My resolve was thoroughly tested
yesterday. As if doing a presentation wasn’t stressful enough. I must say I found myself considerably more mature and confident in the situation that a few
years ago would’ve made blush crimson red. Still, they say that those who blush quickly
make good lovers. I am going to wishfully think that this is a good thing, but
what I have to remember is that I have improved dramatically socially speaking,
as well as in terms of my own well being and sense of self.
We were recorded play-acting our selling skills at college, and it went fine, seamlessly in fact, until I realised we had to grade each other by playing the recordings back over and over. I felt somewhat sick and somewhat scared throughout, under arms breaking out into a cold sweat and my breathing growing labored, either because consciously doing so was taking my mind off of it all, or I was stopping myself from having a panic attack.
I simply hated, hated my voice. I mean, “you sound just like your boyfriend” has even been thrown around a lot in the past. I am sure many transmen would kill for my monotonous droney voice, and surely I should be proud of it, but for one reason or another it makes me ill, my hairs stand on end and i have to lick my teeth because the way I sound cuts through me like a dentist's drill. I thought I was never one to be too dysphoric in the scheme of things, as I know that many suffer with dysphoria and their bodies much worse than I do, and I cannot even pinpoint what exactly it is that do hate about it, but it chills me to the bone. I think it has a lot to do with the unnerving fact that the voice in my head; you know, that inner monlogue? It sounds entirely different to the voice on the outside. Every time I open my mouth it is like a stranger is in the room and it is the most grueling, grating and truly twisted thing in my world. Every time I get a cold I fear that it is breaking deeper, and in the mornings my throat and vocal cords feel thicker so I practice pitch heightening exercises before leaving the house and always check for an adams apple.
It kills me when people mock it in jest, which many do frequently because I have a tendency to point out the differences in my body as an ice-breaking joke before others do, but if there is ever a joke to be made, then the way in which I sound should not be the punch line because my god it cuts me deep and makes me feel woozy.
Anyway, it made me truly sick to hear it played back to me. My stomach muscles clenched to stop me falling off the world, and at that point I wished I would do just that if it got me out of there sooner. The urge to run was overwhelming, and as soon as the bell went I was out like a bolt, yet acting perfectly un-phased as I always do. I deserve an Oscar for my ability to hide my pain, which thinking about it is both good and bad considering I hated drama because of how I sound of all things, and I hear that only the depressed bottle up their feelings.
We were recorded play-acting our selling skills at college, and it went fine, seamlessly in fact, until I realised we had to grade each other by playing the recordings back over and over. I felt somewhat sick and somewhat scared throughout, under arms breaking out into a cold sweat and my breathing growing labored, either because consciously doing so was taking my mind off of it all, or I was stopping myself from having a panic attack.
I simply hated, hated my voice. I mean, “you sound just like your boyfriend” has even been thrown around a lot in the past. I am sure many transmen would kill for my monotonous droney voice, and surely I should be proud of it, but for one reason or another it makes me ill, my hairs stand on end and i have to lick my teeth because the way I sound cuts through me like a dentist's drill. I thought I was never one to be too dysphoric in the scheme of things, as I know that many suffer with dysphoria and their bodies much worse than I do, and I cannot even pinpoint what exactly it is that do hate about it, but it chills me to the bone. I think it has a lot to do with the unnerving fact that the voice in my head; you know, that inner monlogue? It sounds entirely different to the voice on the outside. Every time I open my mouth it is like a stranger is in the room and it is the most grueling, grating and truly twisted thing in my world. Every time I get a cold I fear that it is breaking deeper, and in the mornings my throat and vocal cords feel thicker so I practice pitch heightening exercises before leaving the house and always check for an adams apple.
It kills me when people mock it in jest, which many do frequently because I have a tendency to point out the differences in my body as an ice-breaking joke before others do, but if there is ever a joke to be made, then the way in which I sound should not be the punch line because my god it cuts me deep and makes me feel woozy.
Anyway, it made me truly sick to hear it played back to me. My stomach muscles clenched to stop me falling off the world, and at that point I wished I would do just that if it got me out of there sooner. The urge to run was overwhelming, and as soon as the bell went I was out like a bolt, yet acting perfectly un-phased as I always do. I deserve an Oscar for my ability to hide my pain, which thinking about it is both good and bad considering I hated drama because of how I sound of all things, and I hear that only the depressed bottle up their feelings.
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