#mild gender dysphoria

[rhapsodyred-writes]

Roxy with a grnderfluid datemate.

"Shut up and hold me"

Take that as you will

I just like Roxy

Wrote this from my personal experience with gender fluidity, so please excuse if it's different from yours.

You weren't entirely sure what to wear today. Roxy had invited you out for a date at a nice restaurant, and you were caught between wearing a dress or wearing slacks an a button-up. On one hand the dress would be fitting, considering the likelihood that Roxy was also going to wear a dress. On the other hand...you really were feeling more on the male end of the gender spectrum today. A dress would look nice, yeah. But it just wasn't who you were today.

Still you deliberated. You wanted to match Roxy, but you also wanted to be who you were today.

There was a knock at your bedroom door.

"Are you ready yet?" Roxy's voice called through.

You sighed. "No, I can't decide what to wear."

There was a pause.

"Are you decent?" She asked, her tone cautious.

Once you signalled that yes, you were still wearing clothes - just not the ones you were planning to wear out - the door opened and Roxy stepped in.

As expected, she looked stunning. Her dress was calf length and glittery in places, with a slit up the one side. Her makeup didn't look much different from usual, but she somehow looked extra glamorous.

Beside her, in your pajamas, you felt very...underdressed.

But Roxy looked at you with sympathy in her eyes as you gestured to the two outfits laid out on your bed.

"Ah," She said, her tone light and teasing. "A deep moral dilemma, I see."

You opened your mouth to tell her to be serious, but she didn't let you speak.

"Oh the one hand, you could be a glamorous diva, but..." Her gaze found yours, and there was something knowing in her crimson eyes. "Personally, I think there's only room for one glamorous diva at our table tonight."

Roxy turned fully to face you, and as her hands found the sides of your face, you felt the fluttering in your chest.

"Darling," She started, her tone soft and kind. "I'd rather you be comfortable than have us match." She smoothed a thumb over your cheek. "If you'd rather wear the slacks outfit, then I'd love to see you rock it. I bet you'd be very dashing."

Part of you wanted to kiss her, but you didn't want to mess up her lipstick - even though you were pretty sure she always bought the no-smear kind. Instead, you wrapped your arms around her and buried your face in whatever part of your datemate was closest.

"Sweetheart," She cooed, but there was the slightest underlying tone of nerves in her voice. "We have to get going soon, so could you-"

"Shut up and hold me," You mumbled, tightening your grip a little.

Roxy chuckled and wrapped her arms around you, encompassing you in a warmth you'd begun to crave since the two of you started dating. "Alright," She sighed. "I'm sure they won't mind if we're a couple minutes late."

[thermodynamic-comedian]

My silly headcanon is that Jonah didn't know that Elias was a trans man (without bottom surgery) when he did the weird possession thing so he just went "Wait.. Where's my dick?? Why didn't I know about this??" And the eye went "Dude don't be transphobic"

this doesn't really go against elias' canon gender presentation, but i do like it. it's fun.

[reiningsoral]

growing out my nails because i like having claws,

cutting my nails because they look feminine

[angeldrawsstuffs]

Haven’t thought about my Ninjago movieverse Dreamzzz AU in a bit, so here’s what each of the Dorksquad saw in the Dream Forge:

Lloyd - He sees Ninjago City being invaded by his father’s forces, who have escaped the Dream World while the rest of his team are all unconscious, trapped within their nightmares, never to wake up again.

Kai - Kai watches as he listens in on a conversation between his parents about all of the burdens he’s put on them as the surprise baby, and how life would’ve been better for everyone if he wasn’t born.

Nya - A vision of her brother, (tw: mild gore) right eye cleanly sliced through, looking at her in complete terror. It takes a second for her to notice, but she has a bloody knife in her hand.

Jay - (Tw for Gender Dysphoria on this one) Jay’s in front of a large crowd of paparazzi with long hair and a very cutesy, fem dress on. Cliff is beside him, boasting about “his daughter” while his friends just scoff and turn a blind eye.

Cole - Both of his parents in front of him, confirming what’s been his worst fears ever since Lilly fell ill: It started with his birth.

