I realise that it’s kinda hard for other people to understand but I’ve been asked what gender dysphoria actually is a few times…but it’s so hard to explain. It’s different for everyone. This post is a little out there, rambley and such…but it’s what goes on in my head. Only about a 10th of it, but I wanted to write it. I wanted to put it into my own words, rather than copying and pasting from some website written by someone who’s never even experienced it.

Gender dysphoria is this anxious, uncomfortable, horrible feeling which arises from being reminded I was assigned a female body at birth. Things that bring this feeling on are usually said to “trigger” it. It’s a bit like this.

You get home, you’ve been out all day and your binder is cutting into your side from how tight it is. The thing is meant to flatten your chest, it has to be tight. It’s a warm day and you’re sweating like a child molester in mothercare because of this thick extra layer of material that doesn’t know what breathing is, despite only being centimetres from a set of fully functioning lungs. 

No one is home, you’re not gonna go out again…so you think “fuck it, I’m taking it off!” Hell, other boys get to just sit there with nothing but a t-shirt on their chest, why can’t you? Oh, wait, yeah. Breasts. You haven’t looked down in three years. Not to shower, not to do anything, you can even put your socks on and do your jeans up blind these days because you never look down. Cos if you do, you’ll see those little bits of you which are wrong. The parts which make you different from the other boys. The parts which mean you get laughed at, spat at, punched. 

They weigh against you, a light but un-ignorable force that is constantly there, mocking you. And now, you hate yourself. You have flashbacks, actual panic attacks sometimes, of the first time you went for a bra fitting. When the weird old lady was touching you, measuring you, saying how proud you must be to be a woman now.

The thought makes your blood boil, your heart beat faster and faster. Visions…fantasies of being able to take your shirt off and having nothing but smooth, ironing board flat skin looking back at you. Sometimes, you wanna preform the operation yourself in the bathroom, simply to get it over with. How hard can it be, a knife…a pair of scissors…a sewing kit…it wouldn’t take too long, would it?

Of course that would mean you’d have to look down.

Put the scapel down, surgeon. Deep breaths. Put your shirt on, stat, and remember you’re just as much of a man as anyone else!

Who needs a penis to be called “mr”?

No one, that’s who!

You’d like one though. 

One which is actually attached to you. One which you didn’t have to put cornflour on when you wash it so it doesn’t get all tacky and collect dust or bits from your boxers. Maybe one that didn’t have a medicine spoon you had to manovere around awkwardly to take a wee standing up.

But that feeling, god, that feeling is the best in the world.

Remember the first time you did it? That was the best piss anyone has ever had. Who cares if you had to get totally naked and stand in the bath in case it went all over your jeans. Or that you had to run home from school during lunch so you could go the next day, because you didn’t wanna use it in public in case it all went wrong. You could’ve just not used it, sat down…but only girls sit down to pee. Your not a girl, are you?

Oh, but that’s what everyone thinks you are. That’s what the shop assitants, the bus drivers, the random passers by who find the need to talk about you because you look different…that’s what they think! 

It’s so obvious they don’t have the same thoughts as you. They don’t need to worry about how they stand, how they speak, how they cough, sneeze, hiccup…if they did…they probably wouldn’t be just stood there. They wouldn’t just hang around in the street, they’d be scared someone might say something. They’d be worried about wearing shorts in public, in case anyone thinks they’re just a girl who doesn’t shave. They would go out, get what they needed done, then go straight back home. They’d get the bus and deal with the price (even though you can’t really afford it) just so it only took you 5 minutes instead of 20. That’s 20 minutes of staring as you walk totally eradicated. 

That’s what you have to do. Cos you’re a freak. You can’t even mention your name without the spanish inquistion jumping down your throat. The name you spent £58 getting legally changed. Everyone else got their name for free. Everyone else can pee in public toilets without worrying. Everyone else can go swimming. Go to the beach. Use their ID. Have old photos from their childhood easily on display. They can probably get a date as well.

Can you? God no. You stick out like a sore thumb. No one knows if you’re a gay guy or a lesbian. Even if you did get a date, you’d have to explain soon enough. Sex is out of the question. How on earth could you undress in front of someone else? You can’t even undress in front of the mirror. Hell, there is only one mirror in the entire house and you still avoid it.

How would you go about having sex? You’re gay, right? Yeah. But you can’t go with a gay guy, he’s not gonna like the bits you hate. You’ll have to go for a bisexual or pansexual guy, one who’s not gonna wanna go anywhere near your va— you know what I mean. So basically, all you can do is kiss…and get your…sides, maybe your legs and ass…back possible…they can be touched but that’s it. You’ll probably have to do all the work to make up for it. You don’t mind that, your just grateful someone finds you attractive enough to want to go with you. A rarity. You’re glad they’re not laughing at you, or acting awkward, or touching the bits you hate…or raping you. 

This is your life, your everyday. You are the square peg in the round hole. No one else understands…even other trans* people don’t know what it’s like to actually be YOU. Everyone is different, but you’d give anything just to be a little more average.

[Side note: The idea of dypshoria can also be targeted at specific areas of your body or aspects of who you are. Like, if you believe your voice is too high or low and it feels wrong (such as believing your voice means you don’t pass as your gender very well) that would be called “voice dysphoria”.]