Diction

Recently I've been fighting my brain on a few things, and doubting, inherently, my emotions. A relationship I've entered into has been going very well, and it has elevated my mood tremendously, but, as there is always a but, I find myself focusing on what is missing, and making comparisons with past relationships, relationships that were unhealthy.

This new relationship has some parallels, but not in any manner that matters. In terms of relationship health it is by far easier, more healthy, more positive, more open and less abusive than my last relationship. These are all wonderful things, and they have made it very easy and fun to be in. Yet, As time as progressed, I find myself questioning the aspect of Love, and what it means. How it may be different from Infatuation/Obsession, and if that matters.

For all the negatives of my last relationship, it did, at a minimum, give me butterflies. My heart ached, and felt deeply entwined and wrapped up in my partner at the time. Looking back at those blogs of the time, and the insanity that I felt, and the horrifying feeling of being overwhelmed. It was above else, intense.

I'm not sure, and haven't been for a while, if that was love. It felt like it, but, so much of that relationship was designed to overwhelm, and much of it was manipulative, both by her, and by me putting myself in an easy place to be taken advantage of, all the while swimming around with my head in the pink cloud of her perfume like so many animated cats.

The new relationship, should, by all means replicate this sensation, yet I remain feet firmly planted, and this is upsetting. Am I making unfair comparisons to how I felt during different relationships? Am I now hindered from feeling in love since my definition has since changed based on an infatuation? If that is now being "In Love" then what do I feel now, I care for someone, but is it fair/justifiable to say I love them when I'm still terra-bound, and not intoxicated by them? Does this set me up to fail then, if I'm wanting and waiting to be shoved off my feat by people ignoring my boundaries and taking advantage of me? Does it even matter if I'm not given butterflies, or that I don't feel overwhelmed?

I'm confused, and I imagine that can lead anyone to doubt, or feel a bit emotionally numb. It has been a very long time since I've engaged my emotions to their full spectrum. While my anger has always been easily tapped and an endless resource of spite, I'm not used to being over-stimulated in dopamine, and it has thus rendered me a bit bottlenecked and bandwidth capped at the moment. This past month has been by and large a blur.

It feels odd saying I don't feel anything, and having it unrelated to depression. It is interesting to notice however, as my dysphoria events have also diminished significantly. At least, my focus on them has as well.

But I am at a bit of a loss for words, or, at least, loss of which words.

Nightmares and enslavement

I've been plagued by nightmares, again, recently. Almost all of these have to do with my death or ensuing death. One involved earthquakes and being burned alive by molten lava. Last night's involved having my blood siphoned out via a strange syringe inserted into my gum line. The odd bit, about this last one, was that I went in willingly. Apparently it was a process I had to go through, as there were other versions of me that I had talked to (apparently from the future?) that said it was necessary for me to do this. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a ruse that I had fallen for, and someone just wanted to murder me. It is a very strange feeling to accept your death in a dream.

This isn't new. All my nightmares seem to involve the destruction of my being in some form, be it physical body mutilation or actual mind/spirit death.

I don't think these are unrelated to my emotional stressors at the moment. I have felt very disappointed in my life and where it is at the moment. I dislike my job, and I dislike my situation. While some of this is likely the ebb and flow of my depression (the past 2 months or so have been tolerable if not numb). Some, I think, is situationally derived. The social contract of my job is increasingly feeling unbalanced, yet I feel powerless to change the situation without flatly leaving to find another job. I'm looking, but it isn't a quick process. In the meanwhile, more and more of my energy is being expelled at my job, and my down time is spent trying to recover from that.

I find myself laying awake angry, hating my situation and my life. With that sentiment comes my old favorite thoughts of walking into traffic. These are escapist thoughts, motivations and causes to not go to work, to break the routine and the stalemate. I've no inherent desire to break bones or injure myself, but if it means I can get out of the current box that is my life, then so justified.

The whole chain and loop leaves me feeling inherently unvalued and worthless. A tool to funnel money from one hand to another, without creating any inherent value or worth to myself. I pay my bills, my debts and rent, I eat food, and at the end I've nothing left to show for it. Nothing has transpired to better myself or get me any closer to my goals. I feel I'm emotionally, and spiritually, living paycheck to paycheck. Creating no increase in value or emotional and mental wealth or worth for myself.

My personal life has gotten into a much more agreeable place, but it likewise doesn't feel rewarding, simply less bad.

I feel like I'm confined in a box, and I can't breath. Emotionally asphyxiated and enslaved to what this society has deemed the social contract. That in order to simply exist in life, I have to put in 40 hours of misery, if I want to actually enjoy life, well good luck with that.

