Surgery Night Blues

What to say really.

This whole time, really, has felt nonchalant. Even now, there have been little specters of emotional turbulence, but it just feels okay.

It feels "crazy" and I find myself saying "this is so crazy" and "what am I doing". In a sort of astonishment that this is where my life is.

I'm 7500 miles from home. In a place, where I know one person, and he's just as, if not more, clueless than I am.

This would all be fine if we were here to just hang out, but in, just over 12 hours, I have a huge, 5 hour long, surgery that changes my life. It's something I've been dreaming of since I was twelve years old.

I wanted so so badly to be perfect, and I still deal with that grief. The additional burden I have to deal with in being trans that other people don't have to.

It's, shitty, and I shouldn't have to go through this, yet my life is and will be infinitely better having done so. I know this, which is likely why I just feel fine with everything. I've done my homework, I researched and found the person I was the most comfortable with.

It hasn't been quite what I expected, but then how can you really expect anything so, monumentally different as this.

Still, I feel very alone at the moment. Even having my dad here, he doesn't know what this is like, no one really does outside trans folks, who are all damaged goods in our own sort of way.

All along this trip, I've expected tonight to be a roller coaster of emotions, and, it's just not. I don't feel much of anything outside, "well, yah, okay". Maybe that's a sign of just acceptance with everything. It worries me, because not feeling anything typically has been a depression signaler rather than one of acceptance.

Some tears later, it's the loneliness and the grieving that gets to me, as they always do. Imaginings hugs from ex partners and friends triggers me to finally release. I'm scared and anxious and worried and frustrated at it all, but it is what I have to do so.

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.

The state of things, and ongoing.

I originally wrote this on another site, here it is, in the original form. I have added updates at the bottom.

I've delayed writing this for a while. I've put off
writing in general because I know it isn't what people will want to
read. I'm doing it here, now, because I'm avoiding showing it to people.
This will go up on the blog, it is just a matter of when. I'm writing
it out now, in preparation for a therapist appointment, and as a form of
public shaming.

Starting on New Years, I've been struggling with some very deep
depression, exhaustion, disassociation, self-mutilation, and suicidal
fantasies.

I'm stuck trying to figure out what purpose my life has, and why I
should bother with it. I'm exhausted in dealing with the mediocrity that
my life. I'm tired of my gender being a constant struggle. I'm tired of
the metaphors of surgeries and used car dealers (even if you get what
you want it's still not as good as what you want). I'm tired of it all.
I'm tired of the conversations I am forced to have, and I'm tired of the
negotiations involved in any sexual encounter. It's like playing Guess
Who? before anything fun.

I'm tired of my job, I'm tired of the sameness, of everything. Of the
monotony of everyday life. And I'm ready to take my ball, and go home.
It is not fair that I should have this burden, when I've done nothing
wrong. It is

On New Years eve, I was triggered early in the morning, worked a half
day, and then went to Walgreens to pick up a prescription, and some
shaving razors. While there, I stood, for a good 5 minutes staring at a
package of straight razors, and ended up buying them.

I wasn't upset, or emotional, I was dissociative (a strange headspace
where I feel a bit half conscious, most things lose color, my breathing
goes shallow and I just, don't feel anything). I went and drew a bath
as I was wanting to shave my legs before the events of that night.

The idiocy, of taking newly bought straight razors into a warm bath,
was not lost on me. I was in there for an hour, weeping, often
uncontrollably, until I finally ended up just shaving my legs and
bathing. I did end up re-cutting a design into my leg with said razors
however (hence the photo I posted recently). If you saw me
limping/wincing on New Years, that was why.

Since, I've had a few fantasies, but haven't engaged any actual
behaviors. Anyway, that is the current state of things. Depending on
what my therapist says things may change, I'm just not sure what else to
do.

---

Since this, things are still in a strange area. I'm not as low at the moment, but that can easily change. I'm hesitant to release myself from that place and identity of depression because of how volatile it can be. I don't want to go around saying, "oh hey everyone, I'm fine now" even though I may not feel as low, because it is so easy to fall back into it. It feels disingenuous to communicate to people that I'm alright, when I am at the time, on a Micro level feeling better, yet haven't not positioned myself in a better place on a Macro sense of self.  In short, I dislike the idea of crying wolf.

I have started a new plan of treating my body, rather than fighting it. I've plans to begin a few services (massage/acupuncture at the moment) to try and align my body with a more pleasurable sensations/mood than the normal dysphoric feelings of animosity and hatred. Not in that, those aren't still omnipresent, but they don't have to be the only experiences.

This, is in contrast to external relationships which seem even harder to come by now than before. I've been blown off, dismissed, de-appetized, overlooked, and passed over by just about every potential romantic interest I have yet to find. I grow extremely weary of it. I've long said that those who have a desire, will make the time for it. Yet, again and again and again I find I have to pursue, I have to call and remind, I have to rearrange, and schedule, plan, over-plan, and berate to simply get a date setup. It is exhausting, humiliating, frustrating, degrading, and intensely dissatisfying. Much to the point that I've given up on trying to motivate other people into action.

I find my appetite for gaming is decreasing as well. I find this a good habit to get into as there are many other, and more productive areas in which I can direct my energies. My guitar sits lonely and cold by itself, unplayed, for months. Outside of that, romantically, it would seem I've to hit the dregs in search of a diamond again. Maybe I can at least drink myself into a stupor on the way to the bottom of that barrel.

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?

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.

