My phone glitched for a moment or two while I checked my emails, bringing me back to messages from 2014. A few of them were from someone I'd been dating at the time, and many had attachments.

Of course, I opened them and felt like I was looking at another person, not myself in this present moment, but someone I thought I used to be. I didn't care about my short hair necessarily, although it saved me a ton of time in the morning getting ready. My eyes immediately went to my chest and how I stood. I carried myself differently because I wanted to be seen differently. Having a flat-looking chest felt euphoric. I forgot how that felt.

After posting photos of myself from the emails I came across online, I told a friend about some of this. For example, they use she/they pronouns, and I said to them that if I were as knowledgeable about pronoun usage then, I would've felt far more comfortable identifying with using they/she.

I use pronouns she/her because it's what feels good for me now. I don't know if I'd ever go through with top surgery because there's this fear that I'd no longer love myself after removing a part of me that doesn't cause me dysphoria but doesn't make me feel good about myself either. Perhaps I'll bind. My chest isn't large, to begin with.

I didn't have the confidence then that I carry with me now. I also didn't have life or sexual experiences. I want to think I'd be a total nonbinary heartthrob, but perhaps that's something that should only stay a thought for now. I want to walk topless at the beach. But I don't want scars. There’s a lot to this.

I don't know.