Maybe it gets easier as you simply accept the mediocrity and shityness of your life, thats how it seems my parents did it, distracted themselves with the kids and picket fence lifestyle. A distraction denied to me, even if I were to take it. Or maybe it is easier for people who "enjoy their work" if such thing isn't an oxymoron, but I never knew what I wanted to do, and the creative arts I would perform are so stunted and malnourished in me that I don't feel I could ever make a living doing them.

Which points to the reoccurring theme, of focusing on end goals vs pleasure of acts.  I'm trying to curb this mentality, but I was always one for fatalism, romance, and big pictures. What is pessimism after all but a fatalistic belief that the shitty things the world has done to you, will continue to be done to you.

Delayed gratification

It has become an issue, again, how I reveal my trans status to people. It is something I've had to be extremely flexible on in the past, despite the fact it really bothers me to not disclose things upfront. I'm out on FetLife, but not on OkCupid. This is intentional as I find FL to be a lot more accepting as a whole.

The issue, is that people are, well, cowards. They scare easily, like timid mice when something confronts them that is outside of their comfort zones. This complicates things for me. I would be completely out about my status if I thought people would be willing to consider it fully, and honestly, upfront. Yet, my past experience has proven this to not be the case. If I reveal my status on OkCupid the messages I get drop off fantastically, between the area of 5-10 a week to maybe 1-2 a month. More so, when I do tell people I haven't met in person, despite the qualities they self proclaim themselves to have, the messages inevitably begin to go unanswered, plans canceled, and excuses found. It is by far much easier for them to simply move on to the next available person. To cast out all the conversation and dialogue that have been had, all the bonding and passed tests that are obligatory in dating, and start anew with someone else.

I have found that if people have an invested interest, however, they are far more willing to consider things in good conscience. It isn't so easy to discard a person if you've made out with them before, or are friends with them, or have good memories with them, or enjoy their company.

My goal in this, is not to deceive anyone, or to mislead anyone. Honesty is one of my salient goals in all things. I don't like withholding things, or beating around bushes. I've forced myself to develop skills in confrontation and addressing  uncomfortable issues. Yet, on this aspect, I find myself hesitating.

All I want, is to have a dinner with someone while discussing the issue. I consider it success if I can get to that point, because sadly, most of my dates and interests don't make it that far. 90% of the people I've come out to have ended in a cowardly rejection via neglect.

This logic follows then:

1. If they are genuinely interested in who I am as a person, then they will still want to be friends if they aren't comfortable with my gender status.
   
   
2. If they aren't willing to be friends, then either A, they just wanted sex to begin with, or B, they aren't that interested in me as a person.

So, getting them interested/invested in me as a person, either secures me a friend that I was interested in but won't be partners with, or, clarifies that they were only looking for/wanting a sexual relationship to begin with. (the idea, being, that they believe being with a trans person is so grave, they don't even want to be friends, despite indicating being interested in me, prior to being enlightened).

This, so far, has been a pretty good mark for things. The few who have turned into friends have agreed to the dinner (or didn't need one), and the ones who didn't, well didn't, and were written off.

So now, I'm at this crux again, dreading the "oh, by the way" conversation that is Damocles'ing it's way through time as I write this. I dread this conversation because it puts me on face level with my rejection. It is a direct statement and judgement on myself as a person of value, and if that value is worth more than the effort it takes to move outside of a comfort zone. Where as being public about the information I avoid the risk, and isolate/insulate myself from the silent rejection of those that would have otherwise been interested. With delaying the decision, I see both those who are willing, and the masses who are not.

The judgement being, the greater of my value as a person, compared to the difficulty and effort involved in moving outside of a person's given comfort zone. Hence why it is easier to be public on FetLife, Kinksters, I believe, have an inherently easier time moving outside a given comfort zone.

I'm aware of the subjectivity of this judgment, and, how I can easily dismiss and brush away the opinion of those who are judging my value as a reflection on themselves, rather than on my value. I often do. However, it does, over time, begin to sink into you like spilled cherry Kool-Aid through a roll of paper towels. Yet, where your mom would thus forbid you from drinking Kool-Aid anymore, I am routinely putting myself over the expensive new carpet, taking long, deep swaths of sugar water in a search for something greater than myself, and a level of satisfaction and happiness that I know is out there, but can't seem to find. Failing to heed the obvious signs of self-harm and damage being done to the carpet in various forms of other red fluids.

The Tumultuous Turmoil of Tinkering

Things are tumultuous. My days are ranging from a physically sickening level of depression and feelings of lost helplessness, to being okay and nigh bearable. I've incresed the frequency of my therapy sessions to once a week until I can get out of this fog. In addition, my acupuncture and massage therapy seems to be helping, at least on the days I have them.

