The gathering storm: Or getting my shit together.

Next week I start work at a new gig. It's been six months since I was last employed. While I'm excited to start a new process, I'm depressed by my financial situation. I'll survive, but it's that area between being poor enough for assistance and rich enough to live comfortably. It will manage for now, somehow.

It is on one hand, a great relief to not have to worry about money, but at the same time a great new stress to deal with.

It continues. After four or so years my therapist is leaving her current practice, which means I now get to reestablish myself with a new therapist. She's been arguably the longest running relationship I've had since moving here (granted I pay her for it). Still, it's a sad and tedious thing to have to re-engage in. Another emotional labor tax that I'll have to deal with.

In an effort to push the boundaries of my comfort, I've started going out to to events I'd normally be uncomfortable at. This started with a few Kink parties, and engaging in pick-up play (play with people I don't know well or at all). It's so far been okay, and enjoyable, even if I have to fake my attraction to people. They beat me, I enjoy it, we thank each other, and I pretend we'll do it again sometime. There is no desire for them in my life however. They're great people I'm sure, but I've just, no urge for them. The endorphine drop kicks in and I cry myself to sleep.

The urge, is for someone who doesn't want me. I think about her anytime I'm hit with something, I think about her anytime a cane or hand bruises my flesh. I think about her anytime someone mentions the word collar, or talks about a cage. I think about her when I walk through downtown, when I eat dark chocolate. When I work out, and when I take photos of my body. When I check social media, and when I cry.

That's...just life. So, so much of my life can be described as painful unrequited longing. Avarice, pure and simple. It isn't a longing for something better than what I have, it's a longing for a life that is better than mine. A refusal to accept the mediocrity and pain that is my daily life can't be changed.

That urge is one reason I've started the journey of exercise to change my body into something desirable. Childish fantasies of being good enough for an ex aside, it's helped with the depression. Feeling agency over my body is a nice feeling. Along with it though, has seen a reemergence of an aggressive and domineering energy. It's a very angry emotion, rooted in frustration and strength. It's a damaging emotion based in that avarice. That I have to deal with the enormity of this existence of strife, while so many unworthy others have it so easy. The anger at that unfair comparison is a tremendous source of energy and strength that I've rarely tapped into. Mostly due to it's ugly and aggressive nature.

In the midst of improving my situation, I find there's just more shit to gather. I clean up one pile, and another pile oozes out of the cracks for me to sort through and clean up. A great part of me wants to descend into a bottle and never come out again. Anything to make this easier, anything to get her off my mind.

Sometimes I do really wish I could rip people out of me. It would be worth the massive scaring.

And then tomorrow, I dawn my mask of my best self, and pretend that graceful creature is who I really am. I can wear her for a while, pretend her soft flesh and strength, ease of grace and elegance, are yy own, but both of us know I'm an imposter.


Taking Breaks and Learning to embrace

The past few days have been a tumultuous run of ups and downs. I had a job interview that I think went well, but followed it with a massive depressive down swing at the idea of taking yet another job I didn't really want, and being forced into something I don't want.

Still, its better than my last gig in every possible way so, there's that. I honestly wouldn't mind it, I think, once I get used to it.

The real depressive aspect has come from dealing with the setting reality of my returning to my search for a partner. My cravings and desire for the recent tirade I think will always be there. Maybe this is due to her ending things in the height of my New Relationship Energy, or possibly just because I always seem to fall fast and very hard for dominant women. At the end of the day it doesn't so much matter, anymore than the fact that I desire her, and can't be with her.

In discussing things, I came to the realization that I can handle most emotional situations with grace and elegance, I remain collected and stable through most things. The one exception being handling the loss of emotional intimacy. That removal turns me on my addictive personality, and reduces me to a neurotic, anxious mess. I yearn badly for that intimacy, and when I get the news that it is ending, I can let go briefly. However the next day or two I find myself doing small enabling actions to push me towards another fix. Be it a small text message of romance, or small sweet compliments, things you'd normally do in a relationship that aren't beneficial now that it has ended. I do anything in my power to get whatever small fix of intimacy that I can, which normally serves to drive the person further away as I become a clingy, insecure, and vulnerable mess of a woman.

I don't handle loss well, and not nearly with the grace and patience I can show with almost everything else.

