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.
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.
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