9.18.2012

The Tinderbox II

This, is the start. It is long, and likely has no end. (Most recent update 10/7/12)

  1. I'm angry, I'm always angry. I don't express this, or let it out, because venting does nothing to remedy the issue. The source of the anger never goes away, as I never get any answers, I never get a resolution, I am done a disservice by being born.
  2. I am angry that I was born trans. It isn't fair that I should be chosen/picked/cursed to be this way when others are not. I have done nothing to warrant this, and I have done nothing worthy of this level of punishment.
  3. I am angry that, even accepting being trans, I can't fix it. I will never be the woman I want to be, I will never be able to bear children, have a natural cunt, or have a menstrual cycle. I can alter my body but it isn't natural, and I have to pay upwards of $50,000 to simply alter my body to how it should have been to start with.
  4. I am angry that I have to shave my face. It hurts, a lot. that I have to worry about if cutting my hair short will make me not pass as well, that I have to worry if someone can tell that I wasn't born naturally female. I am angry that I can't go outside without makeup on out of fear I'll be read as not naturally female. That every week, I have to inject a synthetic chemical into my body, just to be able to think and process cognitive thought correctly. I have to actively damage my body, simply to be able to function properly.
  5. I am angry that I have to be reasonable, when people say they aren't okay being sexual with me. I have to understand that, because after all, I can't expect people to be interested in me to have open minds. I have to accept the fact that being myself, means they get to instantly nullify their feelings when they find out I don't have a cunt. Well of course they aren't attracted to me anymore, that only makes sense. Try to have an honest relationship with someone? Fuck me, right.
  6. I am angry that I'm only attracted to people in rare circumstances. I'm angry that I apparently have held so much of myself from people, that I find no one attractive, that except in rare circumstances most people excite me somewhere on the level of meh and sure, why not. I am angry that I can't feel anything for people.
  7. I'm angry that being sexual with someone requires an hour long conversation and a fucking instruction manual and exam beforehand. I hate that I wear clothes because I'm not comfortable with my body. I HATE the fact that I resist public affection because it might make me aroused and in turn produce an awkward bulge. I hate the fact that I have a "sex skirt" that I wear so that I don't have to look at myself.
  8. I'm angry because anytime I want to be more aggressive sexually, I feel like a boy. I'm angry because I am afraid to hear my own voice recorded for fear of it sounding boyish.
  9. I'm angry that I have to worry about things like shoe size, and how large my feet look, about how often I look up at Seattle's amazing architecture because my Adam's apple is prominent and might be seen.
  10. I'm angry that I have six years of education in a marketable field, and a masters degree, yet make $30,000 a year.
  11. I'm angry at politics, injustice, and all the horrible shit that happens to undeserving people.
  12. I'm angry that greed controls our country. I'm angry that at the apathy, and content-ness of people to be satisfied with injustice as long as they are not personally affected. The fact that "I got mine so..." mentality rules this country, while this country was built and founded on the notions of helping each other, and a united group of people coming together for a common betterment. A notion that together we are better than separate.
  13. I'm angry that this country doesn't give a shit about other people. We don't care that other people are hungry as long as we are fed. I hate that we don't see health, as a fundamental right, just the ability to make money is.
  14. I hate violence, I hate that I fear being raped not because of the trauma, or violence, or risk of STD's, but because of the person finding out I am not a natal female and that it might turn into a murder.
  15. I hate how closed off everyone is, and myself, even more so. I hate how I'm afraid to talk to people. I hate how even if I flirt or make eye contact with someone I'm attracted to, I brush them off because I know once they find out, they will probably not be interested in me.
  16. I hate the fact that I grew up in a lie. I hate that I can't forgive my parents for their negligence, and for their lack of ability to handle their shit. The emotional blindness they had and how they managed to go through years of it, without dealing with it. I hate that I lost, or missed out on the childhood I should have had, and never will have.
  17. I hate that I have to recolor my memories to try and make them fit into a past that doesn't exist. I hate that I have to fantasize about people to get any hope at normality. I hate that the only chance at being what I want to be, or with who I want to be with, comes from a deluded 20 second glance at a restaurant, or bus, or street corner. That my life, is lived in breaths shared with someone who doesn't know me, but in my head spends the night pleasuring me and my non-existent normal body.
  18. Then it ends, and I continue my day, hating myself that much more for the moments I won't get, and apparently don't deserve to have in life.
  19. I hate, that I have to find reasons to live or exist, because the simple act of being alive, is not good enough. It doesn't warrant its self purpetualization due to the pain and shit I have to go through. At what point does putting up with all the shit that is my life, pay off? Or is it just always shit, in which case why bother continuing another 60 years of it, which arguably, won't get any better?
  20. I hate the fact that on any given day, I have fantasies about suicide or violence, just to make the day at least partially interesting.
  21. I hate that my family is so fucked up. I hate that they have become addicts and that I can't help them. I hate the fact that I've given up on helping them.
  22. I hate the fact that I can't write music, but can only play it. I simply am not talented enough to make new things or create in any meaningful fashion.
  23. I hate that my bone structure is masculine, and that in certain shirts, I look too broad. Or that my chest is too large and I don't fit right into certain dress forms. I don't even bother trying them on anymore. It is too painful to see how shitty it looks on me to bother fitting myself into them.
  24. I hate that the mention, thought, image, picture, notion, idea, reminiscent smell, or name of my ex-partner still churns my stomach and turns me into a 14 year old girl who got a rejection letter from a movie star.  I hate the fact that I let this decide my schedule or willingness to go to events that we might both go to.
  25. I hate that even if I find someone to be with, I notice nothing but flaws, I don't notice attractive things, just things that ruin who they are to me.
  26. I hate that I turn away in photos, when I smile, if I laugh or show my teeth because of my brother's endless teasing as a child about my teeth.
  27. I hate that I avoid pictures in which I might turn out boyish, or not perfect.
  28. I hate that I don't talk to my old friends as much as I would like, and that they have gone on with their lives largely unnoticing of me.
  29. I hate that my brother takes no interest in my life as well, and likely never will, yet he is the closest member of my family to me.

