Dysphoria

An idea of what dysphoria does to me as a trans woman.

As I walk toward them my heart beats faster, my breath ceases, and pulse start to race. 

Their stares make me feel as transparent as air.

My mind races with a million reasons why they may be staring and all sense of self vanish without a trace. 

Is it my height, my masculine jawline, or the 

protruding brow bone on my forehead?

Is it my big hands, my broad shoulders?

Or the part of me I tuck away daily to live a semblance of a normal life?

The closer they get the more I sweat, the shallower my breath and the less aware I am of my humanity. 

Anxiety

Dysphoria 

Depression

Co-mingled and intertwined, feeding off of each other, rendering me helpless in an instant. 

Demons that linger over me like a flock of crows circling its prey, waiting to strike at any moment of my day. 

As the group makes its way toward me

My thoughts race.

The sound of laughter pierces through the air and sends shivers through my body, slowing my pace. 

I then freeze, overwhelmed by the flood of thoughts causing panic in my chest.  

Is it me?

My appearance? Am I too masculine to be passable?

Do they see me as a joke? A man in a dress? 

Undeserving of comfort, respect, love, or life itself?

These are the thoughts that manifest each time I step on a street, sit in a crowded room, or leave my apartment. 

A prisoner in my own body  

Dysphoria tears through me as easily as a needle through cloth

Clouding my judgment, and blurring my reality. 

It breeds insecurity that strips away all sense of worthiness.

Anxiety that makes life torturous. 

Dysphoria, when you strike you leave me in shambles, 

blinding me to all good in this world.