#detrans questioning

The more I question my transition the weirder I feel. I don't have much access to feelings I had as a child aside from the fact I had a literal alter ego that was a boy aka I kinda played my own brother? But other than that I don't know much anymore,mostly because it's so far away

I always did feel disconnected to femaleness,in a way until I started puberty I was sure I wouldn't develop in any way. I kinda knew I had to but was like "nah won't happen to me". Ironically enough I was pretty much an early starter and that also caused me to just hate myself even more.

I really don't know if any of the following feelings of "this isn't supposed to happen" or prior ones were genuine sex dysphoria, or just an amalgamation of the effects of misogyny,ableism and fatphobia (since I was the autistic fat girl and therefore fair game for feeling like I don't belong anywhere and I just wrongly attributed it to dysphoria).

I really wish I could undo my years of internet socialization. I wonder if a different environment,one that wasn't ripe with abuse,bullying and pain would've meant something else in my development.

(k1nk blogs DO NOT INTERACT)

I think gatekeeping through thorough examination and therapy and evaluations to access transitioning measures is important/needed. Informed consent the way I see it in the US is failing, one meetup with a doctor is not enough. I do understand how debilitating dysphoria can be but it is important to not just take what's seemingly best and be as quick as possible, but to sit with those feelings for some time and maybe explore other root causes before going through medical treatment that will inevitably change you irreversibly. I think medical transition should be seen less as a fun side activity but for what it is: medical treatment. And it should be taken seriously as such.

did I abandon her? Did I kill her? The girl that loved with so much force,I abandoned her. Out of cowardice? Out of fear?

As always I have some things I want to say before I get into this. When I talk about boys/girls clothes I'm referring what I was hearing growing up. I think any woman and man should feel free to dress how feminine or masculine they want.

I'm going to be using Goth as a reference of my style of dressing. I don't consider myself a Goth because I don't listen to Goth music

Also one last thing. I'm going to be referring to someone who is a transman as a woman. I'm doing this because this is when he was still living as a woman and my thoughts and feelings were centered around this person being a woman at the time and how my mother reacted.

If you read my post about makeup then you already know a little of how my parents were like with me wanting to wear the same clothing that the boys in my class and my brother wore. I've always loved boys clothing and I hated the clothes that I was forced to wear. On Christmas day or my brother's birthday I didn't care about the toys that he would get. He was really great about sharing them with me but when he got clothes that I liked I always felt sad because I wasn't allowed to wear something like that. Looking back on it now it's sad how parents unintentional (or intentionally) make their kids feel so different by denying them certain toys or clothes.

I've naturally never been that feminine and that's especially true when it came to how I wanted to express myself. I've wanted short hair and to dress in the boy section even before I started pre school. I was forced to have long hair until I was fourteen or fifteen when my mother finally allowed me to cut it down to my shoulders. It wouldn't be too long after the first haircut that she would let me cut it as short as I wanted. As far as my clothes went I wore whatever they wanted me to until I was fourteen. When I was fourteen I started to dress Goth and for the first time in my life I didn't have to dress feminine. I got to wear baggy shirts and those baggy Tripp pants and I started to feel really comfortable with myself. My parents didn't give me a hard time for dressing more gnc. Maybe because they thought it was a normal Goth thing. Even though I was in love with my new Goth style there were other styles I loved too. I only had Goth gnc clothes though. Then one day my brother gave me a shirt that he didn't like that he thought I would. He also gave me a body of axe spray because he was gifted two and he knew I wanted axe body spray. So I walked into the kitchen dressing gnc in a non Goth style smelling good. My mother looked me dead in the eyes and asked me, "Do you want people to think you're sexually confused?" I remember asking her why it would matter but I can't remember what she said. I just remember feeling hurt and just going back to dressing Goth.

I just want to state right fast that this doesn't contain any sexual abuse in the story. I've been lucky as I've never been a victim of sexual abuse. I've had a lot of uncomfortable things happen but if I decide to share those I'll give a warning before hand.

So there's this one story I wanted to share. One that I don't share with a lot of people because I fear that they might not understand why it messed with me so much. Why it still does to this day.

So when I was a little kid I was forced to wear what my parents wanted me to. Which was extremely feminine clothing. When I was older my mother told me how it felt like a war to get me to wear a dress when I was young. As young as two, but I don't really remember at all. Looking back even though my parents usually didn't say it out loud I think they were a little worried. They didn't know about trans people back the but they worried about how I acted. When I get the main point of this story you'll probably wonder how I didn't realize this sooner but I thought that it was one isolated incident. Looking back on it now I can see so many small things. Like the time I was f

six and I wanted clothes like the boys in my classroom but my parents refused. What did I do? I stole my brothers clothes. I was so excited that they fit and I went to go show them. They weren't happy about it. My mother flipped. So what my father did no longer feels like he did it out of the blue. I guess it was building up.

Here's what happened

If I was in the double digits I had to be ten but I might have been younger. Eight, nine, ten I can't remember but I remember I was around that age. It was Sunday and it was a Sunday during the weekend my father had custody of me and my brother. He and his girlfriend at the time would drop us off at Sunday school and mom would meet us there before church. Then we would go home with her and that was normal for us, but this day would be different. My father called me into the bedroom and then he pinned me to the bed while his girlfriend applied makeup on me. I tried to get him off, I screamed, and beg but all they did was laugh. Then they dropped us off at Sunday school and told me not take it off. That they would know if I did because they were going to ask my mother. What happened before was horrifying to me but then I had to face my teacher and peers in makeup that was so heavily applied that I looked like I was what people thought of stereotypes of a hooker. My mother and I didn't always get alone in the past but that day I felt so close to her because she let me wash it off.

Again people might not understand why this was so damaging to me, but I felt so violated. I felt so humiliated and for awhile I felt less of a human. I can't explain why I did I just did. I don't know if my mother could tell but she never tried to forced me to wear makeup. The first time I went to porm she asked me if she could do my makeup and I let her. I was uncomfortable with if being applied but she promised me she was going to make me pretty. She did a great job but I had to do something with my hands to distract myself while she did it. I wouldn't wear makeup again till my early 20s. I did it as kind of a middle finger to my father. Even though I can still feel what he did back then I wasn't going to let it control me. I don't wear makeup often. Only when I'm feeling it, but it's the closest thing I felt like I could get to closure. Even if my father did remember he doesn't do apologies; he does excuses.