Zane - In front of a large crowd with wires and metal endoskeleton exposed. His Papa stands in the crowd, looking upset and disgusted with him before turning and leaving.

[chaoticgouda]

[sinfulauthorwrites]

Trans!Astarion Angst Poetry Collection

A collection of short 2 AM Notes app poems written while dealing with my own gender dysphoria. TW for ideation of self-harm/self-performed top surgery (The Dagger), mild gore, and references to Astarion's past abuse (Body). Inspired by this post by @danse--macabre/spacemagic.

As the summary says, I wrote these on my phone late one night while dealing with some bad gender dysphoria, especially regarding whether or not we're able to get top surgery (BTW, we're a system), and after fighting over the headspace pen with our Astarion fictive (I wanted to project onto him, he did not), I got these three out. I had intended to spruce them up before posting them (possibly connecting them, writing more, etc.). The good news is we could start T at the beginning of June, which is a huge and important step! I (Alex) decided we should post them unedited in the hopes that any trans folks who relate to Astarion (which Neil on record has said is “Amazing”) find this in the hopes of feeling seen and heard. It gets better, and you are not alone in this. None of us are. ❤️

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 253 total

Applicable Tags: Trans Male Astarion, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Gore, Self-Harm Ideation, Self-Performed Top Surgery, Gender Dysphoria, Body Dysphoria, D&D Vampire Lore, Astarion's Past Abuse, Astarion Needs a Hug, Traumatized Astarion, POV Astarion, POV Second Person, No Beta We Die Like Cazador

What Remains

They say time changes people

You see those around you changing day by day

But you remain

Stagnant

You do not recall what remains, your youth eternal

You cannot reflect, you cannot remember

What remains is unknown to you

But known to those around you

What do they see?

Is it the curvature of your chest

That you wrap until it feels as if you are about to burst

But not truly hidden?

Is it your mouth

Tongue of silver and canine teeth as sharp as daggers?

Does it scare them?

Or do you push them away purposefully

Words meant to sting them before they can sting you?

The Dagger

Your dagger that never leaves your side

It has tempted you more than once

The weight on your chest too heavy a burden to carry

“A few slices is all it would take,”

Your mind wanders as the steel shines in the moonlight

But you cannot change

No amount of metal or magic would change you

You are frozen

Stuck in a physical standstill

Body

Your hands caress your torso

What would once be considered waifish by a mother

A mother you have no recollection of a face or name

Your ribs protrude from underneath your flesh

Centuries of torment and starvation

Like a mockery of a tanned hide

Skin barely holding yourself together

As if the tiniest scratch would cause everything to come tumbling out

Rotting viscera, a heart that no longer beats

Nor has the ability to love

Falling apart, broken

You are broken

Liked this and want more? Check out my AO3 here!

[chaoticbuggybitchboy]

Being nonbinary isn’t always cool and glamorous. Sometimes you get dysphoric wearing a hoodie.

[nanasketchdump]

It took me 14 years to get a proper treatment plan for my OCD

I have struggled with incredibly and increasingly severe OCD for over a decade now and I don't tend to bring it up with doctors because I have been shut down and ridiculed for it by medical professionals before.

I recently started seeing a new GP (family doctor) to get scripts refilled for my ADHD medication. Instead if just passively signing my scripts and sending me on my way (as all other doctors have before) she asked me about how they were working for me and if there were any side effects on my current dosage. She was the first doctor in 14 YEARS to actually check up on those things and ask me those questions.

I reluctantly told her that my anxiety had been getting worse and worse over the years (I'd read that the pills could do that) and over the course of my appointment I felt more and more comfortable opening up to her, especially after she told me about her transgender daughter who she is so very proud of. I think she was sending me subtle hints after seeing my incredibly ngc appearance, and we even spoke about dysphoria at length.

I decided 'hey shes really open minded, maybe I should tell her'. I told her about my OCD, my compulsive thoughts and debilitating routines I have to carry out.

She immediately asked why I wasn't on medication for it. Up until this year I had NO IDEA there were actually pills out there for it. I'd resigned myself to living with OCD that would just get gradually worse and worse until it turned my brain to soup.

