Dys•pho•ri•a

/disˈfôrēə/
noun
PSYCHIATRY
1. a state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.

I honestly believe that if everyone could take the time to understand what dysphoria means and how it sometimes feels, they would be more empathic towards the trans community and they’ll understand a little bit more of what we’re going through. Everyone feels dysphoria in different ways, there’s even some trans people who don’t feel dysphoria at all. In this topic I can only talk about my personal experience. Some could feel identified with what I say and some won’t. 

For me, a female to male trans, I could list a couple of things that generate a lot of dysphoria and some I can manage, like my voice. People can look at me and call me Sir without thinking twice but once I start talking is Miss for me -.- thank the lord for testosterone. I do wish I can grow a nice ass beard but if I don’t it’s okay, honestly it won’t bother me. I hate my period but come on, even girls hate it too. But once again, thank the lord for testosterone cause it’ll make it stop!

The one thing that honestly drives me insane are my boobs. I could talk about how much I hate them none stop but if I do I’ll get so dysphoric I’ll have to shut up. Before I came out to myself as trans, I already wanted to chop off my chest. I can remember the day I just wanted them to disappear, and since then every single day I want them gone. 

I went to a fat camp and when I came back to Mexico, I continued to lose weight. Once I was feeling so good about myself and how I looked, cause I was finally looking healthy and fit, I remember looking at myself in the mirror while I was naked and just hating how I looked, my first thought was: “why the f*ck do I need to have such big boobs”. And so I started to hide them. I gained weight so you couldn’t see the big lump I had, I bought elastic bandages and used them almost every single day until I bought my first binder. Now I can’t go out without having one on. Sometimes I even use two. I look at myself in the mirror and see the magic of having a “flat chest” and it just feels amazing. 

But now it gets tricky, remember the best feeling in the world (for girls) was getting to take off your bra at the end of the day? Well, now at the end of my day when I take the binder off, I can’t stand looking at myself in the mirror. It feels like this constant opinion I never asked for, telling me “you’re not a real man”. Thank the lord for surgery I guess, can it come earlier though?!?!