This is what gender dysphoria looks like

Cw: semi-nudity, dysphoria and chest mention. 

Quick update…. I know I hardly post and I’ve been meaning to update you but honestly, things have been great recently and there’s not much to talk about, in the best way possible! 

Anyway. I got my hair cut for the first time in months cause dysphoria was hitting me hard, and honestly, preventing me from getting it cut because salons are dicks about gender. I booked into a barbers under Lucas, and I was so anxious about it but it went brilliantly and I got a SICK haircut that I love!! I’m already feeling super confident cause of it and yeah. I love it. 

Anyway. Because of said haircut I was being super vain and taking loads of ‘topless’ selfies cause they can actually help you look more masculine(?!) I guess it’s because we’ve been brainwashed into thinking that only men may show nipple….

Anyhoo, feeling fly, selfie game strong… And then I look at my chest in the camera. And I captured my instant reaction. 

This photo makes me want to cry cause I see the pain and discomfort in my eyes. I feel so masculine in the face now and with my awesome dude haircut and then…. Oh. Yeah. These goddamn yucky unnecessary… Things… Are on my body. The things that scream, HEY LOOKIT ME, I’m clearly female, what with these protruding flesh sacks.  Urgh. Blergh. I need to wash my mouth out, I feel sick. They make me nauseous. 

But then I thought, I need to share this. Cause this is what dysphoria looks like. It’s the contrast of feeling comfortable, and then having something “remind” you that there’s something that doesn’t work with your gender. It’s having the world perceive you as something you’re not, just by how you look. It’s that feeling of revulsion at something that looks and feels disgusting and wrong. And it sucks, and kicks my ass. 

My hair still fuckin RULES though 😂😂😂👌


Ramblings of a Madman

So, it’s been a while. I’ve been using a couple of Facebook groups as support rather than here sometimes, just for the feedback and help from other people it can give. Sharing a laugh over some transphobia on tinder for example, with a group of people who understand everything about that. It made that experience a happier one, rather than me just getting upset over it. Plus, I delivered some sick burns to this transphobic asshat that got widely applauded so yay me for bringing the funny into it 😂
Anyway, that’s not what I was going to talk about. It *is* semi-relevant to this though,  in that my clapback Tinder post was in the same group as these below.

All of the following were posted in the same group, little to no feedback/response, nada. I know that tbh they sounds attention seeking but it wasn’t meant like that at all, I was just word vomiting / stream of consciousness  writing this shit out like I wasn’t aware of what I was saying. That’s pretty typical of me tbh. Anyway, have some dysphoria garbage. 

18th March:
had to stop myself from having a full on breakdown at work cause so many things are getting me down. Trying to date, my gender presentation or lack thereof, my fucking shit looking hair, being female presenting at work because I always get misgendered…

Fuck it, I’m smoking up, drinking and comfort eating tonight. 

19th March:

Cw /tw: dysphoria, mention of death, mental health, mention of periods, self harm/suicide (tell me if I need more) Definitely internalised transphobia 

Tbt when I basically wrote a song about dysphoria and suicide before I knew they were a thing. 
It had the line(s) but “I’m still breathing / bleeding” and was either about self harm or menstruation or both 😥😭😢


  Here comes the bad part, look away now


It was basically about how shit I feel about myself, my body, and how I felt like I lived in fear of myself, my periods. I was bullied for boys asking if I was “hiding a dick under my skirt” that I felt like I had to prove that I was female. Which then basically turned me into a whore. So much so that I carved the word into myself. My poor mother saw me at my very worst, lowest point where I had given myself cigarette burns and bloodstains on my clothes. And no one else actually witnessed that, and  I feel so guilty that she has that burden to see that afflicting her own child. Shit guys I’m sorry this is so fucking dark, it crept up on me. I feel disgusted with myself. And all of this just makes me want to give up on my transition, I don’t deserve happiness. I’m vermin.
19\20th March, midnight:

So anyone else ever think, “if I was naturally / born male, this is what I would’ve done with my life”?? And then I get annoyed with myself that I stalled getting treatment for so long, not realising I was trans when I was younger, wishing I could be reborn, et cetera…. Fml. I just hate the fact that I’m going to turn 30 before I have surgery or any fucking treatment at this rate. Or I go private for hormones… If that’s really as affordable I hope…?! Urrghh I just feel like giving up, I’ll never be happy, I’ll never be able to build my life to where it should be. I’m seeing all my friends my age marrying, buying houses, having children, moving halfway across the world, in amazing jobs… And I feel like I’m stuck in the past, unable to be the person I want to be. 😥
And the popular post? 17th March, 8am. Over 200 likes and 60 comments. 

I guess I’m just upset that something that makes people laugh (with me) and something more impersonal is super popular, because Yeah a lot of people can relate to it for being in the same situation. But when I try to talk about something different it goes down like a lead balloon. Or, rather, when I need real help, real support, it falls short. 
Aaaaaannd THIS right here is why I need counselling or therapy. But, oh yeah, that’s right, I’m not considered a real cause by the public and the NHS. Being transgender is a minor concern that people can live with, without any treatment, right? Don’t make me laugh.

I’m just frustrated that there isn’t many people I could really talk to who fully understand, or understand enough to be helpful, and not just piss me off further by me ending up feeling interrogated (like that nosy COWorker) or dysphoric (like that ‘friend’ nagging me about my haircut).

I’m still trying to figure out so much of this on my own that it’s overwhelming. I’ve been taking it slow,  but I feel like I’ve hit a wall so hard it feels like my only option is to give up pursuing a transition. Like it’s going to be pointless anyway cause I’ve wasted all my youth being miserable that I can’t imagine having the life I wanted to have, that I should have by now. Like I said before, I see all my friends my age accomplishing so much – getting amazing jobs and houses, getting married, moving to different continents, having kids – and I’ve missed out on all of that for this STUPID, REJECT, BROKEN mind and body, it’s not fair. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t want to be like this and I don’t know how it’s going to be any different. If I could have a do-over, start again from scratch, what would I do differently? Would I have transitioned far earlier if given the chance? If I was a guy, what would I have accomplished by now, what kind of person would I have been? I just wish I could travel the multiverse and find that reality, the one where I was born male, and see who I am. Who I was always meant to be. Rather than this pathetic excuse for a human that’s not amounted to anything. 
Urgh. Anyway, ramble over. Needed to get that out. I hope it’s not too incoherent 😂

Up All Night 

Been a while again. 

I’ve not been sleeping well again, just over-thinking so many things. 

The biggest “new” issue that I decided it would be a great idea to start pondering, is bottom surgery. 

I know in my heart and head that I’m definitely 110% certain about going ahead with testosterone & top surgery; I can think of nothing that would make me happier. It’s enough of a change that would really firmly cement my identity – and hopefully a dramatic one, if I bulk muscles right and have the natural talent of beard growth (luckily genes are on my side there). 

But then, I start to wonder about wanting bottom surgery. That’s a whole mess of a can of worms. There’s so many different issues there that cloud my mind. Should I feel the need to pop out  baby before I transition, just to experience it, check it off the list? But why? Surely it’ll just make me even more miserable, and I’ll be Tilda Swinton in We Need To Talk About Kevin. But worse, if that’s even possible. 

And every time I think about the prospect of a neophallus, firstly I think,  hell yeah that would be awesome. But then it’s a double edged sword (no pun intended) of feeling like I’ll only ever be disappointed. The scarring from the skin grafts and host sites are huge and scary and blindingly obvious, and I wonder if you could even tattoo over them? & What about sensation? Can you even feel anything??! And function… Do you even get any functionality or is it purely decorative??! HA! And the look…. I’ve had a look at success photos, and it’s not exactly a yes from me. And if all of that’s the case, then what’s the fucking point? I MIGHT AS WELL TRY CREATING ENERGY FROM A VOID. 