Road Closures

The sadness, turns into anger. I don't express anger well, or often. I feel hurt, over how things ended, that someone can be so careless, and apathetic towards a relationship that I held very close and dear to me. The aspect that all of the intense emotionality that was expressed, at the end of the day, comes down such petty nuance and, routine apathetic dismissal of my feelings and emotions, is extremely hurtful.

I now find myself, wounded, and feeling this, very much.

Portishead - Glory Box, Live in Roseland New York

Particularly the opening lines:

I'm so tired of playing / Playing with this bow and arrow / Gonna give my heart away / Leave it to the other girls to play / For I've been a temptress too long / Just... / Give me a reason to love you.

I grow weary of this search for companionship. I don't feel like I've really felt contentment or, unguarded in a long, long time. Definitely not since transitioning. I have only fallen in love once. In that time, I felt a hint, a tortuous and temptatious waft of what it was like to be emotionally naked and still loved.

I struggle, with the fatalism. My romantic nature wants to cling to the notion that one day, we will return to that love and bond that I felt last winter, an eternity ago. It is easier to accept if I think of it not as an ending, but a pausing. That one day our fates will mesh once again. Yet, I do not want to spend the rest of my life trying to recreate what I experienced, trying to find someone, or trying to pursue what was. I don't want to  can't wait around for someone to realize my value, or finally figure out what I offered to them.

The pain, comes from knowing that I am giving up the best idea or approximation of happiness that I have ever found. While that has been gone, for a long time, I detest and hate having to close that avenue off from my emotional heart.

Sweetness Lost

I can tell that I'm moving on. I find myself no longer compulsively thinking of my ex, and now, when I do run across something that does remind me, I don't communicate that. I've lost the urge to be sweet, to remind hir that ze is in my thoughts. It, feels very hollow, and depressing though. I enjoy, being able to do those things, and to share how I feel with someone. I enjoy being attracted and sweet to people, and to mean it.

That just feels lost now. I find myself perusing for people. Not as a replacement, but just as companionship. I still have desires that aren't being filled, and weren't being filled regardless of the status of my most recent relationship. I find myself being cautious however, that I don't pursue someone who mimics my ex-partner. The nightmare scenario I have is that I end up pursuing someone who is exactly like my ex. I think that is unfair to all parties involved, but still, I do have a type that I am attracted to. I'm just...waiting for that type to no longer be my ex.

Which, then gets into my fatalism. How often does one find a person that checks all of your boxes, so to speak. In the history of my life, never, outside this past relationship. Which, has me worried, and saddened.

Being Shredded

I have a very narrow sense of self. Last night, while undergoing a pretty horrible bad trip, I became unraveled. I couldn't remember what I looked like anymore, and anytime I did, all I saw were caricatures of myself. Pictures of me as a child, toon-ified version, older versions of me from my adolescence. None however, were post transition.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being seen threw. The normal barriers of confidence and security that I have in place around myself were gone. It felt very much like I had detransitioned, and was extremely noticeable. I felt ugly, hideous, false, lied to, insecure,deformed, disfigured, and monstrous.
There is a reason I don't, or can't, handle a lack of control over my body. My sense of self is so entirely dependent on my post-transition identity, that without it I fall apart. I have disassociated with my past so much that I don't even recognize it as part of myself anymore. Without who I am now, I'm left without knowing who or what I am, and in complete horror.

There, is another issue, as well. As I find myself more involved in sexual activity, I find my dysphoria is increasing as well. Generally, if I don't have to see myself, then I can enjoy things. I am noticing however that I'm beginning to box myself in with comparisons. Seeing other people is now starting to simply remind me, so that I can't enjoy just being with someone without feeling the self loathing that comes.

As a quick aside, it isn't a loathing for who I am as a person, it is a loathing for my situation, my body, and my general hatred of said body. I completely, and utterly loath that I have to debate issues like pools, hottubs, and just the ability to be intimate with people.


By and large my situation has improved to the point that my mental and emotional state is now being dragged down and hindered by my body and dysphoria. While that is a worthy accomplishment, and I'm glad I've progressed to said point, having my body now re-emphasize the things I hate about it is crippling my mentality and stabbing me in the spine. It is hobbling my emotional progress and actively destroying who I am, and who I've defined myself to be.

I don't suppose anyone has 20 grand to spare do they?

reintroductions

Things are turbulent. It seems from one crises to another. Though my relationship is definitely in better positions than it was, there still feels like something is unresolved. Perhaps it is my paranoid just prodding me, but I don't want to leave things unsettled simply to pop up again later.

A few weeks ago I went on an adventure to alter my hormone treatments into something more manageable. This turned into a nightmare of poor choices and wasted money. I opted to try patches as they were the least invasive, and supposedly also easy on the liver. Unfortunately they do not come in the the high dosages that I'm on, and so I've been slowly dealing with my decline in estrogen levels. This was tolerable until a point where I began to feel similar to how I felt pre-transition.

I wrote about it on another site, but essentially my sex drive returned in force. Not that the desire is in itself bad, but how I deal with it and how I deal with the urges are different things. I've only recently (past year or so) began to learn to tolerate and accept my sexuality. Prior to hormones, the biological need to get off often put me at ends with how I felt, and my body dysmorphia. It often ruined my ability to be around people, I couldn't simply enjoy the company of someone regardless of if we were intimate or not.

I felt this again this past weekend, I grew agitated, frustrated, and down right annoyed at my partner because we weren't getting each other off. This is a stark contrast to how things have always been between us, in which I enjoy everything we do to each other, and there is no outright need to do anything if we don't want to.