So, it's something to work on, and something I want to get better at. I asked the recent parter I was with for advice, and got some interesting answers. The most biggest and most influential being that my little, that is the essence of the little girl that I have in me (she's around 9-11 years old) who was abandoned as a child, still yearns badly for the connection she never had. So the resulting loss hits me hard, and that connection comes through to her, rather than to adult me. She takes over when dealing with loss, and I act much like she would, in begging for intimacy and attention from someone who can't (or doesn't want to) give it anymore.

The advice, then, was to comfort and give her the reassurance and protection she needs during that time. It's something I don't think I've ever done before and the concept is completely foreign to me. It does sound helpful though and beneficial. So, it's at least something to appeal and work through, which I've always enjoyed. Having goals and achievements to work forward always seems to help my depression.

I think the medication, in combination with my new workout routine has served to help as well. It generally gets me out of my mourning funk and into a place where I feel okay enough to go out and do things a "normal" person would be able to do.

I still cry and mourn the loss, and I fall into old habits of obsessive thought about her. Of dwelling on any little things that reminds me of her, of wanting her in all things, of romanticizing her into a perfect being (which she isn't, and which doesn't exist). It's something I just have to accept is part of my process of moving on. I did similar things with each previous partner, and it's come to be an agonizing part of my mourning. Coming to grips with the idea that my love of a person never goes away, is both agonizing and sweet in some regards. It's just a shame it never quite gets appreciated until a relationship ends.

The work now, is to maintain an openness to it all, and a willingness to let go, and embrace the change. I'm a celestial body, and many other bodies may embrace similar orbits. We can dance and flow together, and then eventually part. It is the way of things, and it is how it has always been.


Learning to Dance again

The past few days have been a strange mixing of emotions. Since coming back home I've felt surprisingly up. Powerful, confident, in control, light hearted, and generally acceptable. This is likely a product of the combination of drugs and structure that routine gives, as well as all the physical exercise I'm doing. It's been enjoyable to be in a different state of mind for a bit, but, I think some of that may have also been a bit presumptuous.

I caught myself ignoring the reality of my situation the other day. I was sending flirty texts, and messages to someone who wasn't interested in a relationship, despite continuing to be sweet and kind to me. In my newfound mood, I'd forgotten about that boundary, and continued to behave as if it hadn't happened, with only slight changes in vernacular to attribute to it. This left me feeling embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior. I'm typically a bit more self aware than that, though, I do inherit a good deal of fatalistic optimism from my parents.

The two of them are both romantics, and love dramatic shows of affection. That idea, tends to leave me feeling like I can change things if only I was somehow different/better/made one last grand effort. I've written about that a few times before I'm sure.

I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I can't change myself into the person she wants. Still coming to terms with having my hopes dashed once again, and the having to retake up the mantle of my own pursuit of a partner. It's funny how immortalized someone can become when you aren't given time to find their flaws. NRE is a deceitful mistress like that.

Still, it's moot now, and I have to be an adult and keep my emotions and desires under control. We are no longer dating and it is inappropriate of me to overstep my bounds, even if they were once well trodden.

I want to believe that at some point, my pursuit of polyamorous relationships will come to fruition, and I'll have two ongoing relationships at once, I feel/know I am capable, I just lack the ...well people.

Amidst all this, I find myself dealing with new lows. Not new in depth, but in, technique. In the midst of an relative good feeling up, I'll enter periods  of derealization. Where nothing seems or feels real, and I begin to question what I'm doing, why I am here, what everything means. It generally also occurs with some disassociation, where I zone out for a few minutes at a time and withdraw into my mind. I can usually feel the low coming soon after. The low isn't as bad as some I've had in the past, but, it is interesting.


Global Warming and Heavenly Bodies

There are fewer things I find more sad and depressing than burning contacts. The act of removing contacts or notes, passage ways of information about someone, out of self-preservation. I find I end up doing this as I move on from relationships as the idea of seeing a person with someone else is painful for me. I know, at some point it will be tolerable, but for now, I have to create distance between a person that I was once very close to. That, separating of orbits, always tears a bit off of me and sends it with that person. Every time I come off feeling a bit less whole, a bit more tattered and worse for the wear.

I no doubt, have and will continue to analyze all the reasons that exist, internalize all of them, and use it to beat myself down even further. If I'd been born normal maybe I'd have the curves desired, maybe I wouldn't be depressed, maybe there would be chemistry, maybe I'd have an easier time finding potential partners. Maybe things would be just that slight bit easier that everyone else seems to have. Rationally, I know comparisons are fruitless endeavors, but, emotionally, I feel like everything only gets worse, and more difficult.

