i don’t know. i was sad. (AGAIN)

CW: struggles with internalized transphobia and low body image.

I feel fucking exhausted. My stomach hurts and I feel fucking exhausted.

I know I said I wasn’t going to do this again for a little while, but when have I ever been the model of restraint? Things hurt today and I want to get it down. Want to work it out a little bit.

When I told my mom about Daniel last week, she was mostly super A+ about the entire conversation. (She’s Kittenfish, she’s perfect.) But she also teared up and confessed that she was worried I’ll be lonely.

That I’ll be alone.

I’m afraid of that too.

Because I’m thinking a lot of things lately, I’m considering a lot of changes. I am learning about hormone therapy, I am researching top surgery, and I feel excited, but also, the further I mentally drift away from this body I am currently in, the more I just feel like… No one? Like nothing. I look in the mirror and I am sad and disgusted.

I am thinking back to how I always used to hope that getting my haircut would change everything about me. Would change the shape of my face and the color of my eyes and just everything. Is this just an extension of that? What if I transition and I *still* don’t love myself?

I am tired of hating myself. I feel it in my guts today and it just hurts.

This whole thing feels like an extension of that stupid “Well, no one else can love you until you love yourself” platitude. How am I supposed to invite anyone to love me if I don’t even know what to call myself? If I don’t even know what I want my body to be?

I feel so disconnected. Clothes make me want to shrivel up and die. I gained a lot of weight this year. I know it doesn’t make me a bad person. A weak person. But nothing fits anymore. I am still shoving my unwelcome curves into too-small leggings and t-shirts and trying my best to hide the rest of me away with flannels that don’t button anymore and sweatshirts that don’t zip.

I know I said I’d never buy clothes from Target again, but FUCK. I don’t know how to drive anywhere else and I’m prepared to just roll up there today and buy some fucking clothes that fit. FUCK.

What if transitioning makes me worse? What if transitioning makes me hate myself even more? What if I feel uglier than I do now? I have handled a lot of pain and rejection from my own brain over the years, but I don’t know that I can make it through something that massive again.

I am afraid of being alone. I am afraid, whatever I do with this body, whatever I call it… Maybe it won’t make sense to someone else? Maybe it won’t be enough of one thing or the other to… I don’t know, count?

Some days I feel like I can stand it. This morning I really tried to talk myself into: “Okay, just buy some leggings and some sweaters and just be a girl for Christmas and it’s fine. It’s fine. Get some fucking earrings. I don’t know.”

And I just want to curl up and hide under the bed when I think thoughts like that.

I re-watched The Lord of the Rings over the weekend and I was struck by a lot of thoughts. 1) Damn, I just want to dress like a Hobbit. 2) I love these movies so much because of the care and consideration and affection that was taken to make them.

What would it be like to bestow that same care and consideration and affection on making me?

I think, in a way, this is grieving. I am sad for the girl I couldn’t keep being. I am sad for the boy I might be too afraid to become. I’m just sad.

And I am angry. Because it shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

Honestly, I might end up at Target today. I might end up panicking and buying some girl clothes to just get through the holidays. But I’m going to get there. (I hope, I believe.) I’m going to get to the day when my closet is filled up with vests and waistcoats and bowties and all many of handsome wonderfulness.

I will find peace with my body. It is good. It carried me to the coffee shop today to get a peppermint mocha. It sits here, hunched over on my bed, clacking away on this post. It has run half-marathons and it will get there again.

And now (thanks, Spotify) more Sir Elton, because of course:

Oh, oh, oh, I’m gonna love me again.

2 thoughts on “i don’t know. i was sad. (AGAIN)

  1. Oh Daniel. I’ve never experienced what you’re going through with internalized transphobia, but I do know fatphobia very, very well. It’s an insidious thing that I would never wish on anyone else. I’m sorry that you’re struggling with it. I’ve struggled with it too.

    It can be so relieving to have clothes that fit. I find that when I wear what I once called “goal clothes”–you know, the clothing that I was unwilling to admit I’d grown out of or clothes that I wanted to slim myself into–it pinches in all the places that make me dislike my body. The buttons don’t button? Ugh, my bust is too large. It’s tight at the waist? Man, I wish I had a flat tummy. Squeezes at the hips? Why can’t my body just look like [insert goal celebrity here].

    The truth is that having clothes that fit and that complement your body isn’t just a statement of fashion. It’s a statement of radical self love. Your body is what it is and you accept that. I know, right now, that that’s a double-doozy for you with transitioning, but I do wonder if there’s space to dress for the body you have in a loving way that doesn’t pinch, hurt, or embarrass you. In a way that makes you feel empowered… or at least worthy to be in clothing that doesn’t hurt or shame.

    If those clothes can come from Target, then I see no problem with that–Target is great for everyday low-cost staples.

    Also, it’s fucking 2020. There is nothing more on the nose than wearing a hobbit outfit if it damn well pleases you.

    Like

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