This was terribly disturbing to me. Being pushed to a state of anger at someone I love because of a bullshit hormonal discrepancy fucking with my desires and moods. I feel it is unfair and akin to brainwashing, it is dishonest, and a cruel trick. It puts a noise and fuzz over one's thoughts and actions, akin to having voices constantly speaking to you in your head about what you want to do, how you feel, torturing you with small subtle suggestions : you would be fucking if you were really in love, you don't really feel that way, you two aren't physical because ze is bored/tired/annoyed/angry at  you.

It goes on and on. I know these things aren't true, but to have them thrown into your mind like that is quite disturbing and fucked up.

This climaxed on a tear filled drive home, peaked by wishful thoughts of car accidents. I came very close to cutting once again, but restrained myself and collapsed in an uncontrollable fit of hysterical crying for about 3 hours.

I have sense switched back to my original method and dosages in an attempt to fix the problems. Already my mental state has returned to something much more manageable. I can think clearly, and without interference again. Hopefully I can find another source of my medication to last me until I can see my doctor again.

Failure

Herein, lies a thorough diagnosis and understanding of how I failed and sabotaged myself and the first polyamorous relationship I've been in. There is a significant chance of repeated thoughts and dialogue from the "Paused" entry.

Expectations, unbalance, silence, fear, inexperience.

From the beginning this felt different. I wrote about that in the "Diagnosis" post. My normal behaviors and moods seemed irrelevant and useless. Largely, my asexuality leaves me feeling rather cool towards romantic interests. I care for them, deeply, and love them, but it was never on the cusp of how drastic and dramatic this felt. It felt real, visceral, intense, and I felt alive. For the first time, in a long time. My normal cool, indifference, and  slightly judgmental attitude changed to one of childish endearment, adoration, and blindness. Where as normally I would find faults in people and it would turn me away, here, when I found them, I just did not care.

I wrote then about my fears, "Insomnia...again", how I was terrified that the feelings I had were exclusive to one person. That I would never feel these emotions again. My greatest fear was the these intense emotions that I was feeling for the first time would go unrequited, and 3-4 months down the road I'd be broken up with due to the unbalance between our feelings. This was how my previous relationship ended, and it was quite painful to endure. I wished to avoid that at all costs.

The foundations and expectations I had built in starting this relationship were all based on my previous experiences. I went in knowing it was a poly relationship, that my partner would be seeing other people. I never once thought to change how I thought or acted in the relationship. Maintaining my old monogamous mindset undermined everything and set in motion my thought processes that lead to where I am now.

While it is easy to look at the issues after the fact, I don't blame myself too harshly. Being my first poly relationship I was unsure just what to think or how I would be stressed. While it does make sense to assume I would need to change how I thought about things, I had no idea in how or what ways I needed to.Looking at things, knowing this, it seems very obvious why the ended up the way they did. After time when distance was first created I took it personally, as a referendum on myself and the desire to have me around.

This initial doubt was planted, and led to nagging feelings of objectification and of being used. Whenever we would be physically affectionate, and follow this with a period of inactivity, I would begin to feel used as a sexual object, or as a tool/experiment to better understand how submissives work. It was untrue and irrational, but that is what fear does to you.

Instead of talking about these things, I tried to push them away with the lingering jealous/inadequate feelings in order to try and make myself more desirable to be with/around. When this also failed, the cascade of negative emotions became overwhelming, seen in "Haunted". I grasped desperately for anything I could trying to hold on to something I thought I was loosing.

Ironic that grasping may be the thing that caused me to loose it anyway.

Much in the way that struggling makes you sink in quicksand faster, or how panicking speeds up how quickly poison travels within your body, my fear exacerbated the problems.

The grasping only pushed more distance between us, which snowballed the effects into where things were stressed into breaking. Tension, stress, hostility, and pain were brought in and pushed us away from each other.

The rest is as you can imagine, there are details left out here that are covered in previous entries, "On Being Punished", but I want to minimize the amount of rehashing.

So realizing this now, I'm beating somewhat of a dead horse as I rehash much of what was written in "Paused". I can't force anyone's feelings, and I shouldn't be trying to force my own. I hate the feeling of regressing. The self deception and self degradation that comes after a split up wherein a person doesn't want to hurt or think of the partner anymore, and thus beats themselves up when they do. I'm trying hard not to follow down that path. I'm attempting to remain optimistic and fatalistic in that if things are meant to work out then they will. I'm going to let my emotions run their own path. If that means I wake up and fall asleep thinking about someone for months on end then so be it. I'm focusing on the positive emotions, and the love that I still have, even if it is unshared now. I'm done hiding from things.

Being drowned by love is a new experience for me, and one that overwhelmed me and my healthy obsession with being honest to myself. Fear and insecurity hit me like never before, and I don't like what it did to me. In as such, I am working to confront these issues head on and move beyond them.

I made an oath in 2008 that I was done lying to myself. I have sense then taken a crusade of positive change and personal growth that has led me here. There have been setbacks on the way, and hurtful things have been said about my commitment to that crusade recently. I understand how and why the accusations were made, I disagree with them, but they were made for a reason.

I've recently thought about adding to my tattoo to reemphasize this point to myself. My relationship to the art has often been representative of my sense of self and my journey. I had thought to add birds flying near/perched on hir, but now I think I'm wanting a dramatic explosion of color and life coming from the flower on it's right side. Symbolizing the growth through circumstance and positive change. Beauty out of the stone cold death that was my past life. The hiding, self mutilation, and emotional violence towards others that were so much a part of who I was. It is there, it will always be there, a part of my history. It is no longer who I am though, and in pushing out of that shell, the cracks that formed, and the life that has come back into me I feel are being left unrepresented. I shall ponder this, and just what and how I want to express this.

