I am not you, nor myself.

One day I identify as Transgender, the next I’m fluid. I’ve come to the realization that I may not always identify as one gender, both genders or even a gender and that it’s not anyone else’s business as to why I go by different pronouns so very often.

I used to believe that I had to experience dysphoria just to be considered transgender or even believe I was born in the wrong body. Everyone has their own struggles, everyone is different and not everyone may feel the same way as another transgender person does. I don’t believe that I was born in the wrong body. However, I just believe that I need to alter the body my soul has been entrapped into.

If I tell someone that today I’m male and tomorrow, I go by neutral pronouns or even female pronouns, that doesn’t mean I’m being fake or that I’m doing it for attention. Labels are what make me confused and without them maybe I’d feel a lot more comfortable with who I am.

I myself, am too fluid in every sense of the word to label myself all the time as a certain gender. Sometimes I’m comfortable with it, sometimes I’m not. That doesn’t mean that I deserve less respect just because someone doesn’t accept me or are confused.

I am just simply trying to live in this world and it’s already hard enough.

I am me, myself and I. I am everything and nothing. I am the grey before, the disaster during and the aftermath of every storm.

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Dysphoria at its finest.

You’re just sitting there glancing, looking through the old and the new and all of a sudden you can feel it.

Feel that feeling where your eyes are becoming flooded and you’re trying your best to figure out why and what’s causing the liquid to start surfacing.

You try to erase who you were because out of nowhere, you don’t even know who you are today or who you will be, but regardless, your shirt still feels tight.

You look down and it’s as though quicksand had started to absorb certain parts of you and your legs no longer can stand the test of your own strength.

Letting go of your muscles, your tears finally start falling and you see other people who appear to be struggling in similar ways, but that makes you feel worse.

Then, comparing yourself again, you look at your own self and you can’t seem to find anything worth holding on to, slipping.

Finally, you give up trying to fight, shake the weight that has just suddenly punched you with most of it’s wrath and just attempt to distract yourself until the next time.

You know you’ll make it through, but with each and every passing moment, it gets slightly harder.

Mom, dad, I’m your son.

Mom, dad, it’s as though you have three sons instead of two and one daughter
Was what I said to my parents before I realized I was who I am today
Although I may have said it in a joking way, I was being serious
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll say it again to them
And maybe, just maybe, I can tell them that every time they say ” I love you…. but…” that the ” but ” only encourages me back into the closet I forgot existed besides the one I store my clothes in
So dark, so full of confusion and self hatred
They may be confused, but so am I at times
But they still have a child, just a slightly differently version
They didn’t lose a daughter, they just lost the label
They gained a son