I feel, overwhelmingly, inferior. Even being post op now, it's like people just find some other reason I'm not good enough. It isn't just this latest adventure either. I just wish I'd known it wasn't going to last so I wouldn't have gotten my hopes up. That, felt cruel. I'd have normally been more guarded but I felt no reason to assume things weren't going well. Now I've no real choice but to be on guard for longer before allowing my emotions to run wild.

Words do no justice to how exhausted I feel in being rejected over things I've no control over. I imagine, it's easier for "normal" folks, who can see a person, and know if they'd like to smash faces with them rather quickly. I've no such luxury, and by the time I've found out if I do, my emotions are invested in the idea. I'm sure these folks feel chemistry, whatever it feels like, I just have no concept of the idea. It exists in the realm of all things I'll never have a conceptual perception of. It exists along side my normal cisgender childhood, my potential children, my artists dreams of college, and every other aspect of my life that I didn't or couldn't choose. 

It's no wonder my emotions are so muted. When you spend your whole life mired in the depths of disappointment at everything: your life, your very body, your entire existence and everything therein, it makes sense to mute the omnipresent desire to kill yourself, to numb everything away, and to do anything to stop feeling the entire spectrum of emotion. It then becomes a self-fulfilling cycle of depression, to disappointment, to hurt, to depression, and so on.

The futility of it all, of just the hurry up and wait to find someone to try again with, is both infuriating and madening. I'm powerless to really do anything different within my comfort boundaries, yet I'm entirely unsatisfied.

Chris, has mentioned in the past that deep down I'm a hopeful person. It's, arguably true. In the sense that I won't give up if there is no cost to continue doing so. But that doesn't mean I believe there is any real hope in doing so.

I'm, just, overwhelmed with the sullen nature of relationships, and the slow heartache and rejection of watching a beloved moon leave orbit, and find a prettier or larger planet to orbit around to everyone's mutual enjoyment, except mine of course.

My core aches, and weeps for the loss. Even if I understand and acknowledge the reason, it all makes reasonable sense, it just hurts to be pulled out of my orbit by a lovely celestial body, that was really on it's way to someone else.


Greek Mythos

I don't really, have the energy or willpower to write this. I'm forcing myself to in an effort to try and progress out of the current mental state that I'm in.

I find myself back in this pit of depression after having hopes dashed for something I thought had a lot of potential. The frustration and exhaustion of rebuilding from scratch, after having started the long process is dehumanizing. I feel my mental and emotional capacity atrophying and weakening after each attempt. I just don't have the energy to keep doing this over and over. Yet I don't have any real alternatives. Not, reasonable anyway. As much as my tumultuous and insidious monologue cries for my death, it's not a reasonable solution. It sneaks up on me, as it is want to do, but it isn't, and was never, a desired outcome, just the only one left at times.

I digress.

I feel Sisyphean. The effort involved in pushing this boulder up the hill is Herculean, yet, I've no real other choice but to do so. I watch other folk, and they seem to manage to get it up and over the hill and into a place that seems ...stable? No, something more akin to contentment. Yet my mountain seems much more steep, or perhaps my boulder is more a cube. I'm not sure how to aggrandize the metaphor to encapsulate my struggles.

Needless to say I'm not again dealing with the throws of depression, the numbness, the psycho-motor retardation, the loss of appetite to do...anything really. My family helps, and they're by now used to seeing me this way and know the best way to help me through this, but the leg work is still on my end. No one can move that boulder for me. I just feel like laying down and letting it crush me for a while before attempting again. They say my attempts to leave the mountain are unreasonable so, I guess this is what my life is.


Tried and True, Black and Blue.

Apologies for the lack of updates given the drastic nature of my last post. I'm not sure, really, where or how to begin. I've started medication for my depression, which, truth be told, has helped. It cuts out the extreme lows that are normally crippling and dehumanizing. That being said, I still feel the limitation on my emotional range. A large part of me resents that, and wants the full spectrum of my emotions back. I feel in some regards bound, and unable to stretch that capacity. I realize at this point that's likely for the best, but not being to stretch still feels uncomfortable for me.