Paused

It bothers me just what conclusions people draw without talking to me about things. They see some of my bad habits, and make assumptions. I wouldn't, and normally don't, care what people want to believe, until it comes to effect me. I've been called a leach, and my emotional stability called into question. Which, would strike me as funny was it not so hurtful.

Since I was a teenager I've had to depend on myself for emotional support. I hide away my secrets and emotional states from everyone until it almost killed me (circa January 2008). Since then, I've taken a dramatic turn for the better, and moved into a much more aware, happy, and stable mindset.

I used to cut weekly, now it is down to a few times a year. I've written before on how cutting is an emotional control, it is a release, and a coping mechanism for my extremes. It serves to rush if I'm feeling numb, and it serves to calm if I'm erratic. Rarely is it used as a tool of self-mutilation or destruction to that extent. I cut as an answer to symptoms, the cutting is not the symptom in itself. I don't cut out of self hatred anymore, I've learned to stop doing that. I do it now more as an act of moderation to keep myself within certain boundaries in extremes, and I nearly always regret it afterwards. Yet, because of this, the idea is now floating among people that I have to attach myself to others to leach emotional stability, that I am so terrified of being alone, that I need other people to fix/keep me in line.

These were all things I was accused of, and that hurt to hear. How people can think I am so pathetic, selfish, or cowardly is beyond me. I transitioned on my own, for myself. It would kill me if I didn't. I moved to Seattle on my own, for my own sanity. I left behind my family, my friends, and everything I have known, I gave up all that security and comfort for the sake of my mental and emotional stability and sanity. I have routinely put myself available on internet dating sites, and routinely been hurt by people in order to find friends and potential partners to bring good people into my life. I have done all this, and I still do all this in order to better my life, to make myself happier, and provide for my stability.

I said being accused of being a leach was laughable. The idea that after all this, I would suddenly have to depend on other people to make me stable seems comical. If I needed other people, how could I leave everyone, literally everyone, I knew behind and move 2300 miles away from 99% of all my contacts (I found an old friend in Portland, but that was the closest). If I needed other people, how could I risk the affections of my friends and family by coming out to them. I did both of these things for my own sanity and stability, and the idea that I now can't risk being away from someone, is borderline offensive if not downright hurtful. I find myself questioning just how well people think they know me.

I dislike being alone. This is true, and I think I have justifiable reasons for it. That is not to say I can't be alone, or I can't be single. I've spent most of my life being single or alone, it is another reason I dislike it. However, disliking something and needing the opposite are not the same things. I enjoy being social, I prefer to be around other people if I can, I get energy from social situations (though I'm still introverted at this stage).

At this point, my relationship is at best, paused. At worst, over. The distance that was requested from me is and was too painful for me to take while still emotionally attached. When I fall in love it is usually very in depth and blinding. It is easy for me to get in over my head, as it seems was the case here. I think some of the issues revolve around it being my first polyamorous, and first dom/sub relationship as well. My wanting of some sort of emotional connection or bond to keep me from getting jealous overtook most everything else. I was afraid of pushing people away, and thus bottled in things that upset me, and refused absolutely to let myself be jealous. This only exacerbated my need for an emotional connection that simply wasn't ready yet. Instead of discussing my feelings of being used or objectified, I focused solely on that connection in hopes it would remedy everything. I placed all my hopes and remedies in that connection, and when it failed to materialize I began to fall apart.

This, in itself, is not enough to bring me to cutting. The falling apart, in combination with a large number of negative emotions revolving around my job brought me to the edge. The lack of support on these issues is what brought me to cutting. The internalized negativity needed to be released, which it did over the course of a few erratic emotional days of crying. After a few days I both grew tired of this, and felt the volatility of my emotions growing more erratic, and decided it best to cap them, by cutting. I wrote about this experience, and that soon after, in the post titled "On Being Punished".

I do wish to note that the previous was not linear. My falling apart happened across multiple days both before and after cutting. In that, I reached out for support, but was given further distance, likely due to the cutting, and appearance of the lack of self sustainability. Which now brings us full circle, to the confrontation of that distance and pain.

I do not want this relationship to end, but I feel emotionally, that I cannot continue to let myself be vulnerable to someone who seems to ignores me. As apparently we both need distance (my withdrawing in response to the initial distance) the best thing it seems is to give each other space. My concern lies in the ability for my feelings to regenerate after being recessed and withdrawn.

This post, I feel is exposition on how things have gone. I do not begin to claim everything as fact, or unbiased. Hopefully soon I'll be able to write about things returning to normal, I want to be able to write that post. It is somewhat, my motivation for this one, but I have done all that I can. Pushing and stressing the issue does nothing to help either of us, so at this point, I leave it to fate.

One last funny note however. I fell in love in the snow, in the early morning one day. Today, in the morning, a quick waft of snow trickled down on my way to work. It felt like an omen then, I hope it remains one of positivity, and not one marking an ending. Thinking of that moment still reduces me to tears in how badly I long for that moment back.

As such, I'm refusing to mark this post under the Moving On tag.

On Being Punished

This past weekend was not kind to me. In a fit of emotional breakdown I ended up cutting again. I haven't cut since May 2011, and this is the first time I've done it in Seattle. I'm still not quite sure what I intended to accomplish. I've sense written a letter to myself effectively calling out all of my bullshit, which, I may post as an edit to this post. The letter was drastic, and really helped me confront some of my issues on romance and expectations. Largely, everything revolves around my sources of validation and finding it from other people instead of from within. It also serves to call out some of my insecurities.

