#one of my classmates is a pink girlie shes always wearing several items of pink

[nerdie-faerie]

Anytime I buy anything pink I think of all the pink girlies who make pink their personality and wonder if just a lil purchase being in their favourite colour brings them a small amount of happiness. Like what a wonderful thing that most be just to feel joy because of something so small that you might not otherwise notice

#random #cosy tag #one of my classmates is a pink girlie shes always wearing several items of pink #my aunt is a pink girlie her house is so pink its been just her and her daughter for most of her adult life that she can just decorate her #house as pink and feminine as she wants maybe some of it youd be like oh thats kinda childish but it was such a fun thing to me as a kid #my mum was always jealous the closest she got was being able to paint our living room a pale pink for a couple years before we moved #had to buy some new shampoo and theres still some green in it so i was looking for a pink toned one but then also ended up buying a candy #floss shower gel so combined with the hair treatment i picked up with its rose gold packaging most of my purchases were pink #anyway i just opened and the shampoo itself is like neon pink and i was like oh thats fun and just made me think of sasha and i was like i #wonder if thats the sort of thing that would be kinda exciting to her? ya know? must be nice to find happiness in a colour to that extent

[dreadhaus-literature]

{A/N}

I uh.

I’m just here to talk so I don’t bottle and internalize too much.

Tonight was weird. That whole exchange that happened at the store left me rattled on so many levels it took me the majority of my night to unpack them all--and I’ll just say, I’m not one to sensationalize or dramatize things. I actually tend to downplay a lot of stuff that happens to me so when I say tonight left me rattled, I do mean it.

I was shaky unloading my groceries into my truck, I forgot some of the items I went to the store for (something I never do), and I twist my fingers a lot when I’m nervous and I caught myself doing it several times through the night.

And it really wasn’t fear. I didn’t think the dude was going to do anything to me. Call it Amazonian Courage or just being raised to incorrectly believe I’m too big to be threatened but I wasn’t scared of the guy. Yes he made me uncomfortable and I did feel a certain sense of “creep” from him (hence why I kept saying how uncomfortable he made me, staring at me the way he was) but my response to the encounter wasn’t fear.

It was anxiety.

Like I said, I downplay stuff that happens to me. I was raised in a way that if I was sick, injured, etc, it was brushed off. I was made to feel any showing of emotion or discomfort was a burden to the adult figures in my life. I was never babied or coddled or really even listened to when something bothered me so I never learned to behave that way. I think that’s why, in some instances, my empathy is fucked up. I was never shown that sort of empathy and so it was not something instilled in me, at least not properly. So oftentimes when I am uncomfortable or subjected to discomfort I react strangely or don’t process it right away--or I downplay it. I brush it off and say I’m okay or I’m fine, because that’s what I was raised to do.

But now that I’m alone with my thoughts I realize that tonight hit some sore spots and left me a little more rattled than I wanted to admit aloud when Monica asked me about it. I kept making excuses to downplay how I was feeling without even realizing that’s what I was doing. But I got off call and put my headphones in to get around for bed and as soon as the noise stopped and she was gone and it was just me and my mind...my smile faded and I couldn’t quite figure out why I wasn’t happy, anymore.

Didn’t take but two seconds of inspecting my feelings to realize I’m feeling insecure about the exchange from the store.

It’s strange, being in my body. I think a part of me wants to love my height, whether because I’m stuck with it so I might as well, or that I’m proud that I am so tall. It is pretty neat...but it has some major drawbacks.

Like it’s odd as fuck I’m not transgendered but I have to fight same as they do, to be recognized as my own gender. Oddly enough, the gender I was born in.

Back in high school I’d throw my hair in a low ponytail and toss on some oversized jeans and a baggy shirt and just be the dude everyone treated me like, anyway, and I’d come home and genuinely try and decide if I should just get a sex change. It was honestly something I considered, if only for a brief period. I thought it’d be easier. I thought it would be easier for me and my emotional/mental state if I just gave in and stopped fighting everyone else’s preconceived notions about who I was.

Because no one realized how damaging the shit they say, can be.

Mom constantly telling me how big my feet are or how shirts would look cute but i “have such broad shoulders.”

I was thrilled when my shoulders seemed to shrink after surgery, but I know logically bone structure doesn’t change so it’s all in my goddamn head because I’m insecure about my fucKING SHOULDERS????

