Symptoms of testosterone's detestable resurgence

Let’s talk about testosterone’s loathsome presence (to me!) in my bloodstream again (thanks to my inflamed liver), and all the changes in my body that I can feel most keenly in reverse.

My body hair is back. Once again, when in the shower holding the razor, I need to remember whether it’s lower-back-to-feet day or tummy-to-hands day.

The face gets a shave daily. Before I had laser a couple of weeks ago, I was shaving the my upper lip twice each day, and each shave was close enough to remove a layer of skin, so that afterwards I could feel no hint of stubble with my finger-tip. The greyness of the beard hair beneath the skin was still visible, but that can’t be helped with a razor. Said greyness and any cuts or redness, I covered with concealer. I did try tweezing a bit—I have far fewer hairs than I started with—but it was too painful.

I looked in the mirror today, and my face had a slab-like character that I recall, but hadn’t noticed in a while. It’s not unattractive—just masculine. Today, of course, it sent me into a dysphoric tailspin.

My skin is greasier, and I have a smattering of zits on my forehead. I had thought the zits on my cheekbones were ingrown hairs from laser, but now I’m wondering if they’re part of this horrid regressive male puberty that I’m trapped into.

My testicles have become engorged eggs again, and the skin of my scrotum is shiny and thin—no longer shriveled and defeated looking.

The other day, I grappled with a morning erection. I could hear myself in my memory, proudly claiming, months ago, that I had had my last spontaneous erection. Should I be touching wood or something here? I asked myself then.

Today, it seemed like the pretty curves that I where I build a gradient of shade to soften my eye lids were slouching. I shaded them back into curviness.

Holy fuck and I sick of the arts of disguise! When will I be able to roll out of bed and simply be me, and a woman, and not have to employ any subterfuge to shore up my idenitity? I don’t mind shoring up my looks with subterfuge, but it would be a fuck of a lot more comfortable if my body weren’t stubbornly sticking in the wrong gender. Who wants to battle depression with eye shadow? I want stronger measures!