thedysphoriadiaries

[thedysphoriadiaries]

i have no object permanence about myself. if i’m not in anyones eye sight i assume i have ceased to be. finding out people remember i exist, think about me, and even talk about me when i’m not actively in front of them is startling news every time it is brought to my attention

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Time.

[thedysphoriadiaries]

My body will not listen to me.

After 3000 hours (who's keeping track, really?) of writing music, I've finally hit my skill ceiling.

Of course, you might be wondering what this stupid idiot is saying, for this idiot can play a couple songs from Polyphia despite being mostly self-taught. (I wanted to learn Tosin Abasi's thumping a while back, but the tone required made me just give up, since I have no fucking idea how to dial it in.)

But I feel tenseness, in my arms, as I pick up my guitar and even attempt to play Meshuggah's "Bleed" (which are just gallop rhythms). Like I'm screaming at my body to do something.

If you're not familiar with my practice routine, here it is:

1.) I slow down a section of a song to a speed at which I can manage.

2.) I practice the song to a metronome.

3.) If I play the section three to five times in a row, flawlessly, I increase the speed by 10% or 5% increments.

4.) Repeat the above until I can play the section of that song at full speed.

But even when I am able to play a song at full speed, the relaxation of the body is notoriously difficult to achieve. There's always the tenseness, the... difficult to describe hesitancy, latency, when I'm playing the guitar.

And truthfully... I don't want to do anything anymore, if this is what I have to do to get my body to even try listening to me.

I can't even listen to myself.

And maybe I'm not as good as I thought. Maybe I'm not as good as others make me out to be.

I just want to be home. Is that too much to ask?

[thedysphoriadiaries]

icons by ramonaflomers ♥

like or reblog if you save ;*

[thedysphoriadiaries]

i know how you died - 19 February 2023, 8:53pm

It was a slow, painless death.

Deaths are supposed to be slow and painful, or quick and painless. Most deaths fall into either category, anyway.

But yours. Yours was slow and painless, for you never truly were.

... I don't know if I should miss you.

Ever since I've had to come to face reality once more, I've realized you're gone. I don't see you behind my eyes anymore, even though you have left your mark on my body, and my mind.

I don't even see myself anymore. It's me, but it's me, but it's me.

But it's me. But it's me. But it's me. But it's me. But it's me.

Because I was the boy who harbored that curiosity about female experiences inside his mind. Because I was the boy who searched stupid things like whether men could get periods, and promptly felt weird things afterwards.

I feel like I've wasted this life, trying to prove something to other people.

That I could be the exception. That I was different from them. That I could have done greater things. That I could be stronger.

But every time I build up my courage, every time I spread my wings and push myself off the cliff, I end up falling flat. And each time I do that, I rip out more and more of my feathers.

My love for my family drives me to want to kill myself.

Like my father before me, I will refuse to admit it. I can't even bring myself to say that word.

Love.

Because I'm weak for showing emotions. So, I show it through my actions, through how I'm always there to help, and listen.

Emotions are weakness; to be excised.

No wonder I used to follow stoicism. Or think about solipsism.

But no matter. That was a long time ago.

There exists a part of me who will always fight back against what I want, and who I am, no matter the decisions I make. Maybe that's why I think something, then toss it into the bin of mistakes that I've made so far.

How do you live, like that?

And yet, I wonder, as I see others spread their wings and take flight, I wonder what happened. I wonder why, even after all this time, I am stuck.

Because, when I look at others, all I think is this:

I could have.

And I should have.

I bid you farewell again. I don't know when you'll come back, or if you will.

I'm sorry. Truly. Maybe some other time.

Goodbye, for now.

[thedysphoriadiaries]

[thedysphoriadiaries]

b00b69

[thedysphoriadiaries]

I do this nonsensical and it drives my friends crazy

[thedysphoriadiaries]

[thedysphoriadiaries]

28 December 2023, 1:49pm

I got 先生'ed last night.

先生，您能帮我拿那个青色的瓶子呢?

I remember how, during my Chinese Oral examinations, we'd look at pictures of daily occurrences, and talk about the happenings (and provide our judgement about said happenings) in said pictures.

这位先生...

这位妇女...

I... never thought the day would come when I'd be addressed as the former. Of course, I'd be, right? After all, my IC says I'm a male. I should be comfortable being addressed as a bro. Or sir.

But I remember why, years ago, I asked my brother to call me bwoh instead of bro. It... irks me on some fundamental level. Like when you're... mistaken for someone else.

My chest still feels weird. Is it because I find it too flat? Or is it because whatever growth that's been there, though now stagnated, is something I'm uncomfortable with?

I don't know the answers to that yet. I hope they come in time.

My counselor says that typical men don't feel this way. And truth be told, I've tried running from my own masculinity.

Were guys casually sexualizing women? Okay, I'll avoid that. Were guys talking about dicks? Okay, I'll avoid that (though I did that, once, but it made me uncomfortable, but i pushed through the discomfort anyway). Crypto? Avoid that. Masculinity? Avoid that. Computers? Avoid those. Roughness? Avoid that.

And what? Become the man, who's avoided everything that he hates about his own nature? Fight against my own nature, and weave a prison of my own design around myself, in the process?

Literally exclude women from my mental model of the world? Forget that people are inherently gendered beings, on the biological level? That most men have penises, and most women don't have penises?

And what's next?

Exist as a man who doesn't want to be a man? Because... in my mental model, women don't exist (or are sorely underrepresented), therefore, the people who don't want to be men are somehow, still... stuck being a man. But that only applies to me. I believe the women around me, when they say they're women, cis or trans.

