King David

This, is now the second fucking time I've had to write this out. I don't want to do it again. This will thus be, with increased frustration and animosity.

I'm so fucking tired of everything being ruined. No matter what it is it seems to be just an endless process of patching things. I acquire nice things, they break, get worn out, stolen, ripped, stained, or some other how ruined, and I then have to go about and maintain them. Thus is with my clothes, is also in my life. Ever just patching holes on a ship to weather the storm, never bothering to change course or properly fixing parts.

 This sensation thus culminated in having my laptop stolen this past weekend, along with about seven years of my life and a countless amount of private and pertinent information should they wish to pillage it.

I'm just so fucking sick of having to fix everything. It feels like nothing is ever just working properly. Even this stupid software is making me rewrite this, with less poignancy and flow than the original, and I'm just sick to death of it all.

I'm sick of feeling nothing but rage and numb muted pragmatism. I chose this option as it was objectively better in minor way X. There's never a decent emotional response to sway me one way or the other, and I'm so veyr tired of asking myself what I have to gain by a particular action. I want something that strikes me straight in the chest and makes me scream yes! I want to feel something so clearly, so defiantly that there is no possibly way I can sit on my ass and consider the pros and cons.

I'm tired of middle ground, logical compromised bargains. I'm tired of good enough and make due. I want something to make me feel alive, for once.

The  current plan of holding a wake is the best thing I can come up with for some sense of closure. I don't want to do it, but feel I have to. The whole thing makes me feel embarassed, ashamed, silly, and self absorbed. But, so far, its the best way I can think of to give some sort of closure to the matter.

I need to buy some super glue.

What am I doing. This seems to be the question I find myself asking over and over and over again. No matter what I end up doing I never seem to find any sort of semblance or respite that says, "yes, this is what you should be doing with your life". This, then, causes some significant depression because everything seems to be the same. I feel no great emotional sway towards any one direction. The abivilance and drunken wanderings I committ to my person are largely from a lack of any feedback on what I'm doing. It all seems muted and desaturated. The reason for this, and how to get around it has been something I've been working on for a good while.

The recent idea, is that the greif and process of my dealing with my being trans, has sucked the emotional life out of me. That is, until that grief is dealt with in its entirety, that all of my emotional strength and direction is put into dealing with that. In other words all of my strength is put into holding myself together, and while I'm doing such I can't much look outside to see where to go.

I've no idea how to accomplish that task. While I deal with my trans issues, and the massive amounts of anger that comes with it, I don't know how to vent that without destroying myself in the process. In that same token, even during bouts of emotional relapse, I keep people at bay from really allowing myself to grieve. I believe this is done partly to as to avoid having them be unloaded upon, but also to prevent myself from going to an emotional extreme, along with large swaths of insecurity and not trusting people.

The thought is that then, if I can get that far, possible find a way to vent that, I'll be happier and less self-structure focused, along with being able to find some direction in which to take my life. More of an ability  to find my dreams and accomplish them. This versus the current which is endless distraction and emotional numbing from the emotional muscle-cringing process of holding a knife to one's self to make sure you don't fall apart.

 

That said, I find myself hungering for something, but I don't know what it is. Some sort of passion, and for some reason I just can't seem to find it. Part of this can (and likely is) due to my recurrent and stealthy depression sneaking into to fuck with my head. Still, it is unnerving.

What is this

I knew things were bad when I started wishing I'd get cancer. Being hit by a bus is an old favorite, but it lacks the emotional sympathy you get with the big C. At least then I'd have a few months to piddle around and enjoy life, then just let go. That doesn't't seem so bad. The bus, while immediate, lacks in the ability to let go. Still, it makes up for it in not dragging out the inevitable. There's always the old bridge jump, or razors, but, that requires far too much courage on my end. I'be always been one for the cowards way out.

This update comes as a bit of a surprise to most, and myself as well, as things have been fairly rosy. Well, rose-like, anyway. I have some wonderful friends, and a fantastic partner, but something is still missing, and I grow very very weary of the cycle. There simply has to be more to life than this, I just can't seem to comprehend or accept that this is what my life is now; a never ending routine of short-changing my life for chump change so I can pay money to people who supposedly allow me to live. What a waste this life, and lifestyle is. It's a cycle based entirely on consumption, greed, and profiteering of those who have most.

