Yearning, a transmasc discovering of yourself through sexuality

Warning : this is a deeply personal post, not to mean to caricature anyone or hurt any sensibility. I just don’t really have anyone to talk to about this specific subject, tho I’m seeking therapy. Take care of yourself, have a nice fall


TW : sexual desire, mental health problems, body dysmorphia/ dysphoria, highly internalized transphobia.
With sexuality comes shame, with shame comes out repressed desires. At least, that’s what psychology tells us. In my case, it’s so true it hurts. This yearning to be someone else, to be in another body, to have a flat chest, hair, a deep voice, is so afar and unimaginable -me, a 5 ft tall « lesbian », barely perceived as masculine with my feminine attitude and jokes I throw around with a high-pitched tone.

Yearning for all of these masculine individuals, such an androgynous figure, a barely existant chest while mine is like a wave flooding all of my silhouette. My so pear-shaped silhouette, from hips to waist, to legs and toes. Designed to bare life - and life I do want to bare. Yearning to be, knowing it’s impossible. Knowing that I didn’t always know. Oh, yes, one time I bought toys from the toys section by myself when I was little, finally facing my desires to have boys toys. At the cashier, I pretend it was a gift, because I knew I wasn’t supposed to like this. My past 2 years in therapy has ingrained this idea that my yearning for masculinity was just the repressed desire of my parents, of having a boy. Then losing this boy to miscarriage, only for a girl to be born in « remplacement ».
And in a therapy-setting, where you deep dive into your deepest desires, it makes sense, Jigsaw falling into places.

Shocking. Those desires aren’t even mine. Even my yearning isn’t mine. My identity is shattered, confused. And even knowing this, I don’t know what to do with this overwhelming desire. But how is it not mine ? It is my body. My dreams. My tears rolling down, asking why am I like this. My yearning over other boys body.
I wish clothes would fit me the way that they do. I wish to caress my chest and feel it flat underneath my fingers. But I would end up realizing these desires aren’t mine. And that would be the end.
Detransitioning, crying over a lost body. Having killed myself for the desire of others. Would that mean I prevented myself from living ? According to therapy, yes. And that’s why I should embrace my assigned gender at birth and wear it proudly. I’m not ashamed of femininity.
Femininity is wonderful, bright, comforting. Even tho I knew I « wasn’t like other girls ». Not in a quirky mysogynistic kind of way, but rather as a « I know I don’t belong here, what is wrong with me ». But I don’t belong with the boys either. They feel like strangers. At least, femininity is comforting. A home I can cuddle into. I perform it like no one ever could. But womanhood ? It’s different. Seeing my body naked is different. Knowing I’m a woman and will always be is different.
It’s not that it’s less than being a man. It’s that I won’t ever be something else. And how could I. Only people who « always knew » could do the unthinkable and transition. My binder don’t bind, my clothes don’t fit me, my face is round, my short hair only more « original » for a woman. So what would be the point.
So when I’m in the quiet of my room, these fears just stop. I can pretend I have a penis, and that my chest is flat. I can pretend I have hair my legs. I can shave my face with a towel wrapped around my waist. And with that comes a sense of sexual relief, of gratification, I’ve never felt in years of being sexually active. Performing womanhood during sex is almost unbearable.
« I’m sorry, I just can’t tonight »,
I tell my lovely girlfriend even tho I’m burning for her.
And I tried so hard to let go, to come as a woman. And I did, multiple times. But nothing compares to the feeling of sexual euphoria of coming when I’m imagining I’m a guy. Of seing myself with this body, this so-far away body. And if my potential transness only comes out in the dark tides of my room, it means it’s perverse.
It’s perverse because it stops here, and I don’t take these actions into reality. $
Online, I follow with envy transmasc individuals passing, living their true self. Having a small chest that is operable by key holes. Or even assuming their scars. I see them being masculine, getting top surgery, updating their voice, talking about bottom growth.
But it’s because they’ve always known. Or are brave enough to do so. So they are allowed to transition. It’s not like my perverse bedroom desires.
I don’t want to lose myself, you know ? Even tho « myself » feels like a fraud. I know who I am. I’m a passionate, resilient, anxious and lazy individual. A taurus, let’s put it simply. I don’t know if being a trans guy, a non binary person, would change any of that. Nah, it won’t. But it would matter to others. I would be a freak. And why would I do that ?
« You can’t be a guy, right ? »
« You’re not trans, where does that come from »
Some reactions I had when I tiptoed into the possibility of being transmasc.
I think I just need to be myself and sees what come next. I’m terrified of people leaving me if I come out as something else than a lesbian. An identity that bring me joy and a place to fit when I was a teenager. But now as an adult, I can listen to my little voice saying « Hey, it’s not totally us ».
Maybe I just spent so many times trying to find myself as a teen that I can’t bring myself not to have an identity crisis every month even as an adult ? Ok, let’s try this.
I think I’m a transmasc non binary bisexual individual. I think. I wish I could be.
Maybe I am ?
A.