The salient point of this post however, is the aftermath of said self-mutilation. Emotions ranged from disappointment at the lack of the initial rush, to the relief, and peace that comes afterwards. Cutting was always a form of emotional control, it caps off everything and lets me be at peace for the rest of the day or so. Why this form of repression works is still a mystery to me, but it simply pushes everything aside and lets me think coherently again without all the noise of depression and deprecation that normally haunts me. I'd love to say that it wasn't body image related, but I purposefully push those in to make the rush/release better.

The following days went about as expected with no real changes aside from calming me down. Until last night. My partner was showing testing out the cat-o-nine-tales she recently acquired on me. This isn't unusual for us as we normally have a submissive/dominant role behavior. This went normally until towards the end I began to tear up, which is abnormal for me. I'm not entirely sure if it was just the emotional build up from the past week coming out finally, but that seems a likely suspect. Afterwards I made a remark that ensured she would find the cuts. She expressed her dissatisfaction, which I thought would simply be a verbal scolding and reproach. I did not expect her to actually punish me for it, and with such intensity. By the end of it I was crying intensely and unable to speak.

At this point she said if I was having a hard day that I could speak to her, I wanted to reply that I've had a hard life, but couldn't bring myself to speak and maintain composure at the same time.

We discussed the issue, and debated turning it into something creative, the idea of putting a line through them to signify the ending of the habit. This idea appealed to me, but I quickly became attached to cutting, hanging on to it in case I needed it. She eventually decided to make X's through them with a carbon fiber rod, which left me in further tears and shambles, and then told me that as long as I belonged to her, I wasn't allowed to do that anymore.

I'm not quite sure what I think of everything. I enjoy the idea of belonging that I get from being with/owned by her, but I'm also torn in that I'm hindered from my one emergency escape release I have, a release from emotions and insecurities often exacerbated by or originating from our relationship. Not that they are the pinnacle of issues I have, but they are often a contributing factor.

She asked why I didn't tell her, and I'm usually afraid people will think I do it for attention, or dismiss the issue as petty and childish, or insincere. Often I don't find them that important enough to bring up. Partially, I don't enjoy admitting my insecurities to the people that cause them. It requires a degree of emotional vulnerability and conflict willingness that I simply haven't achieved yet.

She also asked how I could hate myself so much. It is astonishingly easy when you've spent 15 years internalizing the sociological hatred for people like yourself, or the disgust at feeling disfigurement every time you look in the mirror. You build up so much of that, it simply becomes who you are over time, it becomes natural.

In writing the note to myself mentioned earlier, I wanted to end it by signing "I love you". I couldn't bring myself to type it. Not that this is news, One of my previous partners took it upon herself to point it out to me (as if I wasn't aware) and use it as another point for us to break up. Personally, I've come to a truce on the issues. I don't expect and can't be at peace with myself when it isn't who I am, and embodies (literally) myself. Until things are remedied, there is little I can do but accept things they way they are, for the time being. Which I've largely done. It doesn't mean I love myself, I can't, or won't, but it does mean I can live and function normally for periods of time.

In the end, I'm glad everything last night happened, I just wish the issues that necessitated the cutting in the first place were solved, rather than dealing with the symptomatic responses to it.

Haunted

I feel my insecurities boiling over. I'm withdrawing, back into my protective shell, from those I love. I'm not entirely sure why, but I have my suspicions. Mostly, I think it comes from feeling vulnerable and overextended emotionally. Ever since my last relationship I've been paranoid about being hurt again, and that other people are not as into me as they think, or at all.

What is surprising to me is just how much of an effect this has had on me. For being over a year ago, almost 18 months actually, it seems strange perfectly logical that this would pop up now. When looking at things, and what has developed over the past few weeks, the lack of communication and activity with my girlfriend has eroded away my sense of worth in the relationship. How she acts around other partners and people seems to be more endearing and emotional than with me. Combined with a recent streak of busyness on both our parts, it makes sense that it magnifies my insecurities into emotional boiling points. I find myself questioning everything, motivation and sincerity. Being overly harsh and critical on word choice and vocal tone to cherry pick meanings and gauge mood and interest levels.

Insomnia..again

I got caught up tonight looking at cute condominiums that I can't afford to buy.  This largely mirrors most of my life at the moment. While things are going very very well, there is still an overall aching for things. I'm exhausted of being a poor college/graduate student and living meager means. Not that I have some huge desires of grandeur, I actually plan to live quit modestly, but simply having a place of my own, and body parts that match, ...to be married...things that, seem simple yet are huge investments in life. I'm...not quite sure why it is I want these things, I suppose, I'm just ready to get up and move on to that next phase. I'm tired of being limited by things, by finances, by gender identity, by body dysmorphia, by being alone.

I'm..terrified that I'll prove my mother right, that I'll be alone for most of my life. I'm terrified that when I say I love you, and when my partner says it back, that we are talking about two different emotions. There is a huge amount of insecurity and distrust in being in love with other people. I've, so far, resisted largely the urge to second guess and question motivations and reasonings behind how/why/when people say they love me. Never look a gift horse, or in this case, a love given freely, in the mouth. I'm grateful just to have people in my life that love me, but my paranoia and fear of being alone, again, leaves me unsure and insecure.

Perhaps that is why I have these foolish notions of marriage, that it somehow means a true bond between people, or some sort of validation of feelings. In that same token, collaring could be just as useful. It seems somewhat less permanent however. Though, it isn't like marriage is either.

