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.

Updates, and innebriation.

I am again, forcing this issue, I feel like I am peeling a scab off so that it heals properly. I honestly can't say where my head has been these past two weeks or so. Some moments have been nice, others I have felt completely and utterly lost.

This, perhaps, culminated in a salient moment on Thanksgiving Day. Amid the stress, and alcohol, I lost myself. I began to have intense sadistic fantasies or abusing random people, at my whim, for no reason. That, isn't who I am, and is a drastic change from how alcohol normally alters my mood and personality. More and more I find myself feeling like I am losing control when I am inebriated. It feels like I lose hours that I might have enjoyed. A while later, I attempted not to drink, and failed miserably, only to have the same urges come back for a second before I pushed them aside.

I will be making an honest attempt to not drink anymore, at least for a while, until I manage to center myself a bit more, and get a larger control over my substances. I have seen much of my family destroyed by substance, and I very much do not want to follow similar paths.

I worry about this however, specifically in relation to potential relationships, and the people in my life who like to drink.

My shakes, withdrawal, and day dreaming has gotten pretty bad when I'm not strictly engaged in escapism or distraction. I'm not entirely sure why, and hopefully I can figure that out, but I wanted to at least, get this out as an update to what is going on.

A referendum on choice

I'm not sure where to begin. I feel utterly lost, and helpless. I look back at my city as I walk home, and ask myself what the fuck am I doing here. I can't help but keep my frustration and anger at a minimum and dive fully into escapism. Walking home has become a trial of how long I can hold back my tears until I can find another venture to stick my brain into. Books, games, movies, television, other people. It is all just one form of escapism or another, and nothing really alleviates the prime issues.

I am still unable to find a reason, something that gives my life meaning. I just don't understand why I am doing this, or anything. What is the point? I work, so that I can provide for myself, until my body dies anyway. That implies some sort of benefit from being alive, which, I fail at the moment to comprehend or understand.

I feel old habits returning again. meh. I honestly can't be bothered to care anymore.

Tricks of the treats.

A while back, I was asked how I managed to fall in love. It took a while to really get my mind around the idea, but I think it has to do with rain.

When I was 14, I loved a girl. One day in those rare Texas downpours, we decided to run around in the rain, and just be happy innocent children who loved each other. I had kissed a girl before, but it wasn't something I felt comfortable doing, hell I still don't like making the first move. I remember looking at her, completely soaked, while the sun came out, and wanting to kiss her so badly but not being able to.

That is one of my favorite memories. It was replicated last January. I think that is why I fell so hard, and so fast. I was already deeply fond and contemplating loving my new partner at the time, but that night, and into the next day, while we walked around in the snow, playing in the snow, laughing, I remember being so intensely happy and at ease. The funny thing is, I still couldn't kiss her. I wanted to, and now even a decade later, I still couldn't kiss her in that moment. I felt 14 years old again.

I don't remember if I was in love back then, we grew apart as people do as they grow up, but I remember little things. The placement of cute moles, the smell of her hair and her room, music, and laying around just making out all day. Butterfly kisses, oh god we were so disgustingly cute.

There, is a difference when you're an adult, though. The other aspect, I think, was that I was able to let my guard down for once. All my normal methods of keeping people at a distance, of letting them in slowly, just didn't work. It felt like, for once, I didn't have to worry about things.

I don't know if I desire that again, I think I'm romanticizing it a bit more, and emphasizing the peak of the goods, rather than the ludicrous quantity of lows.

I've started therapy again, which, I think will help. Things are alright at the moment, but there is a unnerving hollowness lurking in the back of my mind that I fear is waiting for an opportune moment to  carve out my motivation and insides.

I miss having passion in my life though, I miss feeling like I belonged to someone, and the entire physical spectrum that comes with being in an D/S relationship. I'm debating throwing an ad up, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet.

Assaults

So, I've never really talked about this before. Forgive me if this is a bit scattered. I don't remember precisely when, but I know it was soon after moving to Austin, so around 2004 or 2005. This would make me around 19 or 20 at the time.

This was pre-transition, when I was first trying to figure out who I was. I began talking to a guy, I'm not sure where I met him, maybe on Myspace, or something (it was the all the rage back then). We talked back and forth for a couple of days and he seemed nice. We decided to meet in person in a parking lot. I was young and naive as you can see. We met up in our cars and he convinced me to go back to his place. He seemed nice enough and I had no reason not to. I opted to follow him, rather than have him drive me. Even then I didn't trust people easily, but I still liked to give them the benefit of the doubt. This, would get me into trouble multiple times.

We got to his place and he offered me a drink, I opted for soda despite his ramblings of the marvels of alcohol. We began by sitting on the couch and watching something. He began to run his hands up my legs and fondle me. I was nervous, and uncomfortable. He was nice, and cute, but I didn't want to mess around with someone I barely knew. I don't remember if he asked if it was okay, and I don't remember if I said it was fine or not. I have a tendency in situations like this, to convince myself that it is okay, when it isn't, and to simply silently endure it until it is over.

This fondling progressed, I asked him to keep things above the belt. I was ignored. Before I knew it he was in my pants and touching me. He asked if I wanted him to perform oral sex, I declined, and he continued to touch me, while touching himself.

