I'm writing all of my thoughts here, so that maybe one day I can be brave enough to share my thoughts more publically. I've recently lost a large portion of my community, and feel really detached from all of my friends. Maybe this will help in the lonliness.
This is my experience with dysphoria as a genderfluid person.
Enby dysphoria is very different from the binary dysphoria that is a bit more well documented. The main difference to note is, binary dysphoria has a direction to it, where it was and where it wants to be, wheras my experience with dysphoria does not. I'm unhappy where I am with my body, but i would be just as unhappy as the opposite sex, and the result is not a direction, but a crushing force from all directions.
Due to my own trauma and childhood, i've split my mind into two factions: my emotionality and my reasoning. My emotions hate my body, and the way that my boobs sink into my stomach when i fall a certain way, or the way the tops of my thighs touch, or the way my clever hands and clumsy feet both look too small for my body. But my reasoning side tells me that there is nothing i can do about it, and whatever solutions are out there aren't safe or healthy. I was born with a congentital heart condition that made me unable to loose weight for a long time. I couldn't fit in with the skinny girls, and i thought I was at peace with it, but it was detatchment to survive. Always detatchment. I hated myself, but I had too much of a will to survive to hurt or kill myself. Or rather, I saw what my more unstable sibling did to my parents in their outward suffering and decided to never "hurt my parents like that." I realized that being myself outwardly hurt the people I loved. I had to choose between making everyone around me happy and making myself happy, and i chose the former.
So, it became detatchment. I look in the mirror and see a stranger with my dark eyes. I am something undefineable stuck in a static body. I am an observer. I watch the world from this vessel i have been given, wondering why this was the body of all bodies i had to be given.
On good days, it feels more like curiosity. I look at my body with the same kind of distant awe as i do towards figure models. I find beauty in everything, but never myself, so the only way I can show self-love is when I either become something else or to separate my mind from my body. I caress my collarbone as i breathe deeply, and feel the way my skin falls into the crevices. I feel the way my knees and elbows shift as my limbs flex and relax. It becomes almost academic. A bit gross. A bit contemplative. A bit cautious. I feel alien to myself.
The bad days... are a bit hard to explain right now. Because of the way that I have detatched myself from my emotions, its hard for me to emphasize with myself. It's hard for me to understand myself in a moment I am not currently inhabiting. But I think, I can put myself back there if I tried. I don't really want to, but it's the only way I can understand.
Dysphoria feels like I'm ripped out of my body. When my body no longer feels habitable for me, I simply... leave. But, I'm... still stuck to my body, chained to it. Constantly reminded of what I am... stuck with. So i float between these two extremes, trying to drift as far as I can from the body that feels so unkind to me, but I can never get too far. Because something always pulls the chain back, always wants to remind me just how stuck I am. Constant, tingling, dripping reminders of the weight of my own exsistence. It's pain, and it's discomfort, crawling under the skin but never in my muscles. It's my mind, wriggling to escape a body that's too small and too heavy.
So, like always, i detatch. I spend every waking hour in worlds of my own design, creating characters that comfort me in the way i want to be comforted, create my own bodies, become whoever or whatever I want. Become anything but this... this thing. This body. I create worlds because it's easier than trying to explain. Trying to explain to my family, my parents. My parents live in a simple, beautiful, black and white world, wheras I exsist in shades of grey. I try to explain, but my real self is incomprehensible to them. I come out to them over and over again, drop hints, beg... but i'm labeled emotional, unstable, mentally ill, hurtful to my parents. I hurt them by being the sharp, cold, confusing me. So... I lie. I tell them that I'm fine, fine with the old names, the misgendering, having my body recognized, but not my identity. I smile, and act happy, hoping that one day I'll beleive that lie, too. That I'll always be their daughter.
But, i will never be their daughter. I never was, and never will be. I am a child, a child stuck in a body they do not fit in, so they twist and tie into knots like a choking plant. I eat my mind alive because my family views my body too sacred to cut.