I think I'm just naive still, with hopeless romantic notions of love that simply don't exist anymore. 

When asked why I didn't think I would ever get married, I dodged the question. In reality, I don't think I'll ever find anyone who loves me that much. Loves me enough to put up with all the baggage and "yeah but"s and other abnormalities that comes with marrying me.

That is the root of why I'm a submissive most of the time. Having someone else take charge, and touch me, hurt me, or simply give me attention is validation in my desirability. In my sick mind I've equated desirability with femininity, and thus to be one is to be the other. Which, I think, is all I ever wanted. From partners, or my parents when I was growing up, all I've ever wanted was to simply be wanted, at least, then it is proof I exist in some form or another.

But then, I guess we are all still just recovering from the mistakes of our mothers and fathers.

Diagnosis

My nightmares continue, with varying degree of intensity. I'm not quite sure just what to make of them. Everyone seems to have differing opinions of what they mean, and I have my own. I've asked my brother, randomly, after the night before last's had me wake up crying. Having these is very unusual for me, and I can't say I care for them. Still, writing them down, and trying to get to the bottom of them has been ...interesting. I digress however, as the dreams merely set my tone.

Things ....just are. I'm not sure in what direction every day goes. I've since moved in with some friends of mine, and for the time being we are coexisting just fine. That may change when they find someone to eventually take over this room (and pay their share of the rent) and I'm forced to then share a marginally larger room. For now though, I'm trying quite hard not to dwell on things, and keep the brooding at bay as best I can.

I find myself in new situations that I'm not sure I'm comfortable with in terms of emotional security. I think what I'm afraid of is being yet again unrequited, or uncherished. Something that I see happening pretty commonly with the people I've known in the kink community before. I'm looking for that in depth emotional relationship, and while I can provide that in spades, I'm afraid if I do so, I'll not get it back in return. This complicates things with my asexuality. Where as some people find it easy to have multiple partners, and play with multiple people, I simply am not attracted to most other people, and thus have no real urge or motivation to be involved with them.

This all would be largely not an issue, if I weren't so attached to someone. I don't like falling, not like this. I feel helpless in it, and it scares me. Which, is fairly twisted to have a submissive romantic being scared of someone their attracted to their attraction to someone. I find myself inventing ways to distance myself from hir in case something happens. In some ways it's fascinating being so attracted to someone for the first time, but it also terrifies me.

I'm not going out of my way to find meaning where there isn't any, or artificially inflate a new relationship simply because it exists. I don't think my attraction is symbolic, or that fate or any other large laissez-faire motion is behind it. However I do find it significant in the history of my life. I find myself falling into habits I've never done before, things I noticed my partners doing in previous relationships, but never did myself. (I'm hugely guilty of staring uncontrollably like a school girl).

So, while I have tried hard not to be bothered by things, I do find myself worrying about my own emotional security. I'm beginning to suspect that my feelings are a bit more advanced as well, but that could be simple communication issues. I often find myself trying to find meaning in simple gestures. Waiting for hir to initiate contact, simple things, that I know I blow out of proportion and don't really mean much more beyond what I assign them in meanings. The problem lies in that I'm wanting them to mean things, in which they really don't. If I desired communication I can simply ask for it and get it, but trying to decipher hir meanings and feelings through the internal debate over who initiates the first contact of any given day is teenage, immature, and childish. I know this, but still find myself doing it. Another habit new to me, worrying.

I know I can't manifest feelings where there are none, or exacerbate them into any more genuine or intense to match mine. Mine are mine, and hir's are hir's, regardless. However I do think I'm downplaying how intense my feelings are to myself, to hir.

This intensity seems both amazing and premature. I find it highly suspect for occurring in such a short period of time. Normally my attractions occur much later (if ever) and my courtships are much longer (and drawn out), but at the same time, I've not felt such an intensity for a long time, if ever, and that has me bewildered, befuddled, and really fucking confused. My fears revolving around such are that said feelings won't be returned in kind, the hurt that lies therein, and also that these feelings, once gone, will never return if said happens.

Though, being in the poly community, I begin to wonder if this revolves around my fundamental failure to understand how polyamoury truely works. I find myself asking if love is a limited thing. Is it a finite resource that can be spread thinly among a few people, or intensely to just on person. Or, contrary, is it an infinite resource for people who can have intense emotional relationships with more than one person. From one who rarely has them to begin with, the idea of having multiple is flabbergasting and insane to me. My inexperience in such can easily be the source of this insecurity and the associated behaviors. Being one who finds most people unattractive, and most relationships to be close emotional bonds with no actual attraction or emotional intensity, the finding and discovery of such, can, and does, often feel overwhelming.

There in, lies the issues and catharsis. While no one is an island, in and un to themselves. These days, I find the ocean that separates one person from another is greater than all the miles between the stars in the sky. With the only petty tools we have to share emotional ideas being our own imperfect communication, I find it miraculous that anyone ever finds love at all without falling apart into the shambles of insecurity and uncertainty. But then, Maybe I'm just that poor trans girl who still believes no one will ever truely love her.

Dreaming Again

It has been over two months since I've written, and I feel that is largely, acceptable. It isn't that things are just so amazing that I don't have time to write, in contrast, it is quite far from it. I just find that escapism is a more effective means of dealing with most things at the moment. A very...precarious step back for me. I've noticed some old habits coming back up, paranoia, self-deprecation, body image issues, and perhaps the most egregious of offenders, internal dialogue. Not in that understanding oneself is bad, but bouncing ideas back and forth with myself and letting them snowball into issues when they are not, is something I had long given up. Yet now, I find them returning.