I've been taking Sundays as a self care day that prohibits sitting on my computer for extended periods of the day. I believe one of the main issues is one that I've faced previously. When I first started therapy a few years ago to deal with my depression, I couldn't figure out who I was, I didn't know what I enjoyed, or liked, and nothing felt like fun. I find myself facing the same feelings.

I've begun to loath myself for my laziness, and my addiction to escapism. I refuse to play my guitar, to try to compose anything, to draw, or write, or sing, or anything because I know I won't be any good at it. I'm approaching it as a means to and end, rather than as an activity to enjoy for the sake of doing the activity. it is the same petty childish mindset that paralyzed me as a teenager. The "I can't be perfect, so I'm not going to try" sense of fatalistic self-deprecation that keeps me attuned to depressions and infatuations with all I can't do, rather than what I can. I get so wrapped up in my lack of ability to achieve my end goal/desire/validation, that I forget the reason I started doing it in the first place.

If I had spent as much time as I do playing games, doing some form of art, I'd likely be a master at it. Games have a level cap, there is an attainable end goal, which, I guess is one reason they appeal to me. Life, itself has an end goal. The mortality aspect of life means at some point we all finish. My obsession with this seems to be a similar motif. Focusing on end goals and achievements, rather than the act or journey itself for the fun of it.

The theory behind all this is fairly simple, but the applications towards my behaviors and mindsets are much more stubborn. If you were to imagine my identity as a pie chart, I'd say a good 65-70% is taken up by my identity as a trans-woman. This, is almost always a negative aspect, as being trans largely fucking sucks 98% of the time. The rest, that 30%, is at any time taken up by various other identities, hobbies, relationships, and anything else you might attribute to intrapersonal or external stimuli. The two parts (internal/external identities) are largely intertwined and a depression/trauma in one can cause the other to collapse, exacerbate, or respond in a similar way.

You can see this in my lack of satisfaction in my personal life, which largely leads to my focusing on my lack of satisfaction in who I am as a person. It comes down to how I look at things, I see negatives easier than I see positives. Chalk that up to whatever you will, but I have situated myself on a precarious mountainside slope. It is vastly easier for momentum and gravity to carry me downward in a snowballing effect of depression and negative emotions. Likewise, pulling myself up, in a positive way feels unnatural for me, it is a struggle and requires far greater amounts of work the more alone I feel.

It is, however, definitely easier to climb the mountain with people helping me. I know, this is an unpopular statement, and considered a red flag for some. People say "you should be content to be alone, before you try being in a relationship". That is fine and dandy if you're perfect. If you've no emotional problems or mental illness (which depression most certainly is). Personally, I find it bullshit. Humans are social creatures, we die if we are isolated long enough. We all want and desire to have friends, partners, relationships, and families. I do NOT think the desire for that, or the need for that, is a bad thing. Nor do I find that inherently abusive, addictive, or problematic. I consider myself a broken clock. I require a little elbow grease and work, but can be polished nicely, and end up being a rewarding, lovely, and entirely fantastic experience.

The ability to be content by one'sself, to me, definitely feels like a privilege of the healthy, wealthy, cisgender, and untroubled. It is easy to be content with yourself, when you aren't constantly at war with yourself over things you have no ability to change, but the utmost paramount and salient desire to do so.

SO, that rant aside, the schematics of my emotional framework on display. Where, do I go from here?

The state of things, and ongoing.

I originally wrote this on another site, here it is, in the original form. I have added updates at the bottom.

I've delayed writing this for a while. I've put off
writing in general because I know it isn't what people will want to
read. I'm doing it here, now, because I'm avoiding showing it to people.
This will go up on the blog, it is just a matter of when. I'm writing
it out now, in preparation for a therapist appointment, and as a form of
public shaming.

Starting on New Years, I've been struggling with some very deep
depression, exhaustion, disassociation, self-mutilation, and suicidal
fantasies.

I'm stuck trying to figure out what purpose my life has, and why I
should bother with it. I'm exhausted in dealing with the mediocrity that
my life. I'm tired of my gender being a constant struggle. I'm tired of
the metaphors of surgeries and used car dealers (even if you get what
you want it's still not as good as what you want). I'm tired of it all.
I'm tired of the conversations I am forced to have, and I'm tired of the
negotiations involved in any sexual encounter. It's like playing Guess
Who? before anything fun.

