Fuck the extra x chromosome in my DNA

I need to come out of the closet.  Once again.  But this time it is my own fucking choice in the matter.  No concerned mother reading my diary behind my back and then telling everyone information I wasn't ready to be outed about.  This time, I have to come clean you guys.  I am a man.  Okay, more like a small, timid, scared boy.  But I wish to be a man. Maybe some day.  But I won't be a man the way society expects a man to be.  I probably will never have a beard, or a mustache, or goatee, or any facial hair for that matter.  I probably won't even have a five o'clock shadow.  I won't ever have a penis, unless I get famously rich and medicine advances in the future and I can afford to have a decently made one implanted, but as far as I can see and tell it won't happen.  I won't ever be taller than 5'3".  Basically I'm a short, perma clean-shaven, girly boy.  And I say girly boy because I know I have "feminine" traits.  And this is what I need to talk about.  Society, gender roles, and gender dysphoria.

I was born inside a girl's body, which once I reached horrible puberty, it became a woman's body.  But the little me inside, the little boy who played football, the little boy who played with tonka trucks and cap guns, the little kid who also played with barbies occasionally in an attempt to please my mother, well that boy never really felt comfortable in a woman's body.  Some of the most distressing days were when I would go clothes shopping.  That was when I felt the most uncomfortable in my body.  It had nothing to do with weight, although it did play a minuscule role seeing as I grew up with an anorexic and bulimic mother.  No, the most jarring thing about clothes shopping is the changing room.  Mirrors.  I hate mirrors.  When I brush my teeth I close my eyes infront of mirrors.  But clothes shopping forces you to see yourself infront of a mirror so you can see if the clothes fit right.  And infront of that mirror is when you shed off all your clothes and you gotta see your hideously woman figure staring back at you.  Those hips, those breasts you never wanted, that you actually cried about as a child when your aunts and relatives joked about you eventually growing them when you become a woman.  Yes, THOSE breasts.  The way your face looks. The long locks you keep because whenever you dare cut your hair a little shorter the remarks you get from certain people leave you reeling and unhappy.  You're forced to look at this body you hate.  And yes, the lack of a package in your underwear.  Not only that, but you gotta squeeze into misogynistic clothes that are too tight and made to accentuate these features you loathe.  You gotta wear something to keep society happy.  Because I can't cross dress.

I have started to cross dress.  I have even binded.  I have a packer too, which I just need a strap for right now.  And sometimes, when I'm feeling confident and manly I'll even go into the Men's restroom.  And yet, I still don't pass.

I got my hair cut the shortest I have ever had it cut in my entire life a couple days ago. Here, I'll even post a fucking picture of it.

So that's my new haircut.  Pretty fucking short hey? And the clothes I wear, I've been methodically shopping strictly in the boy's section for months now slowly phasing out all the girly shit I used to wear as a goddamn imposter.  

So why this blog entry?  Why am I griping about my gender dysphoria to the silent void of the internet? Because despite getting my hair cut boy short, despite my attempts to come off as male, despite cross-dressing and binding, despite going to the men's room when I need to pee, people still use female pronouns with me when they don't know me.

When I'm out in public, binded and cross-dressed, I still hear things like 'she' or 'ladies' or 'gal' or what-have-you.  Am I not passing? Am I not handsome enough? Is my voice not deep enough? Is my dick not long enough? Is my walk wrong? Do I hold myself the wrong way? I'm so obsessed now with passing as male.  Not because I want 'he' pronouns, not yet anyways, but because I don't want to be seen as she.  I want to be androgynous, I just don't want to be 'she'.  

And why not? Can't I be a girl who likes boy things? Can't I be happy with the body I was born in? 

We learned in class that suffering is our dukkha, our failed expectations and projections.  We're given the hand we're dealt, but instead of the Ace-King in our hand or maybe just a pair of jacks we long for the pair of aces.  So long as we want the pair of aces and we only have jacks in our hand, we'll suffer.  And so we must learn to become unattached.  Accept the jacks and not want the aces.  Be grateful for the Jacks... but but but I want to whine. But but but nothing. 

I was born a female, I should just be happy I'm alive and can walk and can see and taste and am in relatively good health. 

Then why all this suffering?  Because of a pronoun? 

Am I not justified to feel this pain of being in the wrong body? Will working out even help? Will working out get rid of these child-bearing hips?  Will working out lower my voice? My voice is too girly.  My laugh is too girly. I've been pushing my self to be more manly.  Lifting things and pushing my physical strength to come off as a man.  There's only so much I can do. 

I don't even think testosterone would help.  I really don't.  Because I know if I start down that road I'll further ostracize myself. 

I know I'm not the only one.  I know this isn't new. But this is my struggle.  And I needed to talk this out to the internet void, because I don't know where else to turn. 

I'm extremely unhappy with how I look, how I sound, how I feel. I think I get it now.  Why transfolk commit suicide. I get it.