  30. I hate that most if not all of my current relationships can be described as "meh".
  31. I hate that the only luck I have, is apparently bad luck. Or that the only person I manage to find attractive, I then fall in love with, and then break up with, as it doesn't work. Yet my feelings remain, and there is simply nothing to do about it wait, or learn to cope.
  32. I hate that I have to get up, everyday, and go to the same mindless job, everyday, to pay for useless shit, that society says I need, to enjoy a weekend, to rest and relax from the shitty job that I go to every weekday.
  33. I hate the fact that there are fewer and fewer times that I look to the space needle and get giddy at the sight of it like I used to. Or that the newness is wearing off, and I draw no more happiness from my location, like I used to.
  34. I hate the fact that my friends are getting married, or having kids, and the best I can say in return is that I have some shitty job, and meh relationships in a city I love.
  35. I hate, that I've become so addicted to escapism, that turning my emotions or cognitive thought on, without some distraction, almost renders me completely helpless and an emotional train wreck locked into compulsive crying fits and such intense blinding anger that I fear for what I would do.
  36. I hate that I cry when I write these, and that it is only by doing so that I can begin to control the release of extremes that have built up inside me like a cancerous plaque in my emotional arteries.
  37. I hate religion, and all the utterly unreasonable people it enables to violence and bigotry.
  38. I hate that people compliment my physical beauty, and I don't believe them. I think they are liars, patronizers, idiots, or have terrible taste.
  39. I hate that my mother thinks I will always be lonely, and I hate that I find it harder and harder to disagree with her.
  40. I hate the notion of shame, and how trans-pride conflicts with that. Why would anyone be proud of being disfigured? I hate that I feel that way, and that I'm afraid of telling people else being ostracized in the trans crowd.
  41. I hate that I have to masturbate regularly. I HAVE to, if I don't I begin to lose feeling in my genitals (numbness) and any potential further use becomes excruciatingly painful.
  42. I loath that the only time I like the look of my body is in the exaggerated silhouette of the setting sun, or in the reflect of a store window, where I can make out the general idea, but not specific details.
  43. I loath that even in those moments where I was happy and content, and enjoying my life, I was still preoccupied with suicide, thinking that it would be a high moment, and that at some point it would come back down and killing myself then, would be both poetic, and going out on a high note.
  44. I hate that I can't simply be happy, I'm so obsessed with shitty things, and how horrible life is, I can't just exist and be content, I have to have a reason for everything, I have to know everything is valid, and verified, and purposeful.

9.17.2012

Visions of Destruction

Earlier tonight, in a restaurant, I had a violent fantasy about walking over to a table in the room, stabbing and beating one of the girls at the table, and then throwing her through a window. She hadn't done anything to upset me, or wrong me, my day was not outstandingly bad, or upsetting, she was just there.