I'm tired of my job, I'm tired of the sameness, of everything. Of the
monotony of everyday life. And I'm ready to take my ball, and go home.
It is not fair that I should have this burden, when I've done nothing
wrong. It is

On New Years eve, I was triggered early in the morning, worked a half
day, and then went to Walgreens to pick up a prescription, and some
shaving razors. While there, I stood, for a good 5 minutes staring at a
package of straight razors, and ended up buying them.

I wasn't upset, or emotional, I was dissociative (a strange headspace
where I feel a bit half conscious, most things lose color, my breathing
goes shallow and I just, don't feel anything). I went and drew a bath
as I was wanting to shave my legs before the events of that night.

The idiocy, of taking newly bought straight razors into a warm bath,
was not lost on me. I was in there for an hour, weeping, often
uncontrollably, until I finally ended up just shaving my legs and
bathing. I did end up re-cutting a design into my leg with said razors
however (hence the photo I posted recently). If you saw me
limping/wincing on New Years, that was why.

Since, I've had a few fantasies, but haven't engaged any actual
behaviors. Anyway, that is the current state of things. Depending on
what my therapist says things may change, I'm just not sure what else to
do.

---

Since this, things are still in a strange area. I'm not as low at the moment, but that can easily change. I'm hesitant to release myself from that place and identity of depression because of how volatile it can be. I don't want to go around saying, "oh hey everyone, I'm fine now" even though I may not feel as low, because it is so easy to fall back into it. It feels disingenuous to communicate to people that I'm alright, when I am at the time, on a Micro level feeling better, yet haven't not positioned myself in a better place on a Macro sense of self.  In short, I dislike the idea of crying wolf.

I have started a new plan of treating my body, rather than fighting it. I've plans to begin a few services (massage/acupuncture at the moment) to try and align my body with a more pleasurable sensations/mood than the normal dysphoric feelings of animosity and hatred. Not in that, those aren't still omnipresent, but they don't have to be the only experiences.

This, is in contrast to external relationships which seem even harder to come by now than before. I've been blown off, dismissed, de-appetized, overlooked, and passed over by just about every potential romantic interest I have yet to find. I grow extremely weary of it. I've long said that those who have a desire, will make the time for it. Yet, again and again and again I find I have to pursue, I have to call and remind, I have to rearrange, and schedule, plan, over-plan, and berate to simply get a date setup. It is exhausting, humiliating, frustrating, degrading, and intensely dissatisfying. Much to the point that I've given up on trying to motivate other people into action.

I find my appetite for gaming is decreasing as well. I find this a good habit to get into as there are many other, and more productive areas in which I can direct my energies. My guitar sits lonely and cold by itself, unplayed, for months. Outside of that, romantically, it would seem I've to hit the dregs in search of a diamond again. Maybe I can at least drink myself into a stupor on the way to the bottom of that barrel.

Year end.

So, upfront, this will likely be long and wandering. I will make an attempt to clean it up and reorganize my thoughts once I am done.

The holidays are over (mostly) and I find myself relieved, but, depressed. It was good to see my family, even if they forget to check their cis-privilege at times and stressed me out. I was glad to see my brother again, but I realize we are different people now, and I have no idea who he is. Likewise, he really doesn't know me at all. Yet, still thinks I'm that angry 18 year old kid who hated the world and everything in it.

I'm not that person anymore. I am still very angry at things, but it is channeled, and focused onto things rather than at everyone. My family relationship has, and will likely always be strained. Unlike them, I didn't spend my childhood and adolescence knowing and loving my family. I spent it hiding who I was and creating disinformation. Trying as hard as possible to keep them at a distance.

Still, I am relieved to see them leave. Bringing people up to see my city can be exhausting. Hopefully next time things will be more relaxed and I can simply enjoy the company, rather than be inundated with a schedule of events and tasks we have to do.

The other cause of dread this time, is that I'm a romantic/cancer. I place a significant importance on dates, and anniversaries. New Years day was the day I fell in love with my ex, and I'm dreading what reliving the day will mean to me now. The joy, and love that I felt won't be there, and that haunts me. I know we aren't compatible, and that is alright with me, but I still find myself thinking about her, and how I felt, at times. I have moved on from her, but I'm still tentatively avoiding testing my will and strength around her.

There are a few other romantic interests on the horizon, but, I don't place a lot of hope or potential in them. Not in that they lack possibility, just that the energy level being directed towards me is low, and thus I reflect an equally low response.

Things, on a whole, feel...foggy. This marks another end of the year, and I haven't anything to really show for it. I ate a lot of food, I payed off bills, I worked...and for what? My life still seems as empty and hollow when I lay my head down at night. I still have nightmares and bad dreams. My dysphoria is still quite bad, and I seemed to have developed a nice eating disorder on top of it. I did start seeing a therapist and that seems to help, if not force me to talk about things instead of brooding. I still can't seem to find a point to anything however. The isolation and loneliness is omnipresent, and endless. Life as a whole just seems fundamentally without purpose. Do X to be able to do Y, because it makes you feel Z. When asked if there was anything I enjoy, I can't name anything. There are things that are nice, but, nothing that on a whole I would take over a painless quick death.