I became introspective. I started asking myself questions about what I wanted, wasn't this what I wanted, wasn't he nice, did I have reasons to not reciprocate, why wasn't I into this act, and so forth. I figured at this point I would simple force myself into it. I moved and began to touch him in return. I found strange, issues to focus on during this. After some time I orgasmed, and cleaned myself up. He did as well soon after, and we made small talk for a while before I left.

I drove home crying furiously, unable to explain why, or how everything had just happened. I got home and quickly cleaned myself up. He tried to contact me again in a few days, saying he hoped he didn't scare me of. I never spoke to him again.

I did, once, write this all out to a friend of mine, but I've never spoken of it other than that one instance.

I mentioned before that giving people the benefit of the doubt would get me into trouble again. It did, soon after I moved to Seattle. This was in 2011, post transition. I had met with a couple on OKCupid, in a nearby Starbucks that I was fond of visiting. They seemed...nice, if not idiosyncratic and strange. We didn't discuss my gender. The man talked for most of the conversation, and the woman had trouble with English but we made small talk. We finished our drinks and then decided to go to a nearby pub for alcoholic drinks.

The pub was both awkward and uncomfortable. They knew a few people but I didn't know anyone. I made introductions I knew I wouldn't remember. I got a bit buzzed and we decide to go meet up with a friend of theirs. This friend turned out to live across the street from me.

By the time we finish these drinks, I'm still only buzzed but it is late, and they complain about the buses no longer running. Not knowing how they would then get home, in the cold/rain, I thus offered them a place to sleep, at my apartment. Again, I did not specifically trust them, but gave them the benefit of the doubt. We talk for a good while, and he begins to ask if I ever did any cross dressing or gender bending. I said no as, well, I never did.

I was laying on my bed, he was in a chair. The girl then comes into the bed and snuggles up next to me while I talk some more. I'm alright at this point, physical closeness itself, doesn't always bother me. Eventually we get tired and the lights go out. All three of us are in my bed, and I'm on the far side, with the other girl in the middle. She begins by grabbing my chest, and still a bit buzzed, this is enjoyable even though it isn't what I wanted. They never asked if I was alright with this, or if I wanted this.

Things progress and before I can say anything my pants are off. My first reaction is shame as I didn't shave my legs, (if ever you doubted I didn't plan on this encounter). I panic, knowing all too well the stories of transgirls murdered by the shock of people finding out. I sit up, and quickly say that I was trans. They acknowledge, and he tells the girl in a childlike manner that I was like some other person. I assumed this meant another transgirl they had played around with. Before I can say anything else my panties are down and the girl is performing oral sex.

I laugh, or squirm or something as they ask me what is up and I lie, saying I had to pee. I then ran to the bathroom, and sulked for ..what had to be at least 5 or 10 minutes. I assumed they would continue to have sex, but they must have picked up on something, perhaps the sound of me in the bathroom, I'm not sure. I eventually came out and they were simply laying down, presumably asleep. I crept down next to them and slept.

We talked a bit the next morning, and they eventually left, without saying anything about the previous night. I would see them again at a kink/swinger party a bit later. I attended with their friend that I had met that night, and eventually met his girlfriend who was/is super awesome and still a great friend of mine. I didn't much talk to the couple though, and made a point to avoid them. There is an awkward photo of this gathering laying around somewhere, I untagged myself.

I've had trouble talking about these because I have trouble labeling them assaults or rapes. I have de-legitimized them in my mind because of various things. I enjoyed part of it, or I didn't overtly say no, or I participated back in some way, or because I invited them, or because I voluntarily went into that situation. I feel that it is partially my fault, or not a "real" assault because it wasn't violent, or as terrible as various other things, or because it didn't go that far.

To this day I still have a hard time saying no. It sticks in my throat. My thoughts are to just endure it, stick it out and then leave. I still don't trust people easily, and I still give them the benefit of the doubt.

This notion, or theme, occurred to me recently, as a situation presented itself in which I could easily have been raped by someone I had invited into my apartment. The body language of the person screamed red flag to me, that this person might be a threat, and yet I still simply endured.

I'm not sure what steps to take to make saying no easier, or what it will take for me to act on my instincts.

I do know that people have used some aspect of this benefit of the doubt, to paint me as someone who is afraid of being alone, or rejecting people (and thus being alone). It, infuriates me when people accuse me of this. It is an active trait that I find desirable in people, I think everyone should have the benefit of the doubt. Simple because I don't cut people out of my life when they give off a creepy vibe on first impression, or act in a undesirable manner, it does not mean I'm afraid of being alone, or that I need to rely on other people. I don't make friends easily, and this trait, is a step to remedy that. I abhor people mis-characterizing that as a weakness when it isn't. Excuse me for not being a judgmental jaded fuck.

I moved across the country, to be by myself in an entire new city/state for Christ's sake. The only way that could be MORE independent is if I moved out of the fucking country.

I digress. I guess the point of all of this is to vent it out. To relate, and to seek support from people on it. I don't, dwell on these assaults much, but I did feel it needed to be declared, for my own sake if nothing else.