I know that is a bit vague, so let me elaborate. I go to work, and waste 2/3 of my life doing this, things I don't enjoy, don't want to do, and have no interest in doing, in exchange for money. That exchange short changes me of both deserved wages, and life experience (things I could have otherwise spent my life doing). I then have to spend that money on things I have no choice on, such as rent, or food. How people don't see this as slavery, I can't understand. You're not free, if you have to work in exchange for your life. Food and shelter are biological needs, yet I have to work in order to secure them? What madness and injustice every decided that was a suitable or acceptable way to live.  Yet because you give people the illusion of choice, drug them with sweets and anti-depressants and they suddenly forget. Anything to forget if not just for a little while.

And that is where I find myself now. I work, I run home on the brink of tears to plug myself into a digital life where I can escape into something interesting, entertaining, and acceptable. I then unplug, sleep, and repeat. Anything to forget the madness that is the majority of my life. I dream hourly of quitting, of doing anything else, fuck, even Porn would at least provide me with something I do of my own volition and choice.

Given that scenario, you can see why Cancer seems a desirable option, it's an out that allows me to not care, to not work, to not be a slave. I can do what I want, and when asked why I get this maddening privilege, I can spout with a smug sense of pride "Oh, well I have cancer so". How fucking ridiculously absurd that only when a person has cancer are the deemed acceptable to do what they wish. This is why I game endlessly, because not doing so requires me to look at what my life has become in the eyes, and I can't bear that shame, let alone look it straight in those giant avian eyes that seem to stare straight through me. The worst part of this, is that I did it to myself. In my fear of making mistakes I opted for a half measure that enshrined my misery through inaction. And now, here, now, this instant, I'm paralyzed once again. Taking current temporary security for long term sanity, enjoyment, and satisfaction in my life.

The fact that I haven't collapsed into a mental breakdown of anxiety, fear, and an unfathomable unstoppable rage at my life and the great and fundamental injustice done to me in my existence, if a god damn miracle.

Photographs & Cycles

So, I think most people can relate when I say pictures make me uncomfortable. However, having a photographer/artist partner has forced me to reexamine, and experience this in a much more present state of mind.

I've found that being asked to have my photo taken makes me not nearly as averse as having someone simply take it without my regard. I'm not sure if it is the control or respect aspect, of having someone ask permission for something that they should ask permission for, or, if it is the idea that I can mentally prepare for the act.

It might be a bit of both. However, I can, an have, posed for photos and been okay with photo shoots before. The idea being that I know what I'm getting into, I can mentally and physically prepare for the experience, and when I have, I've generally been okay with it.

The bits that bother me, are the casual, candid and voyeur style photos that often get taken when either I feel I'm unprepared, or don't want, to have my picture taken. It is disrespectful to do so, and most often people (and there are many different people) do it anyway because "what's the big deal". I've noticed it is always "I want a picture", emphasis on the I. Well, maybe I don't? Why does your desire for a photo, take precedent over my desire to not be photographed?

The big deal, is respect. Maybe I want to have a good time without worrying about the fine details of how I look, or, without being brought out of my good mood/fun time to worry about this photo, wear it's going, who has control over it, and who all is going to see it.

Maybe, I just want to experience a moment, without it being interrupted, to make me worry about all the ramifications of a photograph.


That bit aside, things are murky. I can't remember the past four months in any great detail. Not that they've been bad, in fact it has largely been good, but that it has been filled with routine. Albeit enjoyable, it still feels like I'm not going anywhere. I often feel powerless, frustrated, and at times depressed. I lack motivation to do even, remote aspects of things that might change my situation. I'll go to my therapist, then, think proactively for a day or so, then fall back into routine.

I'm afraid of wasting my life like this, playing games, going to dinner, doing the same bits in and out, yet, when prompted to do differently, I can't find the reasoning or motivation to do anything else. I feel very much trapped within the largess and monotony of bullshit socio-economic work/life routines. I go to work, for no real benefit or value to myself, but to pay the people who I have to pay to let me reside in their building, or use electricity, or cook food. I get no real value added to my life, that, couldn't be added by a series of highly trained monkeys or semi-sentient robots.

I'm not sure what I need to break me out of the cycle.

Diction

Recently I've been fighting my brain on a few things, and doubting, inherently, my emotions. A relationship I've entered into has been going very well, and it has elevated my mood tremendously, but, as there is always a but, I find myself focusing on what is missing, and making comparisons with past relationships, relationships that were unhealthy.

