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.

Fine, you win.

I am so so sick of fighting. I give up, you win. Men are better than women, cis women are better than trans women, straights are better than gays, I give in. Rape is a woman's fault, it is okay to sexually assault people who look attractive or are drunk.

I just can't fight it anymore, everywhere I look, talk, see, read, watch, or interact it is the same, and I am just sick of it, I'm sick of constantly waging war against idiocy, ignorance, hatred, bigotry, shame, and uglyness.

I'm sick of eating half a meal a day so I can be skinny and having water for dinner. I'm sick of wanting to drink my problems away. I'm sick of people telling me avoiding the use of a word in their lexicon is a terrible burden. No, being reminded of your sexual assaults on a daily basis, is a terrible burden, you're just a lazy fucking asshole.

So I give up, it isn't worth fighting anymore, and I have to stop doing the things I enjoy because of it. You have won, I give in.

Even my normal trick of wearing gloves, then pulling my hands into fists, and pretending I have really floppy fingers isn't cheering me up. ... okay it does a little, but it doesn't help.