The Day Before
The day before can be anything—my gender expression and gender identity can be literally anything. It doesn’t matter and I have no inkling of who I’ll be in the morning. I go to sleep restlessly or peacefully, not really thinking about what to wear the next day or how I want to be addressed. The night before is filled with me changing my pyjamas and trying to find what’s comfortable.
The Morning Of
On a good Switch day, I’m very certain of what gender I am. I pick an outfit with conviction and I feel nice in it. But when I see myself wearing it, no matter how calm I am, I get the feeling that this feeling will be short-lived. I’m not going to wear those clothes for the whole day. I’m going to switch at some point. I’ll be myself the whole day, but there’s a connection to all aspects of my gender.
I have yet to have a bad Switch day. I think that’s because all my bad days are dissociated, intensely dysmorphic days—and a Switch day is none of those. (As such, this post will talk only of a good day.) My Boy and Girl days can be good or bad, of course, but any badness or goodness can have even a small link back to my gender and body. Switch days? Switch days are something rare and wonderful.
Before the Switch, and depending on which gender I settled on, the interactions are okay. I’ll be misgendered, that’s for sure, but it won’t bother me as much. The temporal aspect of my gender is very present—and soothing. I think, It’s okay that a stranger used those pronouns. It’s still part of my existence.
My Switch days remind me that even if someone doesn’t see both of my genders, and the spectrum between them, and instead only sees one gender—it isn’t as bad as it could be. What they see is still a part of me. Sure, it may not be the same as them acknowledging that it’s only a portion of my gender identity. But it’s better than what it could be—constant misgendering of my entire existence. I’m always a little jolted when my gender expression is read in one specific binary way, but it doesn’t set me off on a Switch day. I’m a floaty, fluid, free wave-particle in life.
The Night Of
The Switch can happen at multiple points of the day. I could go back and forth between boy and girl, or settle in between for a spell. The Switch(es) can be in the morning, the afternoon, or evening. But when I go to sleep, the discomfort sets in again. Like the night before, pyjamas are… difficult. I can’t sleep in a binder. I can’t wear certain clothes to sleep easily in.
After trying to go to bed, it isn’t uncommon to find me awake for hours simply changing my pyjamas and adjusting the pillows. Something isn’t right. Today’s effervescence will disappear. There’s an exhaustion from the changes and the freedom I felt. No matter how much I enjoy the Switch days, I can’t cling on to them. They’re too much of a high for me to maintain.
But when they come around, I’m content. I’m more content being able to flow from one to the other or settle between—moreso than settling into one and putting the other on the backburner. Even if one of my genders wants to be a star that day, and another wants to sit back and watch, they work better when they’re together. When I can be truly bigender.
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