Fun fact: that’s impossible. 
I’m just waiting for the day when you could flick through a catalogue of humans, point at one, and say 

“Please transfer my consciousness into this one” 

Future plans

Listening to music on the way home,  Jess Glynne came on, and her song “I Ain’t Got Far to Go” took on a while new meaning for me. 

Some backstory first. My immediate family are really sporty and healthy. My Dad windsurfs every week, my mum teaches Pilates, my brother and his girlfriend surfs and rock climbs… You get the idea. I don’t do anything. 

And yeah, I’m a little larger than them. I’m not on the ‘healthy’ range of the BMI scale. And it does bug me. 

But the other thing to understand, is that for years I was deeply depressed and comfort ate, putting on about a stone a year. And so far, I’ve lost about a stone and a half in a year. Woo yay!! 

But still, I don’t have a huge motivation to exercise. When you despise your body – regardless of what weight you are – there’s not a huge amount of motivation behind giving a shit about your body. HOWEVER. Now I’m working towards something concrete. Not just losing weight to be a more attractive female, and then having to deal with that dysphoria of being even more feminine looking, but now, to gain a more masculine physique, there’s a lot more riding on losing weight. It’ll help future surgery, it’ll help me to pass better… 

Anyway. Back to the Jess Glynne song. The lyrics of the chorus are:

Cause I spent forever waiting / And it’s no longer a dream / And now I’ve landed on my feet / And I ain’t got far to go”

I was dancing along and having a boogie, and the lyrics made me think. They resonated with me,  cause I’m on the right path. And me dancing along made me think, when I’ve got the body I want, (AKA, removed the tits) how I can do whatever I want. No longer held back by feeling self-conscious, hating how I jiggle in the wrong places. No physical barrier between me and feeling comfortable just doing exercise.

I could take up street dancing. SUP’ing. Get really into a sport, like Boxing or basketball. The world will really, truly be my oyster. Have something that I really can enjoy, once I’m really, truly free. 

And yes, surgery is a long way in the future. I just have to be optimistic and think, I ain’t got far to go. 

Progress & Misdirected Anger

So, I saw my GP today. And it went far better than expected.

I realised in my foolishness that I was waiting a year, supposedly “in the system”, waiting for a letter that my referral had been accepted.

Then, through my own online research, I found out that the clinic I was referred to, Charing Cross, closed its doors in August.


So I was lost, dropped, a casualty of the budget cuts.

So when I saw my GP today I was astounded to hear that you don’t even need a psychiatric evaluation now to be referred on to a gender identity clinic.

WONDERFUL NEWS. Why did I bother going private a year ago then????

It just fucks me off so much that I was just told to wait, be patient, the referral will take time. And now it was all for nothing, I’ve had to start again. I’m still going to complain to PALS about this, I don’t know what they can do, but part of me wants to demand some kind of speed assistance to my case, some kind of shortcut through the system. I mean, that was the whole fucking point of going private in the first fucking place…. so the fact that I just patiently waited, like I thought I was supposed to, and now I’m probably just at FUCKING SQUARE ONE?!?!

It makes me want to scream. I know that I’m not the only Trans person that’s probably experienced the same exact thing, but fucking come on. I’ve been waiting for nothing. And in the meantime I’ve managed to sort myself out with my RLE, living as male now for the last few months, every day at work and in my personal life. Without their help.



The positive to focus on??

My GP is referring me to not just one, but two different clinics that serve the South of England. TWO WHOLE CLINICS. WOOOHOOO.

She’s going to see which one would be able to see me first.


And I’m just hoping and praying, that they will be able to see me sooner rather than later. How awesome would it be now if It’s not that long?? 6 months or less???????


I can fucking dream. I want to get this DONE. I’m ready. I’ve been ready for over a year. I’m bored now.


Well, it was about time that this blog had some uplifting entries.

Everything is going pretty damn well at the minute tbqh.

I’ve come out at work with a teeny hurrah, and most of my coworkers know now, properly, and make an effort to just call me Em… which means I’m making an effort to actually present male everyday.

