Post #3366992

My dad died in 2018, and up until that point I tried to obliterate myself by making myself into a carbon copy of him. It was how I kept a lid on the dysphoria. I loved him more than I'll ever be able to say. He was also the prison I built for myself, to contain myself. His greatest regret was always the incurable sadness of that dysphoria, that shone through the cracks of my facade. He wanted me to be happy. I couldn't be, not then. So, for Father's Day this year, I'm going to Pride with my tits out and I'm gonna be as happy as I fucking can be.