She gave me a prescription, I had the treatment plan within an hour and I have follow up appointments scheduled to check on progress. I cant believe it was that easy this whole time. I cant believe it took 14 fucking years for a doctor to help me.

It is so so important that we have open minded doctors, that we have doctors who are up to date on recent studies, that we have doctors who understand mental illnesses and how different medications effect them.

I started my first pill yesterday, they take 2 to 6 weeks to work fully. Even if they don't work and I have to try something else, I want to thank Dr Strauss from the bottom of my heart.

I'm actually in shock

[jackdaw-writes]

Hannah can't breathe. He's sitting in the school bathroom, on top of the lid of a toilet lucky enough to actually still have a lid.

There are red scratch-lines down his arms and blood under his nails from where he picked at a scab on his face. Blood is still running down his face ever so slowly. He doesn't bother wiping it away.

With each breath, Hannah has to fight to get air into his body. His lungs ache, seeming to rattle with each breath. He can't tell if the taste of blood on his tongue is real or imaginary.

His abdomen cramps painfully. He'll get his period soon. As Hannah struggles to take another breath, he moves, quickly opening his sportsbra and stuffing it into his school-bag. It makes breathing easier, but now there is a familiar, uncomfortable pull at the skin on his chest.

He curls forward, pulling his legs up on top of the toilet as well and wrapping his arms around them, trying to put sone of the weight off his chest. His next breath rattles painfully and he is forced to put some space between his chest and his knees again.

Hannah only notices that he's crying when he tastes salt. He hates having to choose between breathing and existing with a weight that isn't supposed to be there. He hates the pain in his stomach that he knows will make it impossible to stand straight, even if he wore a binder.

Not that he can really move right now. Hannah focuses on breathing, unsure if he wants to move. It would cost so much energy to even move his fingers. It doesn't seem worth it.

Hannah blinks and there are loud voices outside of the bathroom stall. Other people pushing into the bathroom, chattering in front of the mirror or moving to the other stalls. Someone rattles at the door to his stall. Hannah can only stare until they stop.

It feels like he is moving through honey, even his mind caught in it, but Hannah still forces himself to look at his phone. No messages. He didn't expect anything else. Then he looks at the time.

Hannah missed the entire lesson. He went to the bathroom before the lesson even started, and now it's over. Hannah has been sitting there for over an hour.

He only notices that he started scratching again when his arms sting. He knows, if his nails weren't bitten as short as they are, he would have already broken skin.

Hannah sighs without a sound, instead clamping his right hand around his left wrist, massaging the skin there. He focuses on the pressure, tries to pull himself back into his body with it.

Moving will get easier the more he does it. Still, it's hard for him to uncurl, if only as much as his pain will allow. He forces his legs onto the ground, sits for a while. Then he stands up, only ro pause, a hand on the doorhandle. He just breathes, for a while.

Hannah doesn't put his bra back on. He doesn't think he could handle it, not right now. When he leaves the stall, the bathroom is empty again. Break must be over, then. He doesn't remember the other students leaving, but that's typical.

Hannah stops in front of the bathroom mirror, careful to look at nothing but his face. There are circles under his eyes. They look worse than normal. Surprisingly, his eyes themselves don't look bloodshot. Just kind of empty.

There are tearstreaks down his cheeks and dried blood where he picked off a scab on his forehead, reaching down till his chin. This time, when Hannah sighs, it makes a sound. He flinches.

Hannah can't tell if he's careful while using a paper-towel and water to clean his face, but it's not too red by the end of it, which must mean he has been. Really, nothing better could be expected with the quality of the papertowels the school gives them.

Hannah almost doubles over when the pain in his abdomen spikes, forcing his muscles to tense. He does his best to breathe, leaning on the bathroom sink. His knuckles have tirned white with how tight he's clutching it.

When the wave goes over, Hannah straightens up again. He's still slouched, hiding his chest and trying to take strain off of his lower back, but doing more sounds like a bad idea.

Hannah runs his tongue over his lips. They're dry. He should drink something. He knows he still has water in his school-bag, but taking it off right now and putting it back on afterwards sounds like an impossible task.