My dad has actually turned a pretty huge corner, he’s actually adjusting somewhat, even if he can still be a complete tosser in saying the worst bullshit…..

I’ve told my entire friends list, bar my Dad’s side of the family. The response so far has been overwhelming. 40 “likes” and 17 new friend requests on Emmett.


My cousins came down from Edinburgh, especially for me, which was pretty goddamn special.

and then they sang me, Emmett, happy birthday :’)

(I actually cried)

The only thing missing is getting the NHS to get its act together…

Facebook Profile Photo #2

Long overdue in this series, which at this rate, I’ll never finish…

This is the second instalment of Truth Behind Images.

(I like to think of this as the thing that will make this blog popular… here’s hoping.)


Sorry for the crappy quality, this was way back in 2008. I think the photo is older than that still, possibly 2006? Anyway, guess which one is me.

Yup, right in the middle, total show off, looking the wrong way with a bright pink bag.

To this day I still love this photo of me. It’s one of the only “school trip” photos that I like. Mainly cause I wasn’t trying to be too girly.

Interestingly, a vast majority of the girls that went on this trip also ended up to be gay in some form or another, which is probably why I think this was my most enjoyable school trip – cause I was among people like me.

Nothing much else to be said about this – I was pretty content with this. I like how boyish I look, yet I’m still going “look, I’m a girl, I’ve got a pink bag” – when in reality, even at the time, I hated that bag for being pink. I liked how big it was and the giant star on it though…

Sibling Love/Hate

I think the one thing that makes this all so much more cruel is that I have a brother that’s 2 years older than me.

So for the majority of my childhood, I thought I was just like him.

I fully expected to grow up just like him. I modelled myself in his image. I played his video games, I listened to his music, I read his books. I fucking idolised him, and I don’t know if he even knows that. He probably does, but doesn’t care. Or worse, he knows and hates me more for it. I’ve always idolised him. I’ve always wanted to be him, even now.

So growing up with this boy that I fucking adored, when puberty hit… it turned to envy. An extreme, soul-eating envy when I realised I was never going to be like him. I grew tits I didn’t ask for, and was the woe of all my friends, the first girl, age 11, ELEVEN, with this asshole of a body.

Everyone was telling me how PROUD I should be, so happy with my new breasts and my young development. I should wear them like a trophy, showing off my brand new body.

I hated it. It felt so wrong, even then, and I was just wishing and praying that I could trade off my breasts, get rid of them please, I never wanted them in the first place.But I had to squash that down and pretend that I liked it.

So, as I grew, my disparity with my brother grew. My hatred of myself, and in part, him, grew. We grew further apart and I resented him more and more. I was so insanely jealous, it felt so monumentally unfair that he was growing up perfect, and I wasn’t him.

So now, we don’t talk. Me and my brother are not close at all. When I first wrote this, he didn’t even know that I’m Trans. He knows now, but only heard it through his girlfriend, cause I didn’t know how to tell him to his face.

How do you explain to someone you’ve known your whole life that you hate them for showing me what I couldn’t be? For showing me that I was never going to be him. That you’ve taken everything out on him from sheer envy and misguided hatred. How could he forgive me for that, or understand any of it? How do I even have a conversation about any of this when we don’t talk about anything, let alone anything this deep.

I rattle off these facts to anyone I talk to about being trans, when they ask about siblings. I say it so dispassionately, so matter of fact, like me and my brother will never get on, never have a relationship, when really, (I hate to admit it), that’s all that I want. I should be as close to him as anything. He should feel something, some modicum of respect or understanding for me, when I know that’s laughable. How do you get an asshole to care? (Okay, now I’m just being mean)

And I feel kind of bad for my mum in all this. It isn’t really her fault that her other son is an emotionless bastard… again, being mean… It’s not her fault we’re not close. She’s tried to bring us together, even going as far as getting us gig tickets for a band we both liked, just us, to give us some, and I quote, “alone time to bond”. Which was a huge fail because he answered my questions/killed conversation in one-word answers and listened to music on the train ride, and ditched me halfway thru the concert. Mum, you tried. He didn’t.

