Mid April

CW: animal death, dysphoria, body image, gender expression, surgery, all caps

It’s 2AM and I can’t sleep. Two things are keeping me awake, both holding so much weight, I’m finding it hard to breathe.

The first is that my cat is (almost definitely) going to be put down this week. It’s the last resort to this mess – her behavior issues and her fights with the other cats are wearing on me so much that I’ve been very depressed this past month so far. No rescues will take her, so, we’re going to release her from her anxiety. This may be the hardest thing I’ve had to do in life, yet, because Ava is like a child to me.

The second thing, in stark fucking contrast, is that my top surgery got approved for coverage from my insurance. All that’s left is to make an appointment with the surgeon, which will happen this week.

I know it’s unlikely, but, I want so badly for the surgery to come and go before I see my partner again a month from now. I know that’s such a short span of time, but I feel so at ease with my gender expression in Canada and the huge thing that’s throwing me off is my breasts. I want to feel like a man, wholly, completely. I don’t want to deal with the bullshit backpain, the horrible sick feeling I get when I look in the mirror and think how ugly and wrong I look, the embarrassment of wearing a worn out bra, the obtrusive feeling I get from them when I’m doing things in bed, everything. I’ve never wanted breasts in my life and I couldn’t understand the feeling of wrongness in the way I look when I wore ~flattering~ shirts. It makes me sick. I even resorted to sexualizing myself, sexualizing my breasts in order to TRY and accept them, which was exciting but also very not-right feeling. I don’t know.

It’s so fucking bizarre because a year ago I was only just discovering these feelings for what they were. I thought testosterone was going way too far, but now… I can’t stop thinking about what my voice will sound like. What my face, my hips, my chest will all look like a year or two from now. Will I be happy with myself then? Will I finally be able to relax in public? Whenever I’m feeling particularly masculine, I feel MUCH more confident and ‘loose’? Relaxed, I guess. What will my skin feel like? What will I SMELL like? All these things are swirling in my head and making me dizzy with excitement.

I don’t think my parents are realizing how badly I want these changes, but they’re trying I guess. They’re still using she/her pronouns. After a full year of confessing how I was truly feeling to them, after wanting to go by Asher for this long, they still can’t grasp that trans means I want to LIVE my entire life this way. They had this trend when “Asher” was still a learning process with them, they’d only call me that in front of friends. They’re doing it now with the pronouns. I literally do not understand that logic and it is so ungodly frustrating. And they claim they are so supportive and so QUEER FRIENDLY to the public (especially my mom) but the moment when I NEED them to do something so fucking important, it is suddenly all about them and how HARD it is for them to DEAL WITH THIS CHANGE.

I still have my mom’s exasperated voice in my head from a year ago when I was trying to explain I didn’t feel like a woman, “What, are you a BOY then?” yelled back at me like an insult. Like, here we go again, Asher is ROCKING THE DAMN BOAT with his IDENTITY CHANGES and PERSONAL NEEDS. Right. And every time before, when I’d ask them to use male pronouns, or refer to me as their son, they say “that’s too weird for me” or “I just can’t do that”. Why? Because you’re uncomfortable?

For fucks sake, imagine for just one second the discomfort I have felt my entire life, not understanding that I COULD be trans because IT SEEMED TOO DIFFICULT FOR THE PEOPLE AROUND ME. IT SEEMED TOO HARD.

How will they react, when my voice starts changing and I start looking different? It’s so funny, I told my dad I needed him to start using male pronouns because it was fucking with my mental illness and my identity issues and he said the same spiel, and “it’ll be better when you have your surgery.”

I thought, what? I said, “So you’re objectifying me then.”


“You’re equating my gender to my breasts. You’re objectifying me.”

He sighed, obviously bristling at my pushing. “No. I’m saying it’ll be easier to remember when you look more… masculine.”

I stopped talking to him. What I wanted to say (and still want to) is, are my breasts PHYSICALLY STOPPING you from calling me a boy? Are you paying too much attention to my breasts?

A couple weeks later my therapist insinuated I wasn’t “dressing masculinely enough” in order for my parents to understand that I am trans. I almost got up and left the room. Instead, I shot back, “I am not dressing like anyone but myself.”

I can’t wait until I’m living somewhere far, far away from all of this, and I’m stable and surrounded by people that won’t KNOW. I am so shut in with this house, with my brother and with my uncle and my parents, all so fucking dysfunctional, all of us. The future is so goddamn far away, but close enough to fuck with me mentally. I just have to carry on with this weight, this discomfort, with the knowledge that I won’t have it someday soon.


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