Sometimes I wish I had a box
Jul. 25th, 2009 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
axesladeIt's amazing what a pair of breasts can do
I know each day that I struggle to hide mine, sometimes bound so tightly that it hurts to breathe, it's a DD-sized reminder of what a pair of breasts can do. While most days binding is the only way I can feel comfortable leaving the house, sometimes it feels like a punishment, as if the pain is a penance for the "wrongness" of my body. I think back to the nights lying in the dark, alone with fantasies of self-mutilation, of carving and peeling away the layers of skin and flesh until I could find the "me" that was trapped somewhere inside, or the days staring into the mirror, and wondering what exactly that "me" even looked like
...
I'm not a transsexual. I don't want to be a man, because I'm not a man. I can't be a woman, because I'm not a woman either. When I watch a coming of age story of someone discovering their "inner-me", and finally being able to make it an "outer-me", something inside me screams. Call it jealousy if you like, but sometimes, I wish I had a box I could fit into
I know each day that I struggle to hide mine, sometimes bound so tightly that it hurts to breathe, it's a DD-sized reminder of what a pair of breasts can do. While most days binding is the only way I can feel comfortable leaving the house, sometimes it feels like a punishment, as if the pain is a penance for the "wrongness" of my body. I think back to the nights lying in the dark, alone with fantasies of self-mutilation, of carving and peeling away the layers of skin and flesh until I could find the "me" that was trapped somewhere inside, or the days staring into the mirror, and wondering what exactly that "me" even looked like
...
I'm not a transsexual. I don't want to be a man, because I'm not a man. I can't be a woman, because I'm not a woman either. When I watch a coming of age story of someone discovering their "inner-me", and finally being able to make it an "outer-me", something inside me screams. Call it jealousy if you like, but sometimes, I wish I had a box I could fit into
