Oh, right.

I seem to have stumbled back into the midst of my depression out of nowhere. I have trouble focusing on anything that isn't an immediate distraction. The isolation is pretty chilling, and I find myself reaching out to connect to people for emotional intimacy, only to find them not reaching out in kind. I can't blame them, people have their own lives to lead and such.

This among the ongoing light being shined onto trans folk around the nation, and seeing how hated and feared we are as people.

Along with the ongoing existential dread of realizing that my generation has no real economic or environmental future to speak of, and there just doesn't seem to be a lot of reason to exist at the moment.

I feel alone, and hated, and discouraged. The lack of romantic interest, and the feeling of being unwanted compound into a general hopelessness of ever being emotionally or sexually satisfied. Meanwhile I sit and watch every cisgender person I know entertain multiple offers from multiple people, while everyone claims to open to dating trans folk.

Maybe I'm just a terrible person to be around, or maybe I am as ugly as I think I am. Either way it doesn't change the end results.

I just, never could find much of a point to this, and now more than ever there seems to be less of a reason to continue putting up with it.



This past week has seen a lot of interesting analysis of some of my preconceptions. Specifically, in the past I've always held the notions that love, and relationships were a single thing. You found a person you liked, and they were either the whole package of everything you wanted, or enough of that, to warrant continued investment in a romantic partnership.

A few years ago I questioned that notion, or rather, let myself be open to it as the woman I was interested in, was also seeing someone else.

It became a bit more clear then, that in the absence of that perfect match, it was more fulfilling to date multiple people, and get different aspects of what you need, from different people. This is a great theory, though, in application I rarely find more than one person ever wants to date me at once. I admit it is a possible scenario though. (look at me, being an optimist).

Recently though, in starting up negotiations for a play date (dinner, then being tied up and beaten with things, consensual and such), with an ex partner,I began to question some new aspects.

I was apprehensive because of my lingering romantic feelings, that aren't shared. I didn't want to start up this potentially intimate and charged activity, if it was going to produce further heartache because we aren't romantic. Likewise, I worried that it would be a stale and cold affair, that left me feeling disposable, and unwanted. Not only is that a sad realization, but it hinders my ability to enjoy the very activities the night was planned around.

Which left me asking, is it possible to get this sort of affection and activity, outside the context of a relationship? Perhaps I'm prejudiced against the term of Friends with Benefits, but it was my understanding that benefits only typically came in the relationship context. Realizing that it doesn't inherently mean that, makes our initial break up feel much easier to tolerate. Break ups still instinctively mean a withdraw of all the things I enjoy of a relationship, but perhaps now it can be more of a shift in dynamic, rather than a full on cutting off of emotion.

Meaning, now, the idea is to grab whatever your needs are, from anyone who will provide them, and worry about the context after the fact It's a bit like relationship anarchy/solo poly. It's strange.

All of this said, the night went well, and I've found myself in a nice mood of content me. Sub drop continues to be a real issue, but I think between distraction, and medication, I can mitigate all but the worst of it.


The Circus is in Town

I find myself going through long bouts of dichotomies. I spent most of Monday in a highly derealized state. I struggled to focus on anything, and everything felt like a dream. I was present, and could listen and talk, but it all felt so fake. Reality felt fake, like I still hadn't woken up. I was on autopilot for most everything. I could tell you how and what I did, but I didn't really remember doing it.

Contrast this to today, which was much more conscious and awake. I was in a good mood and spent a lot of time enjoying things.

The struggle is in that I don't know what the next day is going to be. Will it be a struggle get through everything, or will it be a breeze.

I find myself taking liberties. I'm not challenged or engaged by anything, and I'm pretty bored most of the time. I'll spend hours on end moving from one distraction to another (usually video games) Until the next one comes along. I haven't written anything new in months. There are a few bright spots (editing a bit got started, finally), but by and large it all feels mostly pointless.

I know a few other people are going through hard times, and I try to be as nice and helpful as I can be to them. It's a strange sensation to feel your depression seeping back in. Perhaps it's just the come down from good mood, but feeling hopeless is never a welcome thing.

I'm content in being a sideshow, but the pining for a main event will always hurt.


Happy Accidents

I was within twelve hours of being completely off my medication. I'd dropped down to half my normal dosage in an attempt to make it last until I could get my prescription refilled. The results were not enjoyable. It's interesting to me now to observe how drastic and disabling the depression becomes when unmedicated. Had I just gotten used to functioning through it? Or has it become that much more severe? Or, have I just forgotten what it was like now that I had a period of two or so good weeks? Pointless questions really, in the end it's an observable difference. Being off the medication, at this point in time, is a recipe for disaster. It makes me suicidal, it makes me debilitated and unable to perform the most basic of functions.

At least, on the medication, I can attempt to function as a human. I can be sad, and still go about my day. How I'm going to go about getting off the medication is a problem for another day.

As is, my emotions are chaos. My mood and energy are artificially elevated, buy my emotions are still incredibly low. I'm not opposed to suicide, it seems like one of those happy accidents that just happens and it's, sorta just fine. I tell myself that it will get better, and I try to believe it. It sometimes works.

