Daily Inspection

Every morning I look in the mirror, searching and praying that I find some evidence that I getting closer to the ideal body that ill chase my dysphoria away. I scour my face; mentally measure the angles and curves, running the algorithm that calculates feminine versus masculine, and seeing where I fall. If I clench my jaw, it looks a bit squarer, not much but maybe enough to tip the scale? That assessment done, my eyes travel down.

Shoulders and neck are ok. I wish I ere broader, more top heavy, anything to balance my child-bearing hips. Maybe one day that can happen. Until then I’ll train shoulders and arms religiously, hoping that I can put on half a centimeter, a centimeter, of width and growth. Anything to shift the ratio more in a masculine light.

I skip right over my chest. No point in looking at the taproot of my body hate. There’s only one way to fix it, and no, it isn’t the acceptance of a lover. Surgery, scalpels scraping out unwanted flesh and sutures stitching back the skin. That’ll ease it, hopefully. It’s a damned shame that I am not in a place where I can get it done. Not financially, not emotionally, and not physically. One day though, those scars to bear proudly will be mine. Until then though… I bind. I crush the life out of me, pressing these unwanted pounds of flesh to the side, flattening them out till I feel slightly male. Not enough, but it has to be good enough for now.

Lower still: my stomach. Not as toned as I’d like it, but one can trace the faint outline abs, if they run their fingers over my skin. That is an exciting thing; means that the gym is working out for me, that the seat equity is actually paying off.

Now the hips. The damn things aren’t bad in and of themselves, they are just too damn wide in comparison to everything else. Proportionality is lacking, at least in the ways I would like. I may never have the oh so desirable V-taper, but damnit, can’t I at least be square?

Last thing I check out is my back. Save the best for last and all that. I love my back. Muscles ripple pretty visibly, and I am pleased with hat I see. Sure, there is room for improvement, but this is a damn good start. Now if everywhere else could catch up…

All in all, I’m a bundle of disparate parts. Save for my chest, most of my body I am dead neutral on, or even like, but my chest leaves me so sick that none of the good of the rest can balance it out. So despite being content with 90% of my body, that last 10% undoes all the potential contentment.

How about that?