He blinks slowly, trying his best to grasp a clear thought. He won't be returning to class like this, that's for sure. A destination in mind, Hannah quickly moves. He'll drink when he's there.

Hannah walks quickly but silently, something he is thankful for. He doesn't think he could deal with a teacher questioning him right now. Doesn't think he could get the words needed to answer out of his mouth. They would only get stuck in his throat, with pointy edges that always make him gag.

Hannah makes it to the only open window at this part of the school easily enough, squeezing through and pushing it closed behind him. He all but collapses as soon as he's out of view, leaning against a wall. He doesn't know what's on the other side.

His hands shake from the strain as Hannah pulls out his bottle and drinks water. Je stares at the sky, watching the clouds. Instinctively, he curls back up, his knees pulled to his chest.

He barely manages to take another drink and put down the waterbottle before Hannah feels a familiar weight fall back iver his limbs. He won't be moving for a while. So Hannah stares at the sky and allows his thoughts to drift.

[touch-starved-lurker]

had a weird dream about water and oceans and emptying them. or maybe it was just a plastic kiddie pool. it was a puzzle and we hadn’t done it right. they wanted us to do it again.

and then the sleeping arrangements were like at camp again

and i cried alone on a porch, with my spotify on, about never being called they/them even though i’d made it clear that was what i wanted

so anyway i’m sure that’s totally not indicative of anything going on in my psyche that hasn’t yet risen to the surface! definitely not :))))))

[eleilinnrallin]

The weird thing about dysphoria for me is that it's not... really related to how I look? Which is a funky little thing. Probably has to do with the fact that I'm terrible at determining if something is aesthetically appealing or not.

Sometimes there's a little bit of it when I look in the mirror, but it's more a sense of wrongness than "oh I don't like that" or "xyz would look better". It's a sense of disconnect from what I'm seeing. Like I'm looking at a version of me someone drew who doesn't know what they were doing. A sense that I'm not looking at myself, or that I'm looking at an incorrect version.

When I look in the mirror I tend to notice things I like, now. Once I cut my hair, I'd look and feel so happy. I still do, when I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye or when taking selfies with someone. When I do makeup things (Always rather Extreme, Fun things, like big swatches of colour under my eyes, or pride flag colors, or similar) I see how I've made some sort of art. If I'm wearing affirming clothes, I notice how it changes my outline.

But there's still a pervasive sense of wrongness, the same one that's been there since I started puberty. I'm surprised my body looks the way it does on a regular basis, but more than that, I'm surprised when I can't do things.

I try to sing in a range I can't reach. I try to lie flat on my stomach on the floor. I used to try compete with my brothers athletically and hold them as a standard I could reach (even though I never could without putting in so much more work than them). And I'm frustrated when I can't.

Clothes fit wrong or feel wrong, my voice sounds wrong, even my bones are the wrong size.

Ultimately, that's what dysphoria is to me. It's not bad self-image; I actually rather like the nondysphoric parts of my body. It's just. wrongness. Not fitting in my body, my body not fitting me. Because in the end it's not a matter of how I look. It's a matter of how I feel, and becoming comfortable in my body.

[theclisterz]

all time low

[brightblessed-aa]

// me after doing one (1) draft: fucking passes out

[yippeecahier]

It's in the upper 80s so it's getting too hot for me to wear a binder under men's office wear to work. If I put on a breathable dress shirt and bra, my breasts stick out so much I feel uncomfortable and keep pulling my shirt down and into my pants to try (and fail) at flattening them. I guess I really do have chest dysphoria.

I've been enjoying not shaving my legs and armpits (and using men's deodorant), but as it's getting warmer I can't comfortably cover up my legs and armpits as much anymore. I dread having to shave. I may have to for an upcoming summer wedding where I'm expected to wear a dress. Ugh.

[spoopy-sloth]

Not to be that person again, but gender dysphoria has been hitting me real hard as of late. I think I'm just exhausted being boxed into a gender and then being reprimanded when I stray away from whatever gender I'm being perceived as. Idk. Like I know ultimately I shouldnt care how others percieve me as, but it's the social repercussion and consequences that's adding more weight to the whole ordeal.

Sigh.

[bisexualalienss]

a therapist would have a field day with me truly