In my brothers’ defence though, I don’t blame him for how he treats me. Who wouldn’t act the same? An irritating little sister who copies everything you do, clingy, won’t leave you alone or have anything that’s just yours and yours alone. We had to share everything – because I demanded it. His reaction to that is perfectly reasonable.

Plus, all of this a product of, let’s face it, me. My behaviour. My childhood. My issues. My mind and body and everything else that’s fucked up about me. Cut me out of the picture and you have a perfect family. I bet he wishes that too.

xo, EJ

I can’t even look at photos of my brother. Because every time I look at him, I see myself. I see who I was meant to be, and it breaks my fucking heart over and over.

I love him, and I hate him.


I don’t like to update this blog so much, as you may have noticed. As per my last post, I like to avoid this shit at all costs, as if prolonging the inevitable makes it easier to deal with.

I forget that I’m not taking medicine again.

I convince myself for a month or so after quitting (for the hundredth time this year) that it’ll be okay, that I don’t need them. And it works for a while.


Until it doesn’t.

I think I’m okay, that I’m happy, even normal. I even boast about how well I’m sleeping, how I feel great without medicine to my dad – because I know that will make him happy, since he’s sceptical about the whole thing really and thinks I just need a workout to shake things off. I tell people what they want to hear. What I want to be true.

And then it creeps up on me again. Something, a video, an article, something will penetrate my psyche, poke me in the ribs and point out:

Look at them. They’re happy. That’s what you should look like. Why aren’t you like that? You know you don’t look like that, right? Your acting isn’t up to par. You’re supposed to feel more emotions than you do. You know there’s this thing called depression, right? Maybe you have it?

And then, when there are things that I should enjoy, things that should make me happy, things that I’m blessed to be a part of or do…. I feel so guilty afterwards that I barely registered them.

It makes me realise that as much as I pretend, my emotions are barely there again, that I’m numbed. I hear some amazing news and I don’t, can’t, leap with joy, I know I should but then again I know I’m trying. I’m trying to show the correct response while feeling nothing.


And I know that my mum reads this, and it breaks my heart to know that she’ll understand what I’m talking about here – I’m sorry mum. I love you too much to be truly honest with you. I never want to make you cry, worrying about me or by anything I’ve written. I don’t want you to know sometimes… sometimes I wish I didn’t inadvertently give you the link to here. It would be better if you didn’t know everything… Oh well, if you read this, again – I’m sorry. Please don’t be sad.


I watch a lot of TV shows, play video games, watch a couple of films and read manga from time to time. But I watch TV Shows almost all day, every day.

A few times in my life I notice when I’m excessively watching something – I have cycles of viewing patterns. So for instance, right now as I type this, I am watching Season 4 of Castle for the third time in as many years.

It’s my go-to show for when I know that things are bad again – or at least, getting worse in some way. I try and avoid facing my mental health as much as possible – hence why I haven’t published anything for a long while.


Anyway. The whole point of this train of thought – I don’t like to question myself or my motives behind my actions.


I immerse myself in other worlds, other realities, because I hate my own so much.


I feel like the only time I have any strong emotions is when it’s tied to a character arc or plot point, like emotions only exist in the fantasy space because in my reality, I am emotionless. I’m just constantly numb and having to pretend that you’re genuinely smiling or laughing or just anything other than “Not Okay” is just that – pretending.

The only time my chest hurts from anguish or warmth, the only time I cry or laugh is from an emotional scene on a moving screen. The only real love story is between two-dimensional, black and white characters in manga.

Coming back to reality after losing yourself in something that doesn’t exist just crashes you back to Earth with an almighty thud every single time an episode ends. Reminding you that your life will never be that great, that fulfilled, that interesting. Just another reminder that you can’t have that love and acceptance that every “normal” person in the world has.


Why do I do this to myself?