I see my past mistakes of transitioning, self-inflicted pain, a lot of regret. I grunt at what to me looks like a man with feminine eyebrows, face stubble, a hairy chest and prosthetic breasts in a bra. I feel weird about it all, and sad, but not really dysphoric.
It feels more like a self-loving disconnect like I'm patiently waiting for my body to pick up the phone on the other end but all I get is a "the number you're calling is unavailable right now" and I just keep calling and leaving sweet, caring voice mail messages. Please call back soon, I need you. And it feels like a sad sigh of "oh what have I done to myself" without really wanting to dig into the true depth of that feeling, so it stays at a managable surface level.
Staring at my face I wonder how I can find my true self again by hiding it under makeup, and then I think about the irony in that thought. I used to take my femininity for granted and hate it. Now I love it but can't find it again. Then I wonder if I should shave my stubble or keep it, and if my eyebrows need trimming. Also gotta poke my acne.
I only partially recognise my own face. It both feels familiar and alien at the same time. Facing the mirror in my detransition has been difficult all along, and it continues to be. But it's still my face, and that in itself is a comfort. It's easier with what's below my neck, except from my chest, cause I do notice that my body shape looks unmistakenly feminine, and that's comforting.
