I appreciate it but like I said I always have weird dreams and I just kind of have to go with the flow.

I dreamed once that there was a curse on my heart and that I had found a holy man, a wakan man, who could heal the sickness in me. And I'm Lakota, wakan just means set apart or holy.

So the wakan man arranges this path for me to walk in my mom's backyard and on each side of the path are my relatives and as I passed them they turned into bears.

Finally at the end of the path I stood there and the holy men made some motions and said some words that I can't repeat and then all of my family came together in their bear forms and fell upon me.

And I died.

And I was being escorted into the Afterlife by an amorphous psychopomp figure, and I noticed I had just come out of the door and this door was a wooden door with four glass panes in it and hanging from the four glass panes on the outside were three round Stones about an inch and a half in diameter wrapped in twine in a triangular formation with each of the stones touching each other.

I asked the psychopomp what those three stones meant, and it told me that those three stones were the sign of an accursed death.

Then we wandered off into the Afterlife and I woke up.

I didn't want to put out a brusque reply, partly to not offend anyone and partly so I don't get hoisted by my own petard in the future.

I dreamed when I was young that I had a machine that could alter the very fabric of reality. Turn dirt into gold, turn trash into treasure, change a person's body to be young and strong and perfect in every way.

I dreamed about how I could have the perfect male body, tall, fit, perfect in every way with such a machine, and then the thought crossed my mind that even if I was physically perfect in every way it wouldn't mean that a woman would want to automatically be with me because of who I am as a person.

That self-inflicted gunshot wound to the skull of my self-esteem dealt a heavy blow to my burgeoning manhood, and I don't know if I have really gotten over it despite having slept with many women and even married one of them.

That being said, I don't believe I have an egg to crack. I hate myself, yes, but so much so that even if I were different, either a perfect man or a perfect woman, it wouldn't fix what's wrong with me.

Being a woman won't make me stop hating myself, it would only give me new things to hate about myself and new yardsticks that I can't measure up to.

And aside from that, men are not attractive to me at all. Like, maybe hormones would affect that and change my mind but other stuff probably has to happen first before I even consider crossing that bridge.

All of that being said, I deeply respect the other people who are going through that. I can only barely imagine what it's like for them.

I know this is an old comment, and I think the intent was positive, but I don't think it's nice to aggressively tell other people they're misidentifying themselves (unless they are clearly looking for advice or making light of it e.g. 'ha ha still cis tho')

Hopefully this doesn't come across as scolding - it's not intended that way!

!egg_irl@lemmy.blahaj.zone

But why? Why should we wear gendered skirts? Why can’t we wear pretty, floaty skirts with bright colours and patterns? Why must all of our clothing be so rugged?

Nope. I want a pleated skirt with maybe just a little bit of stretchiness to the fabric.

Buy me one!

If we wish to be forgiven of our sins, we must be willing to forgive others.