I say that not, as someone angry at the world and wanting to leave (I am), but simply as someone who sees no point in it. We all die at some point, so, why should my death not be planned and carried out by myself? I can think of nothing more sanctified than that. It scares me, it scares the shit out of me, and that is likely the only reason I don't actively jump off a bridge. But, I would love for walking out into traffic to not sound like the perfect ending to a regular work day.

I realize this is abnormal thought behavior. But it doesn't seem to be motivated on animosity, or pity, or deprecation. It is not "woe is me, I hate my life, so I'm taking my ball and going home". It feels more like watching a game, that is destined to never end, and all the players seem to not realize they are playing the same meaningless game as everyone else. It all seems so material, and physical, with no real connection, or higher meaning.

Perhaps it is to do with the disconnect I have with my body. I feel sensations from it, but It doesn't feel like "me". It feels like a vessel I have been placed trapped within. Thus death would be a release from said prison, rather than the ending of an altogether not unpleasant existence. But, then hypothesizing, if I had been born cisgender, would I still feel life is a pointless existence? It is hard for me to imagine, but my thoughts point to yes.

In my last therapist sessions we rooted down an importance I place on being desirable (discussions on eating disorders). I believe I get some validation from this, but, at the same time, I get no joy from the catcalls and guys trying to hit on me. They all know I'm trans (those that try to pick me up) but, I just feel nothing for them, and thus don't really care. Hints of my inner lesbian, obviously, but that still doesn't explain why such an importance on being desirable. My best guess is that I see it as a attack on the loneliness. Getting people to see past my issues is a large step, one that most people won't be are less willing to take if I'm not at least partially pretty to look at.

So, rooting that down, it comes to being isolated, and alone, my dislike, displeasure, and distaste for it. I've said before I been alone for most of my life, and it seems true to me. There has never been a great deal of connection between myself and other people. It all feels, numb, or muted. There is something there, but it is very small and sparse.

I just, I don't know what to do anymore. Even when I was with my ex, and things were going well, I thought of suicide as it seemed appropriate to go out on a highnote. That...seems abnormal, but I don't know of any way around that idea. When even the best of times feel meaningless, what is a person left to do?

2am again.

Friday, is what you might have amounted to as, a clusterfuck. I'll spare you details and focus on the emotionality of it all. In short, I've been in a very negative head space as of late, my partner, if we are calling ourselves that, met me for a quick meal, which then turned into me bitching and ranting. He tried to console me, but basically ended up being defeated by my cynicism, jaddedness, and pessimism. This resulted in my affectively ruining his appetite, a silent walk home, and him saying things, that have been thrown at me many times before.

Not, in a pointed way, meant to attack or harm, but simply put none-the-less. The statement effectively that he needs shields around me, to protect from my negativity. That I was draining. It was, depressing, and honestly I thought that might be the end of us as an item, as it usually is.

The basic summation of the scenario came down to a metaphor of playing cards. The hand I've been dealt, is remarkably shitty. No one wants to play cards with a girl who constantly bitches and complains about how shitty her hand is. So they leave. So, my options would appear to be, be shut down, silent, and shut up about my problems. To mask them, like I have so often done, to emulate my father and just bottle everything, to turn myself off, and not bother dealing with anything. Or, the alternative, to continue running through people until they get sick of me. Using them as bullshit sponges to soak up the rants, raves, and horrible, awful things I have to suffer through until they've become so inundated and corrupted by it that they leave out of their more basic self preservation motives.

I'm so sick of being broken. I don't know how people can live with this anger, self hatred, and willing urge to murder yourself on a regular basis. What, hurts, I think, the most, is that people seem to think I enjoy being this way, or thinking like this. That being in this fog is a willing progress. Do you not think if I could just, convince myself the world isn't a terrible place I would? No one, is more sick of my own bullshit than me. It is the paramount of insults to suggest I do this willingly, or willfully. Showing me this is not enlightening, it does not wake me up, it just shows me how pedantic, preachy, and pediatric you are.

It would hurt less, if I didn't hear it from everyone. The small, microscopic few who can get past "the trans thing" then can't deal with how I can't get past the trans thing. It is much...much easier to deal with when it isn't yourself, and I grow increasingly weary of the privileged masses who hold it against me.

It is, moods like this that both make me question, and thus reinforce, why I don't own razors.