For like a year or two in high school, after Mom criticized the size of my wrists, I wore wristbands and bracelets 24/7. I even slept in them. To cover my wrists because I was ashamed of them.

My fucking wrists.

My body dismorphia makes a lot of sense when I sit down and examine myself like this.

The comments about my size and appearance were and always have been relentless. Like when my sister asked me why I painted my nails pink, “but like, why that color? Doesn’t seem like you,” like I’m not allowed to like girly colors.

Or the constant surprise at seeing me in make-up.

Or the confusion that I like animal or floral print clothes.

Or when I buy shoes that aren’t combat boots.

Or being told to “just shop in the men’s section. It’s easier to find things to fit you.”

It leads to me feeling out of place in women’s clothes. I feel like a goddamn drag queen sometimes. Like a clown. Like I put all this on and walk around and people don’t see a woman, they see a person in the middle of gender reassignment surgery.

Which, by the way, not super thrilled about that being what people ask me these days.

I mean I get it. Logically. I have PCoS and thus a habitual 5 o’clock shadow and women aren’t supposed to. PCoS is never talked about and no one is raised to think women have facial hair so of course people stare and are confused by it. Logically I understand that.

Emotionally it makes me want to cut the skin off my face so the hair can’t grow through it anymore.

As I’ve gotten older I can talk about PCoS without crying but there’s still a part of me that feels robbed. Cheated. I feel like I missed out on being able to 100% be a girl. I have facial hair and I’m over six feet tall and I’ve got huge hands and feet and broad shoulders and there’s nothing small or tiny or cute or beautiful about me. Shopping for women’s clothes is a fucking joke because clothing companies stop making clothes for women once they pass 5′10 and size 9 shoe.

People don’t get it and I know and understand they don’t (I also understand how whiny this sounds but w/e) but I feel so out of place in my own body it’s no wonder I live in my head 24/7. If I spent too much time focused on what I looked like, what I actually look like and have to deal with, I’d go back to cutting all the time.

Self-love is hard but I try. I do. I genuinely, the last year or so, have felt this surge of “Fuck everything, I am going to survive and I am going to live and be okay.” I’ve really wanted to just be in a better place and not be depressed and cutting myself and walking around hating who I have to be. This is who I am and I better get on board with loving myself because that’s not ever going to change.

But it’s hard. It’s hard to have people look at me and think I’m a man. Or that I was born a man and became a woman.

“What are you?” ”So you were born a girl?”

Like the question of asking what I am sounds like someone asking what Frankenstein’s monster is. It’s so fucking dehumanizing I can’t really process people look at me and aren’t sure what the fuck I am. Not who, but what. Like that’s fucking crazy, to me. And to even question what gender I was born into. Like I had to have surgery to even achieve some semblance of femininity, but it failed since you’re still having to ask if I’m a woman.

Logically I know that’s their problem.

Emotionally it fucking sucks.

I’ve been toying with the idea of what to do with my hair, next, for the last couple months. If I wanted to keep the mohawk, if I wanted to dye it a fun color (Mom never let me dye my hair so I’ve never gotten to do it and I want to) and I decided tonight that I’m going to let it grow out a bit. I won’t give the creep from the grocery store credit, I’m not doing it because of him or the drive-thru guy who also assumed I was trans, I’m just, I think maybe I’ll feel better.

I know this mohawk would look more femme on a different girl. On me, with my height and PCoS, it does obviously lend to people mis-gendering me but I want to be firm in saying I’m not changing my appearance for anyone but myself. It’s just...maybe this isn’t quite the look I was going for, for myself. I don’t want to be seen as a man. Butch maybe, sometimes, but still soft enough to be seen as a she.

It’s hard to want to be pretty, to be feminine, to wear pretty clothes and make-up but know in the back of my head people will just see what they want to see.

Every little girl, I think, wants to be pretty. I wanted to be pretty.

Mom never thought I was.

My classmates never thought I was.

Most people don’t think I am.

Logically I know that doesn’t mean I’m not.

Emotionally, I’m not so sure.

#{A/N} : personal #{ need to cry but can't } #{ bottled it up too tightly } #{ maybe i'll let it age a bit and try again tomorrow }