I Don’t Know Where My Emotional Skin Has Gone
The dysphoria is becoming a bigger problem than I thought it would. I’ve pushed off buying a new binder, even though I’m working now, because I have more important things to spend my money on, I thought. Paying my bills. Rent. Food.
But I need it. I need to feel like me. I’m out, as out as I can be, and I’m still just…
This is a typical exchange:
Coworker: Thank you for holding the door/holding my chair/loaning me bus fare (etc, etc) it’s so nice of you to be polite and sweet
Me: No problem, I’m happy to be a gentleman.
Coworker: But it’s so obvious you’re a girl.
And we laugh. Because obviously, if you have a big rack, it’s obvious you’re a girl. Obviously, if you have sacks of fat hanging off your pecs, you must be sweet and kind and girly and into boys and clothes and makeup…
But I’m not.
I’m wrong. And I feel like an object. But you know what? That’s not right. An object isn’t the right word.
I’m feeling more like… an alien. Like because when someone asks me something, I’ll give an honest answer and sometimes that means honestly answering that I’m genderqueer… I’m a science experiment, to be poked and prodded and studied. Like there’s this thing that isme and noone can see it because they’re too busy seeing all this stuff wrapped around me, this body I’d give anything not to have.
I’m losing weight as I gain strength, walking everywhere (literally, everywhere. This city is awesome for that) and it’s making me look even more like a butched-out pinup. But I’m not Betty Paige with Betty Boop hair.
I don’t want a penis. But please god can I be one of those people that other people say “Is that a boy or a girl?” when they see me? Can I be androgynous, and not have to explain myself over and over again? Can I be right? Can I please, please, please, for one day, be comfortable in my skin? Just, not have to constantly feel like my chest is a conversation starter?
For that matter, why is that? How come it’s okay to just comment on someone’s body, just because it’s there? How fucking rude do you have to be to think that it’s acceptable to tell someone they have large breasts? NO FUCKING SHIT I DO???? OMG!!!! THANK YOU! I WOULD NEVER HAVE KNOWN OTHERWISE.
Okay, long and whiny and rambly, I know.
The point is, I’ve lost whatever ability I had to feel comfortable in my skin, as I become more and more comfortable with who I am. The more confidently I can state that I am Khai Devon, genderqueer lesbian poet blogger, the less confidently I can slog around this curse of an alien body I’ve been stuffed into.
And I need to fix it.