Elucidating Questions

I exist, right?

I see my breasts and feel disgust

Anything to do with my nether regions makes me feel sick

I look at myself in the mirror and feel horror because I’m not who I am in my mind

And it’s not like “oh no I’m fat”

I am fat

And I hate it

And that’s an entirely different can of societal trauma

But my body

When you touch your own body do you feel shame?

Looking at your arms, your legs, your shape

Do you feel like you failed to exist right?

Maybe

Maybe it’s that fat dysmorphia

I don’t feel failure because I’m fat when I’m feeling dysphoria

I feel like my body failed me

I’d still be non-binary with a testosterone body

But I’d have the pieces I’m missing

I don’t even want a man part

A third arm

It’s easier to describe a penis than vagina and company

Because like that’s not a vagina it’s labia and more labia and then a vagina and a cervix and a uterus and ovaries

Ugh

Just describing it makes me feel ick

And then I feel more shame because a vagina and company aren’t what’s gross about the thought it’s that they’re in me

I wish I could be a male barbie

No boobs

Flat

Nothing to abuse

Well I guess you can abuse nipples but you can’t put anything into them or them into anything (god the entire concept just why biology?)

You ridiculous creature

You’re like I have the power to do anything with these cells

I’m gonna make them fuck

You weirdo

I just want to escape not seeing me in the mirror

I know I can’t alter my face

It’s just my unfortunate face

I just wish I could see me someday

There’s so much that goes into the dysphoria

I’m almost certain that if there weren’t demands of beauty and certain looks for certain people

I wouldn’t feel this strongly

Sometimes I look at animals and feel jealous that they don’t understand mirrors

They don’t know what they look like

The tiger doesn’t know he’s supposed to be orange with stripes

Even if he’s albino and chased away by other tigers because he’s a different colour he doesn’t know that’s why

They don’t know the rules we arbitrarily put on their existences

The black grey squirrel doesn’t care that you assigned him the colour grey

They don’t know the expectations of a parent who put themself and their spouse into a “what will your baby look like” app

They don’t know the disappointment of eyes too small, nose too long, mouth ugly

Of not enough like their mum, dad, uncle, sister, grandma, cousin

Bodies are so policed in this society and they act like they’re not

If it’s not illegal (ex: being naked) it’s shamed (ex: a man wears a skirt)

So, my body, was always not enough

And then I got sick and it betrayed me twice on that count

I exist right?

These feelings exist?

I know they are within my head

In that place beyond the bounds of the Universe

Where there’s no matter and a great something waiting just past the edge

But thoughts exist, yes?

They are, like so many things in this Universe, not palpable

Not “real”

But so real to the thinker

I may just have been a mirror of what society expected of me

I may have stepped off the path into pure lunacy

But when I came back I knew myself better than anyone has ever known me

I may largely not know who I am still, years of being programmed takes years of uninstalling

Rewriting

I wish I could go back to that time before I was molested by my brother’s god brother

Before I knew I was just a sex object whose autonomy only continued as long as someone else let it

I want to be sexless

Bodiless

I want to be so great I can embrace the Sun

So small I could rest in the dust of Saturn’s rings

I don’t want to be a being that plays nice in Hell while being forced to enforce and increase the hell of Hell

But if I’m here?

Stuck?

I’m more than a gender could ever be

I’m just a being that exists here

Because of this world I have both “feminine” and “masculine” qualities

And because of twisted beauty standards I can’t see myself in this body

But I’m so much more than all of that

And I don’t think that is something unique to me

I’m only talking from my point of view because I am only me

I can’t speak for others

I don’t know why I am what I am

The Universe just views me with that crooked smile and raised brow when I ask why

But maybe some people are just “like me”

Maybe people are just sometimes different from others

People who do harm are not me

Human beings are very similar

I annoy myself sometimes

But we’re also very different

The Universe enjoys dualities

It also enjoys spectrums

One, but the other

And everything in between

Pushing the limits of possible

I ask, if we are built in our Creator’s image

Would we not contain the things they love so much?