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.
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