Curate, connect, and discover
There is something so painfully and uniquely trans about the act of taking off your clothes. And I don’t even mean in a sexual manner. I mean, the feeling of going home after a long day and standing in your room getting ready for bed. I woke up this morning and just like any other day got ready. As I put on my outfit, my bracelets and necklaces, my vest, and my makeup, I slowly began to recognize the person I saw in the mirror. The dysphoria melted away and I became comfortable. There was a boy standing where I was standing.
I go out, have a pretty good day, go see my friends for a little bit and return home early so I can recharge my social battery. Suddenly, I’m standing in the bathroom again, just like I was this morning. I take off my chains, jewelry, and makeup. And as I do, I realize how much work I put in this morning to feel as masculine as I did. Now the carefully crafted boy was melting away into the old face and body. The person I no longer recognize as myself.
I take off my clothes alone in my room, and I’m suddenly very aware of my body. The body I hid under my clothes all day. It’s not mine anymore and it won’t be mine until I can change it.