I felt hints of emotional collapse at the same time. A slight tinge of a muscle spasm in my arms that I can't control. I find myself reliving a moment in which, when asked, I couldn't express my anger because I said it would destroy me. I am going to try a contained, expressive post later on that vents a lot of that, but the problem is that there is just so much of it, and it never goes away.

I feel I have to do something though, I am disgusted by violence most of the time, consensual things can be tolerable, as there is often a mix of affection involved as well. This though, was nothing but a hate filled rage of emotions. While I would never act on anything, the urge to, is new and undesired. Violence leads me to cutting and while before my cuts have been enjoyable, I haven't cut out of rage in a long time as it is always intensely more destructive and dangerous.

I know my depression is pretty strong at the moment, I just don't know what to do about it. Before the answer was simple(ish) I knew where to go, what to do, I simply couldn't. Now, I'm just completely lost and unsure of anything anymore.

I feel like there are perpetually walls falling down and one day the last will crumble and everything will just come with it at once.

9.09.2012

Endure, Master Wayne.

Reading through this book, I see so much more than I did prior to transitioning. It is where I draw my name, and the similarities are striking. I find myself laughing, hysterically, and then weeping. The latter, on this passage;

But she had become a goddess and he could not help it if he were astonished. She had always been beautiful in his eyes, and admirable, too. He had worshipped her, in some ways, for her courage in adversity, for her resistance to the ways of his own world. But that had been bravery under siege and now, it seemed, she single-handedly gave siege to that same society which, a few months before, had threatened to engulf and destroy her identity. There was a determination in her bearing, a lightness, an air of confidence that proclaimed to everyone what he had always sensed in her -- and he was proud that his world should see her as the woman he knew, in full command of herself and of her situation. Yet there was, as well, a private knowledge, an intimate understanding between them, of the resources of character she drew to achieve that command. For the first time he became conscious of the depth of his love for her and, although he had always known that she had loved him, he became confident that her emotion was as strong as his own. Like her, he required no declaration; her bearing was declaration enough.
I had been meaning to write for a while, but I find I often lack the energy or motivation. My depression grows daily, and while some days I fight it off more than others, the beast wins more and more. The monotony, the daily bullshit is just..exasperating. Every week is the same, every day is the same, with mere strange changing of temperatures to make the seasons. Ask me what I've done the past year and I can't tell you. I feel useless, and meaningless. I find myself wishing I'd get hit by a car, or mugged, or robbed, just for a change of pace. I know better than to hope for positive things to happen randomly to me.

I deceive myself. I surround myself with avenues for creation, yet I never use them. I play, I write, I sing, I compose, or, rather, I have the ability to. Yet when I sit down and get ready to, nothing comes. My mind is blank and my emotions freeze. I shrug my shoulders of it in frustration and return to mind numbing escapism. I read, I play games, I do anything and everything I can to not think about things. Until something triggers me, like the passage above, and I twitch, spasm, and then just bawl my eyes out at the frustration, envy, and anger, so much anger, of everything.

I don't pine for my ex-love any longer. I am cautious, but the intense desire is gone. I realize now how young, and nubile ze is, and how not-ready for me ze is. Instead I long for the feelings produced then, I miss being drunk on love, of finally after so many years being able to let my guard down with someone. It was premature, I recognize that, but it was honest. Now, everything just feels passionless, the days blend together and there is just, nothing there. I question my motivations for everything and habit or routine are the only answers I find.

I am struggling heavily with the question of why. What purpose or driving factor do I have in my life? It is a question I have had since I was a little thing, and I've never had a good answer. I went to school because I was supposed to, I went to college because It delayed that question, I went to graduate school because it delayed that question. My motif in life has been to improve it, personal growth, and positive change above all things. I'm lost as to what direction that now means.

For a long, long time I thought it meant love. So I put myself out there, in often uncomfortable, abusive situations, because I felt that sacrifice or being uncomfortable meant doing difficult things, and thus growth, as a person. It hurt when people mistook that for weakness, or a fear of being alone. Now, being able to say I know what being IN love feels like, and yes, that word makes a remarkable difference. I'm not sure my purpose is there, and if it isn't I'm not sure where I've left to look.  More so, I'm quickly encroaching on Middle age, and I fear greatly holding out hope. and living a shit life for the naive idea that one day I'll find someone. Only to look back at the past 10-20-40 years at how much of my life I wasted, sitting here, typing entries about pining for a reason that never came.

My life, as such, then, is not enjoyable by default. Why should I have to endure?