I haven't been to a therapist in almost nine months, and while I was alright with this for a good while, it may be time to start back up again. The lack of a source of rebuttal and honest discourse about my life has caused me to inflect almost everything.

To said effect, I've had nightmares, regularly. They vary in degree of intensity and subject matter. Most recently it was stinging insects and tarantulas that I couldn't get off/out of my skin. I would hit them and smash their exoskeletons, but their stingers would remain intact and in my skin, infecting me. Other dreams have involved self mutilation and botched surgeries. These have all started since graduation last December. It is irregular for me to remember most dreams, and even more so for me to have consistent nightmares. The..intensity..and..grotesque nature of some of them doesn't make me long for sleep. It does however explain the cold sweats I wake up in.

My living situation is soon to be in chaos, and I'm not sure how this is going to affect me. I am just going to approach it with the best of my ability and hope I can make it work. I have suffered through worse, and I can't imagine my trust will be betrayed. I simply dislike not having a personal space, it feels very limiting emotionally, and having to keep up my masks/acting all the time becomes very tiresome and draining after multiple days on end.  To said extent, I'll probably start writing more often without the clear emotional vents that I have in place already.

I do have some things brewing, new social circles and such, that may be promising. I'm hesitant to put too much emphasis and them however as they are still newborn and I don't want to get over attached in case things don't work out. My paranoia about perceptions is also keeping me at a distance. That said, the euphoria they have given me the past few days is very, very welcome. The inverse, has me avoiding some of the people I met here previously, and tolerated. I understand this is somewhat of a "shitty" thing to do, but, we all do what we must for our intellectual and emotional sanity. The family I had in Texas was one that I loved dearly, and leaving them to move in with my mother was a shock, leaving them to come here, and find myself dealing with topics and issues I have long since abandoned was excruciating.

Things are not perfect, nor do I expect them to be. However, there is hope, for the first time, in a long time. But, perhaps, maybe I'm just sleeping again, and this is but another cruel emotional self-mutilation dream.

Ends of the Year

I'm not sure what to do. I find myself having dark thoughts again, except the tricks that got me out last time aren't working. Everywhere I go, and despite who I am around, all I see are cisgender people leading their cisgender lives. Going about partying, talking, drinking, dancing, living life as they want and should do. Meanwhile, this just leads me to feel even more isolated and alone than normal. Exacerbated by the issue that even the GLB friends I have, don't understand what it is like to be trans. It is fine to offer support, but it can be nothing more than hollow coming from people who don't quite understand.

This came to a point at a party last night, that I had to leave. I was able to maintain my guise of strength for only so long, and managed to escape with little attention paid. This speaks volumes of the emotional intelligence and observational skill of some of the people I label as friends. Everything, it seems, just pushes the isolation. By the time I got home one of my neighbors found me sobbing in the car and helped me inside. I don't think I've ever cried as much, or as hard  since I was an a young child. Even balled up in her arms I still felt alone, surrounded by cisgender people who may be friends, but will never be romantic. She stayed with me for a while, taking my knife with her. This nigh crippling melancholy continues still, and if I deviate from escapism for to long it strikes me quickly and painfully like a knife to the heart. It usually forces me into a semi-human like puddle on the floor.

Normally, when people talk about being alone, this is countered by comments of "oh well if I were single I'd date you". I find these comments to be completely untrue, and used as a convenient way out of feeling guilty. The fact is that when telling someone you are trans, makes them completely disavow having any interest in you, makes one feel subhuman, ashamed and unworthy. I find it harder and harder to admit to myself that I'm worthy of being loved. When so many people tell you the counter, or only want to objectify you for your genitals, it becomes second nature to simply assume you're second class.

I thought about simply driving to the coast, but I don't have the time to make it there and back...There are obligations this week, at this moment, the idea of having a large party of people over that are my so called friends horrifies me. Having that loneliness strike me without a place to hide is a terrifying thought.

Now, my fear is that I'll slide back into depression from this hole. What is the point in life if you spend it closed off from other people...I wonder if I'm simply not strong enough to tolerate my existence on my own. In need of a crutch simply to survive is a poor form of life for any being to create.

Frailty

I've been crying a lot more it seems. Well, at least more regularly. I've been reminiscing  about my childhood, watching old cartoons from when I was a kid, and just remembering a lot of things with a new perspective. Just before I tried to go to bed I kept thinking about all the things I'm denied by birth. I'll never know what it is like to grow up female. I'll never experience a girls locker room, I'll never get to gossip with other girls over trivial bullshit. I know it is petty, and that most girls won't say any of these things are really hallmarks of their life, but they shouldn't have been hallmarks in mine as well.

This speaks to the larger, longing to which I've come to succumb to. That of the normal, cisgender female. While, I'm pretty sure just about every trans girl ever to have been has longed for this, I find it is the smaller details and memories that I miss out on that bother me more than the physical aspects of my body these days. Not that my body is particularly appealing to me still, but at least that is progressing. There is no way I can gain those memories and experiences.

I find it strange that during these lows I still get suicidal notions. Being out of my depression it is obviously less of an actuality, but the fantasy is still there. Maybe I should stop watching the wonder years, though I find I get similar themes in other shows from my childhood, things I don't remember feeling when I watched them at the time, but that I know where there...hidden, deep inside. I'm glad I can remember those emotions, but I can't bear them full on. The intensity of them scared me when I first pushed into those emotional memories and I'm hesitant to test how strong those currents run, lest they take me with them.

