I am beginning to suspect that as a cis person I may be unable to really understand gender dysphoria and related suicidal feelings.
If you woke up in a female body tomorrow, would you want to kill yourself?
The mistake, I think is in trying to imagine yourself as or becoming "the other gender." Because when you do this you are not imagining what transness feels like, you are imagining what it would be like "if I were trans" if that makes sense. To understand
transness I think it'd help to go more absurd, to take your mind away from familiarity. So instead, imagine a Gregor Samsa scenario. You are precisely the same person you are now, only one day you wake up as a giant cockroach. Every part of you feels completely alien. It feels wrong. You feel like you were not built for this world. Every moment of existence is a stark reminder of this alienness. You try to roll over in bed but your hardened carapace can no longer balance on its side. You try to walk upright, but you cannot, and are forced to crawl around on the ground like a dog. Movement itself is utterly humiliating. Every door you go through you get wedged. Every time you catch your reflection you become physically nauseous. You can no longer feel warm water when you take a shower. You see visible looks of alternatively disgust or pity on the face of every person you meet. Your parents are embarrassed by your existence, they barely talk to you. They won't even look at you. You are jostled and stepped on constantly as you scuttle down the street, your wide girth presenting an obstacle and an eyesore to passers by. You try to have sex, but everything just feels wrong. You don't even have a penis anymore. You feel like an unlovable pest as your 6 legs flail about impotently. You fear you will never be able to feel sexual pleasure ever again. There is never a moment in which you are not palpably reminded that you are a disgusting hideous bug. You are reminded every time you try to put on clothes and they immediately tear to shreds, by your inability to manipulate the buttons, by the grotesque way the shirt strains against your girth, while the pants are at once somehow too small to clasp around your abdomen, but also too long and 75% of the leg lies comically on the floor. You are reminded every time you reach for the milk and it falls to the ground because you no longer have hands. You are reminded every time you eat your food off the floor, unable to chew or taste, but only to pass food through your mandibles and down your gullet.
Now imagine that this is not your existence for an hour or a day or a weekend. This is how it will be
forever. You will always be a cockroach. The horror will never stop.
You will not acclimate to this, because in your mind you will always know and remember that you are human. The forgetting that you don't have hands and the feeling of utter despair when you drop the milk for the 5th time this week, it's contents splattering across the floor
again, will always be the same. The feeling of total degradation at having to scuttle across the floor each morning will always be the same. This will be your existence until you die.
That's what gender dysphoria feels like. It does not feel like waking up the "wrong gender." It feels like waking up in a wholly alien body, where everything you do, even things you would otherwise like, feels completely wrong, and that wrongness renders you incapable of enjoying even those small creature comforts. One of the biggest commonalities among trans people before they hatch is the feeling or sense that they are not of this Earth. That they are an alien creature who was smuggled down here at birth, and that somehow everything on this planet is askew, as if it were not made for them. If you want to understand transness, and the feeling of dysphoria before coming out, the insight won't come from fetishistic transformation material. Trans media is body horror.