenever they'd wear any of my clothes, like even my baggy t-shirts, or sweaters. I hated that it always looked better on them, even my most masculine of clothes..

Fast forward to now.

I don't think the drug addiction analogy fits for me, if I had to describe it as best I can, it'd be like sinking under water, you can't scream, you can't cry for help, you just sink. You can see the sunlight above the surface of the water, but it gets smaller and smaller and the water gets colder and colder and blacker until finally you're no longer there, its no longer there. There's just nothing. The water starts filling your lungs. You can either let it in, and drown, or fight like hell for the surface again.

In my elementary school years it was mostly about curiosity and being disappointed that I couldn't be more like the girls.  I wanted to wear their uniforms (good ol' Catholic school girl here), I wanted to hang out in their cliques, I had a easy time making friends with girls but a hard time making new friends with boys.  I didn't mind doing normal boy stuff, but I also wanted to do the girly things too. That was about as far as it went.

As I got closer to 8th grade and puberty started to kick in, the sexual component started to develop.  Now when I would see a girl dressed in something I found particularly attractive I'd get excited for two reasons. One out of attraction to her, but another out of the fantasy of being able to be like her, to wear those same clothes, to get the same attention she did.  Throughout high school and my young adult years this just continued to worsen. I'd see a woman dressed sexy and wish that I could be dressed the same.  I'd see a woman acting in a way that I found alluring and I'd want to copy it, to have that same je ne sais quois. Still it persisted that I made friends and related better to women than men.  When watching movies I found I could more easily identify with female characters than the male characters.  During all of these scenarios I'd feel a mix of anxiety, shame and often times depression.  I wanted so badly to be able to express those feminine qualities, yet I knew I had to keep it all hidden.  I didn't at that time really feel like a woman trapped in a man's body per se, but I did know my overall identity was much different than that of a cis-male.

As my 20's passed and I hit my 30's, it became more and more of a depressive feeling.  It wasn't just triggered by sight anymore.  I could be doing certain activities and randomly out of no where wish that I was in women's clothes, or doing something more feminine or whatever.  I'd become depressed as I started to realize my fantasies of magically becoming a woman overnight were never going to happen.  I was never going to experience life as a woman. 

Now that I've really connected with my own feelings and identity (thanks to months of therapy), it's a very different experience.  I realize that what I've considered normal for so long isn't.  That there's an experience of comfort in one's own body that I have never even known. Discomfort, awkwardness and shame have been normal for so long that I don't know what true "normal" or cis really is.  So now when dysphoria hits, it's very personal.  Now I feel like there is this woman inside me screaming to be set free.  Every time I'm forced to be in my male costume, it's depressing just to put on the clothes.  I hate being out among other people socializing as a male.  I feel awkward, disconnected and unable to relate to either men or women.  I feel like I'm living someone else's life and I just want to fast forward to the point where I get to live my own. Anxiety sets in over how long it's going to be before I get there.  Depression results from the reminder of the 39 years I've gone without dealing with this and the mess my transition is going to make of my life before things finally settle into a new normal.

I hope that helps.

I don't mean that it's like being actually addicted to drugs or that its addictive to be dysphoric, more that being in the state of dysphoria leaves you despondent and mentally clouded in a particular kind of way, like addiction kind of paralyses into a cyclic state. It's probably a crap analogy and I'm not the best at expressing myself.

The idea of drowning probably fits better. There definitely feels like there is a time limit to how long you can take this **** before you start fighting to breathe whether you want to or not.

Dysphoria was like ... life.  Most of my life I have known very little except dysphoria.  It wasn't like anything or unlike anything; it was just how life was.  I had nothing to compare it to, so I didn't know it was a thing.

In my 30s and 40s, I cross-dressed.  While there was a bit of an erotic component to it, I quickly realized that it just felt good quite apart from anything erotic.  It was a good way to be.  But I got overwhelmed with a desire to be "normal".  I dismissed it as a perversion, met the woman of my dreams and married her.

But those moments that had been free from dysphoria kept calling me.  It was only in the last couple of years, as I investigated the possibility that I might be trans that I started to recognize that most of my life was dysphoria, and it all started to make sense.

So how did it feel?  Dysphoria for me was the feeling that I didn't fit in, that I wasn't like anyone else, that I didn't belong.  It was wanting to be more feminine, and being repelled by the idea of being more masculine.  It was wanting to be masculine enough to not get beaten up or picked on, but at the same time not wanting to be masculine at all.  It was needing to excell at everything I did in order to convince people that I was good enough to be accepted.  It was living with my emotional thermostat turned down almost to zero in order to bear what otherwise would have been overwhelming.

It's my day to day companion. It's a sense of mis-fit with society around, resigned acceptance of another day, and doing what needs to be done to get through to the next sleep. Trying to ensure sleep.

It's being aware. Physically aware - certain inconvenient truths, and that gait/posture is incorrect (my instinct is to correct it in opposition to my assigned gender). Socially aware, the all pervasive perversion of 'being the man' and the ubiquity of advertising to women - they both grate. Socially aware that I am verbose, that I use female language patterns, and I have to 'cut and shut' dialogue to a snappy one liner otherwise, I mis fit. Aware of the emotional dialogue and body language around, and being able to read it. And that gets me into trouble, my in built lie detector.

Emotional soup, just beneath the surface - a self denial of all the hurt and tears that I want to show, but like a well trained monkey, do not.

Some nights it's too much. Some nights the usual sleep inductions don't work, some nights I mirror back the pain and make it tangible. The sleep then comes, but the shame follows, like day follows night.

The silent fear that I am one of those folk, from years of transphobic rantings of a bygone age. The deep knowledge that I am not cis-het 'normal'. The cowardice born from decades of being the scape goat, and the codependent, locked into an unholy trist of FOG.

Maybe tonight, I will be in my dreams.

Rowan

Hello,

I haven't been on this forum for a few years, since I was pre-HRT.  Back then, I was trying to understand this dysphoria and how it prevented me from living.  Now, I'm happily out full time in all aspects of my life  and have been for two years.

I'm  back browsing the forum because I have recently been dealing with some significant dysphoria.  I am generally comfortable with myself, but the choices I made while oppressed by depression I continue to deal with.  I knew these problems would still be present through transition and long after.  But I didn't realize that they would trigger dysphoria.  It is this feeling like I've been living in some elaborate mental projection of myself.  It is the feeling now of being so completely disconnected with the person I used to be  that somehow that last two years of sanity and happiness don't matter.

As an example, I owe a ton of money for student loans.  Every time I give them my money, I think about how I was so miserable at one time that I just kept taking loans out because I couldn't face myself, my true self.  I also didn't take my studies as seriously as I should have because I was stunted by social anxiety all the time.

Another observation is that I used to be extremely sensitive to hetero-masculinity, and often found cconfrontation with men.  Now, I don't feel so obligated to react to it or feel threatened by it.

Sad to think that much of that was my perception of the world through the eyes of dysphoria and a feeling that my masculinity was always being questioned, even though it wasn't.


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