I'm not sure this is something I can face. There are few things I'm scared to deal with in my life, confronting my father on his emotional neglect, facing the explicit limitations of being trans,  and apparently the depth of how much I've hidden away from myself over the past 12 years of hiding. I knew I was good at faking normality, escapism, but I didn't think I'd actually been so good as to hide it from myself. Sometimes I find it amazing that I'm alive at all.

Nonhuman

I've needed to write for a while just to ..explain the insanity that was last weekend. I wrote about Friday's events, but had no idea the theme of complete overwhelming insanity was going to continue. So stick around as this one will probably be a bit lengthy.

Saturday.

The importance of Saturday lies in the evening, so I'll skip there but just mention that I woke up that morning feeling like I normally had, like shit. Having this continue through the evening left me restless. At one point I decided to opt out of escapism and simply lay down and ponder things. A while back my therapist had told me that depression is sometimes a coping mechanism for stressful situations. I focused on this and began listing all my issues. The first and foremost was what my plans were for post-graduation. So I then asked myself if I would continue to feel like shit if that was no longer an issue. The answer came back no, and when I realized that, instantly a tremendous weight lifted off me, and the fog that clouds over everything vanished. It was that quick and simple. I started to cry and the simply laughed at myself for a good while. The overall simplicity of knowing what triggers my moods, and being in control of them is a powerful thing. I woke up the next day feeling absolutely amazing.

Now, that isn't to say things are all rainbows and puppies. There is still an isolation and loneliness that chills me. However the chill doesn't penetrate me to the core like it used to a week ago. I still battle with the same feelings I had before, but the direness and hopelessness are gone. I've still no real idea on what I'm going to do, but not having that weight makes things much easier.

Sunday.
As I said earlier, I woke up feeling amazing. Later on that evening, I was dragged out by some friends of mine to go make/eat smores by a campfire just outside my apartment. Unfortunately for me, the group of people out there was not made up of what I would call "humans". When we got to the campfire, the was a period of about thirty minutes before the comments began. They started off innocently enough, comments on my height, naturally. This however quickly degraded into blatant disrespect and insults. In short, one person felt he had a duty or right to unearth my deception, as that was what it inherently was to him, to everyone else. He thought he should be thanked and respected for "telling it how it is", or something to that degree. About the time that this started to really flare up, my friends who asked me out there began to interrupt the offender, and the entire process by which it was happening. This, to me, was probably the sweetest thing i've ever had done for me. However, their appetite had been wet, and they weren't going to drop the issue. We left shortly there after, but not before my friends made the primary offender apologize to me. This was of course, heavily forced, and used as a way to deny my identity by saying "I'm sorry, Man". With the emphasis on man.

The whole ordeal felt very humiliating. I felt very self conscious until I learned that they had been told beforehand of my status. While I was very glad to see people stick up for a trans girl, overall it felt shammed in general. I did defend myself to an extent, though it wasn't quite the loud, in your face, sort of defense it should have been. I ended up crying a little, and writing an interesting note about the ordeal that I will repost here. Writing that made me feel better, and put that negativity out there, instead of within me.

So, that brings you up to speed. I'm feeling rather up these days, as I mentioned earlier, it doesn't quite feel as good as it could. There is very much still an issue with emotional connection that is being unresolved. However, things have gotten much better than they were. In regards to the events on Friday, I think something of that nature might be enjoyable now, if I was a bit less intoxicated, and knew what to expect going in. Given my mental state at the time, it is not surprising how poorly I took it when that emotional connection was denied.

Showers

How do I describe tonights events? Shallow? Insincere? I'm not quire sure suffice to say I was left feeling irrelevant in the larger scheme of things. Once they had apparently had their fun with me, I was of no use to them. For anyone looking for advice, if you're feeling a bit..meaningless, do NOT go and plan an event around a bunch of people and sex. The whole event left me feeling more like a tool and an object than anything else. It was not something I think I would do again simply because when I choose to be with someone, I want there to be some sort of connection there. This simply wasn't the case with so many people involved and so many people doing different things.

So for me, who was already feeling meaningless, hollow, without substance, etc. The feelings are only exacerbated. The temptation to cut simply to feel something is pretty high. While it did do the job of getting me out of my head for awhile, it didn't help the rebirth of that mindset when it came back, which it did with a vengeance.

It wasn't a matter of attraction, there were plenty of attractive people, it was simply not I how operate with physical desire. What I crave more than anything else is the emotional connection supplied during intimacy, which wasn't only not provided, but seemingly flat out mocked  during the nights events. The whole night was rife with a casual air and apathetic nature that I wondered why I had even bothered. "Oh, its just some people having sex", Well then, I guess I'll just head back home. Though, at this point, I somewhat wish I had. Though I will add in that the night closed off with someone I've met three times before saying it was nice to meet me. See what I mean about irrelevance?

I somewhat wonder how I'm still alive after all this...Not just after tonight, but just, given everything...it makes me wonder why, and why bother continuing. My friend Lauren said there was light at the end of the tunnel, I look at her life, and wonder...really? Does this sustain you? Because It sure as hell doesn't sustain me. In larger news, to be classified as suicidal, one must have fantasies or idealizations three times a week or more. I think I'm around two or three for the week ( I was never counting). While I don't think it is at the point of motivating me to DO anything about it, the passive thoughts of if X were to happen, I really wouldn't care, are pretty normal for me. 

Now I need to shower and hopefully reclaim something of myself.