This new relationship has some parallels, but not in any manner that matters. In terms of relationship health it is by far easier, more healthy, more positive, more open and less abusive than my last relationship. These are all wonderful things, and they have made it very easy and fun to be in. Yet, As time as progressed, I find myself questioning the aspect of Love, and what it means. How it may be different from Infatuation/Obsession, and if that matters.

For all the negatives of my last relationship, it did, at a minimum, give me butterflies. My heart ached, and felt deeply entwined and wrapped up in my partner at the time. Looking back at those blogs of the time, and the insanity that I felt, and the horrifying feeling of being overwhelmed. It was above else, intense.

I'm not sure, and haven't been for a while, if that was love. It felt like it, but, so much of that relationship was designed to overwhelm, and much of it was manipulative, both by her, and by me putting myself in an easy place to be taken advantage of, all the while swimming around with my head in the pink cloud of her perfume like so many animated cats.

The new relationship, should, by all means replicate this sensation, yet I remain feet firmly planted, and this is upsetting. Am I making unfair comparisons to how I felt during different relationships? Am I now hindered from feeling in love since my definition has since changed based on an infatuation? If that is now being "In Love" then what do I feel now, I care for someone, but is it fair/justifiable to say I love them when I'm still terra-bound, and not intoxicated by them? Does this set me up to fail then, if I'm wanting and waiting to be shoved off my feat by people ignoring my boundaries and taking advantage of me? Does it even matter if I'm not given butterflies, or that I don't feel overwhelmed?

I'm confused, and I imagine that can lead anyone to doubt, or feel a bit emotionally numb. It has been a very long time since I've engaged my emotions to their full spectrum. While my anger has always been easily tapped and an endless resource of spite, I'm not used to being over-stimulated in dopamine, and it has thus rendered me a bit bottlenecked and bandwidth capped at the moment. This past month has been by and large a blur.

It feels odd saying I don't feel anything, and having it unrelated to depression. It is interesting to notice however, as my dysphoria events have also diminished significantly. At least, my focus on them has as well.

But I am at a bit of a loss for words, or, at least, loss of which words.

Nightmares and enslavement

I've been plagued by nightmares, again, recently. Almost all of these have to do with my death or ensuing death. One involved earthquakes and being burned alive by molten lava. Last night's involved having my blood siphoned out via a strange syringe inserted into my gum line. The odd bit, about this last one, was that I went in willingly. Apparently it was a process I had to go through, as there were other versions of me that I had talked to (apparently from the future?) that said it was necessary for me to do this. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a ruse that I had fallen for, and someone just wanted to murder me. It is a very strange feeling to accept your death in a dream.

This isn't new. All my nightmares seem to involve the destruction of my being in some form, be it physical body mutilation or actual mind/spirit death.

I don't think these are unrelated to my emotional stressors at the moment. I have felt very disappointed in my life and where it is at the moment. I dislike my job, and I dislike my situation. While some of this is likely the ebb and flow of my depression (the past 2 months or so have been tolerable if not numb). Some, I think, is situationally derived. The social contract of my job is increasingly feeling unbalanced, yet I feel powerless to change the situation without flatly leaving to find another job. I'm looking, but it isn't a quick process. In the meanwhile, more and more of my energy is being expelled at my job, and my down time is spent trying to recover from that.

I find myself laying awake angry, hating my situation and my life. With that sentiment comes my old favorite thoughts of walking into traffic. These are escapist thoughts, motivations and causes to not go to work, to break the routine and the stalemate. I've no inherent desire to break bones or injure myself, but if it means I can get out of the current box that is my life, then so justified.

The whole chain and loop leaves me feeling inherently unvalued and worthless. A tool to funnel money from one hand to another, without creating any inherent value or worth to myself. I pay my bills, my debts and rent, I eat food, and at the end I've nothing left to show for it. Nothing has transpired to better myself or get me any closer to my goals. I feel I'm emotionally, and spiritually, living paycheck to paycheck. Creating no increase in value or emotional and mental wealth or worth for myself.

My personal life has gotten into a much more agreeable place, but it likewise doesn't feel rewarding, simply less bad.

I feel like I'm confined in a box, and I can't breath. Emotionally asphyxiated and enslaved to what this society has deemed the social contract. That in order to simply exist in life, I have to put in 40 hours of misery, if I want to actually enjoy life, well good luck with that.