I've set a soft limit for the first of the year to start getting things back on track. It's a bit silly to attempt to do so during the holiday season and all. Plus it marks a natural starting point with the season, and I've always been big on important dates. Not that finding a job will inherently fix my life, but it's a chore I need to do regardless. If I can manage to do that while also keeping up my writing, I might actually find something worthwhile. Though, the cynic in me is doubtful.

The other bit of news is that I started dating someone. Rather that elucidate my otherwise somber entry with the glowing reports of her, I'll truncate it by saying that it's a bright spot of happiness at the moment that stands in stark contrast to the past few months.

I'm sure there will be more to elaborate as her and I form stronger bonds and begin a D/S style dynamic that has been missing from my life for the better part of three years. The symbolism of this starting also around the turn of the year isn't lost on me. I'm trying not to look to hard into the cyclical nature of these things, but being aware of them isn't terrible. It is nice to feel romantically fulfilled again though. Incredibly nice.

There feels like a lot of emotional expression that's being repressed by the medication. So much water held back by chemical bonded damns. I'm going back to Austin to visit my family the week of New Years. I'm not terrible fond of air travel this time of year, but felt a bit obligated given how much my parents have done for me this year. Obligated, but also thankful. Hearing the excitement in my mothers voice was nice.

The bridging sentiment of the two subjects is that in my trip down, I'm hoping to visit my grandmother's grave for the first time. I've yet to really sit down and process the grief from that. Partially because I was so distant when it happened, and so enthralled into my own life (for understandable reasons). I told my dad to go and process while I was there, as it was what he needed. I wanted to make my peace with her when I could. I've yet to really sit down in do so. This, in theory, should be the first time I'll get a chance to.

Part of me is worried that the experience will be compromised if I continue my medication. I don't really have the option to stop, but the thought is unpleasing. Even in writing this, as I begin to tap back into my emotional observation I see the lows ebbing back in like the tide. Which makes me wonder just how strong of a sea wall the medication is. I want to smash the remnants of whatever puny settlement has erected walls in defiance of my Neptunian emotional waves. I hate feeling so limited, but I know it's incredibly unsafe for me to be unmedicated.

When I wake in the morning is a good indication of this. In the twenty or so minutes between waking, and getting myself out of bed, I'm filled with remarkably strong ruminating thoughts of self harm, death, and suicide. I get incredibly low and angry at the fact that I even woke up to begin with, and am stuck facing another day of this life. These usually subside as I wake and eat, and distract as the day requires of me. The medication can typically push these out of mind as well. It also seems to be helping with the derealization problems also, though those periods are likely to reignite the moment my intense lows return. Even in writing this, and observing where my emotional state is when I sit down to analyze it, the overwhelming capacity of the depression is astonishing. I can almost feel it drain the energy from me in real time.

Writing this in a way feels like stretching all those old depressive muscles, it's relaxing in a way, but also calming in a strange way. It's reassuringly familiar in its sadness. It's been far too long since I've cried.

Still, this week has been nice, and staying with old friends again is helpful, and this holiday should hopefully be a nice one with much celebration with my chosen family.


Warning signs are all I have left

I've grown into a weird comfort level with being on edge. Before I get too in depth, the current plan is to start some form of medication for my depression, it just depends first on meeting with the right people and appointments and what not. There is no current timeframe.

Regressing, I'm being slowly trained on how to dance on knife edge. People ask how I'm doing, and I write out long truths about how I debate what songs to ruin for people by requesting them at my memorial, before erasing it and saying "not so great".

It isn't, that this is an idea I actively court, it's more like a stalker that never leaves my window, and more and more seems like the only viable option I have left. I have, nothing else really in my life. There, is no real light there. The plan is just to suffer through it until I see a psychiatrist, sooner rather than later.

I write, and try to form some sort of narrative, as that is kind of the only thing keeping me alive at this point. I find it incredibly hard to get out of bed, to stop crying, or to write here. Writing here forces me to face the realities of my situation, and that is incredibly painful to relive.

I know there are other options if I begin to lose control. The question though, is can I opt into those in that brief span where I lose control but don't do succumb to my temptations towards violence.

I feel like I've lost the last three months of my life to this. So much time just wasted, lost to this vacuum. As it goes on, I'm starting to feel like I won't be able to climb back out again this time. How many times can I tell people that I want to die before they just stop asking all together.