Given all that, I still feel incredibly isolated. My typical day involves talking to coworkers through text chat only. I commute via bus and don't speak to anyone. I work in an office by myself, and have a single daily meeting, where in I don't speak, and no one really asks me anything. I..don't really think I spoke to a single person today outside of the woman dishing out food in the cafeteria, and that's hardly what I call an intimate conversation.

It all contributes to feeling alone. And feeling unworthy and unlovable. Which, is bad enough in itself, it's worse in dealing with chaotic mental imbalances. I'm too exhausted to try and pursue people anymore, and I'm too undesirable to be pursued in any real manor.

I just try and write my stories, and live vicariously through those characters, in the hope I can write them a better life than the one I have. There's no better definition of escapism than that.


A steady wilting

The last ten days or so have been pretty good. I've been incredibly busy, work takes from six in the morning until about six in the evening all said and done. By the time I factor in dilation, yoga, and a brief workout and dinner, it's maybe an hour before bed. Tonight, I had no time to actually do anything since I had some chores to take care of spent some time talking to a friend before coming home.

The excitement of the new job has given way to the reality of it all, and while it's a refreshing change from the last job, the realization of boredom of what I'm being asked to do on a daily basis is starting to creep in.

I find myself aching to write more of my story, without really knowing what to, or how to write it. It's just the urge to be doing something I think.

Intermixed, I've been dealing with a restricted dosage of my medication due to a rescheduling of appointments, and a few obstinate doctors not refilling things as they said they would. This may be the cause of my lows seeping back in. Though, it could be any number of this that are correlating to this point.

There wasn't anything to trigger the lows, just, lack of sleep, and emotional exhaustion from dealing with privileged cisgender idiots on the internet. Engaging with them is beneath me, yet it's addictive to want to defend my space and my rights from attack. Solidarity is nice, but it doesn't refill my energy.

It's remarkable how fast the suicidal ideation returns too. All in all, objectively, things are much better than they have been for a while. Yet, emotionally, mentally, I feel drained and apathetic. Like I've had the life energy sucked out of me again.

Romantically, I still miss people. Both my most recent relationships occupy a good deal of mind space. The more recent obviously the more mentally taxing. The one positive aspect is that between my new lack of time is I've less energy to focus on her moving on and forgetting about me. I find a lot of internalized transphobia pops up in those moments (who wouldn't, why would anyone want to date you, you're entirely forgettable, You don't deserve someone like her anyway, etc). In focusing on this new gig, I can at least put that mental energy to better suited things.

In the midst of such, I find myself purging unnecessary social groups that tax and divide my energies. My efforts are better spent working on my life, rather than arguing pedantic and insufferable comments with strangers. With no romantic motivations, those social groups hold no value anymore.

There are a few lights dancing on the horizon, but they're faint, and if they become something of a romantic nature, I'll gladly embrace them, but at this point, hope is a luxury I can no longer afford.

Embrace the spinster, get a cat. Wait, I don't have time for a cat, I can't even keep my plant happy.


Pure Exhuastion

Lately I've felt relatively good. That, in itself might normally qualify as good, but it does feel like things have gotten easier since the turn of the year.

My routine and exercise has really helped to keep my mood lifted. Partially because I'm enjoying how my body feels and seeing the changes it's going through. It helps me have a feeling of agency over things, which is normally lacking. That said, it hasn't been tested really.

That changed today. I took up a new job and started today. The commute is about two hours out of a day, the job length is about eight. Leaving me about four hours of a day to do what I want, before I can get a reasonable amount of sleep. I don't mind being busy, really, but the sheer amount of time that having a job sucks out of you is infuriating. I find it amusing that after studying Capitalism for six years, I'm now one of the biggest opponents to it. It's done nothing for me, or my generation except ruin our lives. I digress.

On my way into this office this morning I get a call from my mother. It wasn't unexpected, as I got one from my father the day before wishing me luck, and good vibes on my first day. The tone in her voice was off, which I initially attributed to it being early in the morning. She would later tell me that her mother had died in the night.

It's a mixed sensation. We've known she had a terminal illness for the last ten years, and it's steadily gotten worse. I'm glad she's at peace. I had a chance to see her last month and didn't take it. I don't, really regret this though. Her and I didn't get along that well when I was a child, and we continued to drift apart due to her awful behavior, and my refusal to enable her shitty behavior. 

Normally I'd have gone, knowing she didn't have time left, but I just didn't have the emotional energy after dealing with an ending relationship at the same time. I could hear the disappointment in the conversation she had with my mother when she was told I wasn't coming. I feel guilty over that, but, then I remember all the awful things she's said to me, my cousin, and my brother over the years.

The dead don't get pardoned by virtue of being dead.

Still, I feel bittersweet about the whole thing. My mom said not to worry about coming down to the funeral since it was still my first week at a new job. It makes me wonder what the family will think.

Which brings me to an interesting cross roads. She died, literally, from a disease she got on the job. Work killed her. Here I am, starting a new job, wasting 70% of my daily schedule, and for what?

So I can feel upbeat and guilty that I still make more than my friends at a paltry thirty-eight thousand a year?

It all just feels so futile, and, pointless. Especially when you come home to an empty apartment, too tired to think.


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.