Maybe it gets easier as you simply accept the mediocrity and shityness of your life, thats how it seems my parents did it, distracted themselves with the kids and picket fence lifestyle. A distraction denied to me, even if I were to take it. Or maybe it is easier for people who "enjoy their work" if such thing isn't an oxymoron, but I never knew what I wanted to do, and the creative arts I would perform are so stunted and malnourished in me that I don't feel I could ever make a living doing them.

Which points to the reoccurring theme, of focusing on end goals vs pleasure of acts.  I'm trying to curb this mentality, but I was always one for fatalism, romance, and big pictures. What is pessimism after all but a fatalistic belief that the shitty things the world has done to you, will continue to be done to you.

Delayed gratification

It has become an issue, again, how I reveal my trans status to people. It is something I've had to be extremely flexible on in the past, despite the fact it really bothers me to not disclose things upfront. I'm out on FetLife, but not on OkCupid. This is intentional as I find FL to be a lot more accepting as a whole.

The issue, is that people are, well, cowards. They scare easily, like timid mice when something confronts them that is outside of their comfort zones. This complicates things for me. I would be completely out about my status if I thought people would be willing to consider it fully, and honestly, upfront. Yet, my past experience has proven this to not be the case. If I reveal my status on OkCupid the messages I get drop off fantastically, between the area of 5-10 a week to maybe 1-2 a month. More so, when I do tell people I haven't met in person, despite the qualities they self proclaim themselves to have, the messages inevitably begin to go unanswered, plans canceled, and excuses found. It is by far much easier for them to simply move on to the next available person. To cast out all the conversation and dialogue that have been had, all the bonding and passed tests that are obligatory in dating, and start anew with someone else.

I have found that if people have an invested interest, however, they are far more willing to consider things in good conscience. It isn't so easy to discard a person if you've made out with them before, or are friends with them, or have good memories with them, or enjoy their company.

My goal in this, is not to deceive anyone, or to mislead anyone. Honesty is one of my salient goals in all things. I don't like withholding things, or beating around bushes. I've forced myself to develop skills in confrontation and addressing  uncomfortable issues. Yet, on this aspect, I find myself hesitating.

All I want, is to have a dinner with someone while discussing the issue. I consider it success if I can get to that point, because sadly, most of my dates and interests don't make it that far. 90% of the people I've come out to have ended in a cowardly rejection via neglect.

This logic follows then:

1. If they are genuinely interested in who I am as a person, then they will still want to be friends if they aren't comfortable with my gender status.
   
   
2. If they aren't willing to be friends, then either A, they just wanted sex to begin with, or B, they aren't that interested in me as a person.

So, getting them interested/invested in me as a person, either secures me a friend that I was interested in but won't be partners with, or, clarifies that they were only looking for/wanting a sexual relationship to begin with. (the idea, being, that they believe being with a trans person is so grave, they don't even want to be friends, despite indicating being interested in me, prior to being enlightened).

This, so far, has been a pretty good mark for things. The few who have turned into friends have agreed to the dinner (or didn't need one), and the ones who didn't, well didn't, and were written off.

So now, I'm at this crux again, dreading the "oh, by the way" conversation that is Damocles'ing it's way through time as I write this. I dread this conversation because it puts me on face level with my rejection. It is a direct statement and judgement on myself as a person of value, and if that value is worth more than the effort it takes to move outside of a comfort zone. Where as being public about the information I avoid the risk, and isolate/insulate myself from the silent rejection of those that would have otherwise been interested. With delaying the decision, I see both those who are willing, and the masses who are not.

The judgement being, the greater of my value as a person, compared to the difficulty and effort involved in moving outside of a person's given comfort zone. Hence why it is easier to be public on FetLife, Kinksters, I believe, have an inherently easier time moving outside a given comfort zone.

I'm aware of the subjectivity of this judgment, and, how I can easily dismiss and brush away the opinion of those who are judging my value as a reflection on themselves, rather than on my value. I often do. However, it does, over time, begin to sink into you like spilled cherry Kool-Aid through a roll of paper towels. Yet, where your mom would thus forbid you from drinking Kool-Aid anymore, I am routinely putting myself over the expensive new carpet, taking long, deep swaths of sugar water in a search for something greater than myself, and a level of satisfaction and happiness that I know is out there, but can't seem to find. Failing to heed the obvious signs of self-harm and damage being done to the carpet in various forms of other red fluids.