...

Through it all, and how I disliked my body for changing into something that does... things, that I don't exactly like, have I neglected to see how some women might dislike their bodies for changing into something which the typical man would... ogle at?

...

i have much to think about.

...

cool song:

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Women can be transgender.

[thedysphoriadiaries]

17 December 2023, 1:35am

It was much quieter earlier yesterday.

Again, I found myself alone, in a house that was quiet. The last time I felt like this was when I was ten. We moved a mattress outside in the hall, and my brother and I slept on it. By then, Mom and Dad had quit asking us to study, despite the fact that, at that age, we were ahead of our peers.

Ten years on, and the quietness gives me the same feeling. It's just that this time, I know that the din of arguments will not reach me, and that the same brother I spent time with is separated from me by a wall of concrete and a gulf of sadness.

Regardless, it's the same feeling I dread, when I have to come to terms with my own existence, independent of other people.

Who am I?

It's a question that, for twenty years, I have struggled to answer.

I tell my counsellor that I feel like a tape machine, with a set amount of tape to run. After each reel of tape runs out, I have to replace it, and the cycle starts anew. I look back, and I'm unable to decipher the thoughts of previous me - oftentimes an alien, despite being me.

Was I really like that? Why don't I remember that happening? Why don't I feel ownership over that memory?

It's difficult at times. Horribly difficult, actually, to do anything, when I can't even trust my own memories. What was I feeling toward my partner? Envy? Lust? Which came first?

And within each conversation I have with my friends, who tell me that they are disappointed in my unwillingness to disclose my affliction of Unidentified Disorder™ with the Medical Officers at the Medical Classification Center...

I sense disappointment, and truth be told, I'm almost waiting for them to tell me that I was not like that.

...

And of course, they'd be right.

I was once a person who would have campaigned for men's rights. Or at least, the male equivalent of what women had. Feminism.

Actually, that was a major theme of my musings during my time in secondary education - the male equivalent of what women had.

My partner came along, four years later, when I was seventeen. She approached me during a karaoke session organized by my friend group, and wanted to try being in a relationship, with me. It was music we bonded over.

To her, it was a matter of expression.

To me, it is all I am.

And the snowball started rolling. A snowball of feelings, that would lead me to this point in time, eight months after putting that patch on my body. A whole year, and two months, of active questioning.

...

I still remember being secretly jealous, or feeling like I'm living in the shadow of the girls there, who enjoyed themselves, and sang their hearts out.

I had long lost the ability to reach the notes they could, by then.

But I hide, behind the walls, the guises of ignorance. Behind the guises of snobbish better-than-you-ness, because I'm too scared to admit something, something akin to a dark secret of male psychology:

That men secretly envy women.

That men try to embody that which is more aesthetically pleasing (in subjective terms), or secretly wish for the ability to nurture life within their bodies.

But ultimately, we must come to the conclusion that, as men, we cannot do such things. So we resort to the next best thing:

Ignorance, subjugation, and control.

We subjugate those we fear, to feel a false sense of security. Through ignorance, we erase others' experiences. We become gods of our own consciences, and god can't repent.

I'm scared to admit that these things apply to me too, because, fundamentally, once you strip away my clothing, mannerisms, skin, flesh, organs, and bones, I'm born male. And by virtue of that and the inherent masculinity I embody, I am privy to that dark secret of male psychology, no matter how many times I say that I'm not like the other guys.

There is no escape.

...

Ultimately, even though my past has been peppered with not-so-typical things for guys - the jolts of euphoria I felt learning about a girl's life, my gazing into the empty girl's washroom, knowing I cannot be in such a place, while wondering what goes on in there (social dynamics wise, etc.)...

I must accept that I am not privy to those things.

And at the end of everything, I know who I am: A kid who's too scared to be themselves. A kid who's too scared to express the unexpressed.

That's where I've been, for my whole life.

...

I'm digging myself into a really deep hole, sorry if I'm sounding a little deranged. Maybe I should go out and think about stuff.

cool song time:

[thedysphoriadiaries]

- David Maxim Micic - 

(left to right, top to bottom) - ECO (EP) *2015 | EGO (EP) *2015 | BILO III *2013 | BILO II *2012

The song "Stardust" from the EP called ECO carries immense personal significance for me. It holds a special place in my heart because it was the first song I was introduced to by someone who was not only a friend but also someone I considered like a sister. This person happened to be one of my teachers. We would often have tea together, discussing various aspects of our lives, and she played a pivotal role in encouraging and pushing me to continue singing. The memory of this song and the connection I shared with my teacher will forever remain unforgettable to me.

David Maxim Micic makes some otherworldy and incredible work and I'd advise checking him out. Especially the singer (and songwriter) Miyoki. Amazing vocalist.

Find out more:

His shop and a way to contact him:

A bit about him: Biography of David Maxim Micic

His Bandcamp:

Go support him!

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Trigger Warning: Abuse. New Comic: Words Matter. Thanksgiving is not a great time for many LGBT, please be mindful of the words you use, even if you dont think they are a big deal, its not you who is impacted by them, choose them carefully. People keep messaging me to support me. I set up a temporary KoFi for now, i might do more with it in the future. All support I get will go to fund my transition.

That includes all the stuff im super self conscious about.

Ko-fi.com/welldrawnfish

[thedysphoriadiaries]

Oh what I’d give to be in a Yuri Square with them….

(Sample Yuri square for reference)

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Ich habe so viel Gefühle in mir, die ich nicht in tausend Worte erklären könnte.

[thedysphoriadiaries]

If they release iterator plushies I'm gonna scream