Venting Unlovability (Transgenderism, Touch Aversion, Self Harm and the Inevitable)

[quietpill]

My partner of a year and a half recently told me that he is straight and never going to be genuinely attracted to my androgyny or masculinity, only my femininity, as an AFAB transmasc person (I identify as nonbinary due to knowing I will never be able to fully transition). This killed our mutual romance and attraction, and to be honest I'm not even mad at him. Maybe resentful of the time lost, but that's on me for ever being hopeful.

Now, I'm mired and lost in the fact that no one will ever want a half-baked tranny who is fucking miserable, always has been and always will be. I think the worst part is knowing that my physical and emotional pain would be halved if I could just stomach being seen as a girl. But I can't, I'm forever locked into being a freak of nature. Realistically, I know that even if I was cisgender, the chasm I feel between me and society at large would remain. I'm a facsimile of humanity. The social queues I learn are never enough to convince people I'm real, that I'm worth continuing to talk to beyond a couple conversations. It's a retail reflex, my kindness and learned witicisms, and when anybody glimpses beyond there is a yawning void they shy away from, naturally. From friends, to family, to the few lovers I've had, they tell me "I'm sorry I can't help you" without me even having to ask, without knowing I even was. I know I could get better, see a therapist and a psych, but it's just not worth it when my body is disgusting, when I can't be loved normally like other people and know it's locked behind a paywall I have no hopes of climbing over. I know I push everyone away because of this, too. The only thing I want is to be hugged, really, but I'm a literally un-comfortable person who recoils from touch under emotional stress unless I'm doling it out for another's benefit, because I don't trust anyone with the most tender parts of myself. The moments where my fascimile of genuinity and comfort is enough for someone else in a way I know it will never be for me hurts deeper than any pain I've ever experienced.

I dream of the ultimate intimacy of being strangled to death. Being held when I go, even if it's by hate, malice, and against my will (barely) seems... nice. A comforting fantasy as opposed to the untouchable fantasy of recovery and love. Why would anyone love me when they could hurt me? How could they want anything else? No matter how much I try, alcohol and cigarettes rarely hold a candle to the splitting of flesh. I can't gut myself and drag out my intestines, I can't get top surgery, I can't confide in anyone, I can't get better. But I can use my knife, I can remember I'm flesh and blood when I cut open the layers to make sure, and covet the small intimacies only I am willing to give myself when I gauze and bandage the wounds. Superficial pain is the only kind that heals, and I think that's why I'm addicted to it.

I am drunk and I'm hateful, as opposed to sober and bitter. And I'm sorry if none of this isn't even coherent.

 

[willow115]

There's so much to unpack here. You can date in that circle. It's pretty wide now in the western world. Your feelings of unlovability are coming from within given the fact that you have past partners. You're not exiled from dating.

You have so much self loathing and dissociation and discomfort in your body, it's hard not think that's playing a role in the adrogyny here. To escape all that. I think therapy, even if it doesn't "fix" anyone, is enough to open some questions up.