Warning: Trigger warning for Gender Dysphoria & Suicide.
A dialogue with my inner self:
Dysphoria is permanent suffering, an all encompasing dread,
as deadly as nightshade, as dark as your most chasmic thoughts. why am I suffering
The scraping of nails on a chalkboard that is your brain,
pervasive tinnitus; my mind betrays me with
waves crashing against every part of your body;
Your skin feels like wet clothes.
You see no future; you are nothing; the urge to jump, as the wind strips the pain. what if I just ended it
The hatred of your skin; the urge to excoriate your flesh. gonna smash my head into a wall
The flashes of rage when something is not right, my body betrays me, I’m a physical abomination:
what I see is not me.
Why can’t I return my body to my Maker, there must be some mistake.
I’d like a refund please, the product is defective
(my body is not mine, it is impersonal, a tool, a product)
Your body is working fine
how could you make me so hideous
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well
, I think, but I do not dare utter, so I say:
You must be confused, that’s why it is defective: the product works as intended!
It feels like a cosmic betrayal.
I screamed at the heavens for years, I want to fight Him for allowing the destruction of my body.
There must be a reason though, but I cannot find it in my lifetime; God, what I wouldn’t give for a redo,
every time I think about this, I think of Job 38, and in your cosmic “wisdom”, made me wrong,
I mean no, you made me right, I guess.
That’s what everyone says, but if they had what I have, they’d be screaming for me to end them,
a simple release from the pain. I think the real miracle isn’t that I was born, but that I survived.
Dysphoria is:
- Crying for the friends you couldn’t have, watching them from afar, knowing you can’t truly be one of them.
- The one-way mirror of your femininity, you can see through but they cannot see you.
- The women you make friends with treat you differently, you’ll never be one of them, you fucking trap, you’ll always be known as that freak, you dirty fucking monster, you’ll never be a real woman.
- The clothes you can’t wear; “pervert!”, “I’m a faggot, “tranny!”
- The dull heartache.
- The peace you will never have: an everlasting war with yourself.
- Like calmly drowning while seeing yourself transform into a stranger, “I know this is my body, but it can’t be”. what the fuck is wrong with me
Testosterone has murdered me.
It must be an demon from Satan.
Hijacking my voice like Ursula.
Making my body a freight train.
Making me a gorilla, utterly hairy.
A freak of nature, an alien on earth.
Might as well put me in a circus show.
4 years,
48 months,
1,461 days,
35,064 hours,
2,103,840 minutes,
I might as well have been burning in Hell itself, drowning in emotions with no tears to cry.
I could not take refuge in my body, for it betrayed me with testosterone,
I could not take refuge in my mind, for it laughed at me like a hyena, my mind is devouring itself
I could not take refuge in my friends, for they knew not what I felt,
I could not take refuge in my family, for they’d make me wait years, what the actual fuck happened to how I looked
And I’m from oblivion I hate myself
Call me an alien I was just born incomplete like a fucking IKEA chair
And make what I say sound so insecure I feel like a broken mess
Inside, I’m screaming out JUST MAKE ME COMPLETE FOR ONCE IN MY FUCKING LIFE
You put me in a box it doesn’t represent me, it represents men
But still I can’t stop to reach out for more It’s killing me inside with all this hurt
And I’ve tried to change what you want me to change I’m sorry I won’t be your boy who grew up into a man, Mama
But I can’t do it I just can’t win. I’ve tried for 3 years
And it makes no sense to me How could you, God?
~ Alien, Kim Petras
I am your daughter, God, that boy, that shadow of myself, he’s dead, he disappeared:
Yet you do not even know what tomorrow will bring.
What is your life?
For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.
That boy named █████ died February 10th, 2026, his life was like a mist to me, he vanished, his only purpose was to bring me to life. I’ve written before that I can’t hate him, but I really do. He was everything I hated about myself. He didn’t mean to, but his inaction was his greatest failure. He was scared, and I hate him for it. He was scared for 4 years and didn’t say a word. Never be scared again.
But,
I am a woman
soy una mujer
εἰμί γυνή ἐγώ
~~~
Elisabeth Wenger-Stickel