On Depression, pt. 1

Well, I tried. But I choose what I want to write on any given post based solely upon what random thing I want to write on at the time. And despite my better efforts, currently, that thing is depression.

I alluded to a few things in my discussion on my hormones. Namely, that my lack of hormones is a major contributing factor. I also touched on the issue of transgender suicide.

You know what? I don’t really want to talk about suicide right now.

But I am going to write a bit about the issues of depression as they relate to self-image.

When you are gender dysphoric, you feel, at least, uncomfortable with your assigned (biological) gender. At worst, you loathe it. As you can imagine, this can lead to some issues with your self-image. And, boy, does it.

I have told myself for years that everyone hates themselves, so I’m not really all that different. While I still believe that there are times that people hate themselves (maybe when you do or say something embarrassing), I am beginning to question how many people hate themselves all of the time. I, on the other hand, hate myself twice-over.

I hate my outward self. I hate that I have to dress a certain way, look a certain way, act a certain way. I hate all the societal pressure that demands I be male, whatever that may mean. I am sad anytime I see myself in pictures.

And I hate my inner self, my female self. I hate it because I love it. I hate it because I desire it. I hate it because it is the lens through which I see everything. I am so deeply ashamed of it. In short, I don’t want to be transgender. I don’t think anyone who is, does.

But I also don’t want to be male. I am so jealous of women, because I want to be one so badly. I see women on TV, in magazines, in public. And every time I do, I see myself in them. And I am immediately sad. Sometimes I get over it relatively quickly. Sometimes I don’t.

It’s hard to write about depression, because there are so many things I want to say, but when I sit down to do it, I can’t organize my thoughts.

I mentioned in my first post on this blog that no one reading this could possibly hate me more than I do myself. I stand by that. I hate my male body. I hate my female soul. Deeply. Endlessly, I hate my two selves.

I want to cry, but I never can, not for myself. I cry all the time for the sake of others, empathizing easily with characters on TV or in books. Sometimes, a moment is just particularly beautiful, and I cry for that. But I can never cry for myself. I beg for that cathartic release, but it never comes. The depression just simmers.

I think the most recent trigger for my depression was the image attached to this post, which is a picture of me altered by smartphone magic. I wasn’t going to post any pictures of myself on this blog, but I think it is important I upload this one.

It took two apps: the first made me look more female, and the second was for applying my makeup. I can’t describe what I feel when I look at it. I see myself. My face is there. My eyes, my expression. But, for the first time ever, I was able to see my inner self. My female self. It’s just…so believable. One day, I may post the original, but for now, I’ll just post the revised edition.

I want to look at it all the time, but every time I do, I am filled with a horrible sorrow. I would never wish these feelings on anyone.

Some days are simply more difficult than others.

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