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Oh Me Oh My! OmiOMy's Rambles

Different Pest: The Spectre of Dysphoria

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There's nothing more dysphoria-inducing to me than having to check and update the signs and symptoms of Shark Week, as I call it. The app I use has gotten to the point where it's dead on, and I'm no longer caught off guard, but it's still annoying.

It's a solid week, sometimes longer, of "Look, here's a reminder that you're incorrect, and it's going to last for about ten days, so enjoy." It even comes with performance-destroying pain and muscle spasms.

Like I needed the reminder.

I've even caught myself during talking about my past. I was talking about my childhood, and stopped short when I began a statement with "In my boyhood..."

I stopped because the other phrase — "In my girlhood" — felt wrong. I had no sense for what my youth was. Growing up, until a very specific point, was either ungendered or conspicuously, aggressively masculine of center. I was raised so center of binary that referencing back to my youth is even a source of discomfort.

It's... *defeated sigh* strange. Either way, back then dealing with Sharks was just as bad.

I'm looking forward to this one being over. It distresses me. I mean, I'm here at two in the morning awake on four benadryl (bug bite precautions).

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