Seas

There are a few things I'm struggling to understand at the moment. Prominent amongst them being how can I be with someone and yet feel so alone at times. With that, comes sensations of uselessness, and the normal plethora of standard negative emotions associated with it. It's like the more I search the more alone I feel, and the more alone I feel the more drastic my search. I trace down old familiar mental alleys and corridors, well attuned to my foot steps, I've loosened these cobblestones personally, and worn away soft indentions where my knees have fallen in tribute and prayer to those old self destructive habits.

I find that anytime I'm left alone to think, my mood and emotions turn pretty harshly destructive. When around other people, or escaping I can box the emotions off into their own little realm. Banished to their room like the petty childish emotions I paint them as in a rude mockery of a monument to my inability to affect my own personal story. How absurd of me to feel powerless in my own story that I write about myself. Yet I feel entirely victim to the whims and indifference to a greater universe than mine own, one wholly hostile and cruel to all the things and ideas I would see manifested.

What causes me the most unending anguish in all of this is not the loneliness, or the literal mind-numbing decades long depression. It's the length of it. The sheer fact that I'm still here, still working on these same fucking problems and these same fucking woes. Had I collected all the tears wept into a bucket I could fairly realistically likely drown myself in it.

Beyond that is only the anger, that vast red sea of unending power and rage that would see all things to their rightful end and deserved place. That is the thing that scares me the most, that even now, some few years after, that ocean is still there, crashing awfully against those all to thin shutters and threatening my calm and tranquil seas. I desire violent change, the kind I don't find productive, or altogether useful, but at least satisfying. The fact this exists, within the context of my relationship, gives me a great deal of guilt and grief.

Never before have I felt so entirely unsatisfied with the sand castle I've built, and so entirely willing to see it all lost to the waves. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

Apologies for the mixed ocean metaphors, I'm a cancer, we deal in all things water.

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?

Affirmations and Acquiescence.

I find it amusing how media can sometimes reflect perfectly a mood, or an idea that I want to convey. Recently, I've decided to break things off with the primary partner I've had since January. I wrote about the issues I have had before, during all this time.

The fact is that for the past six months I have felt very low and pathetic. I have been depressed, self-hating, muted, passive, victimized, abused, neglected, and disillusioned. The worst part, however, is that I felt I deserved it all.

I identify heavily, and associate heavily with the identity of the Cancer zodiac. I need my home to be harmonious, it has to be my heaven, my sanctity and solitude. I moved to Seattle for that. I literally, abandoned everything I had that made me secure in my life, to improve my living conditions. I left all of my friends and family, my biological family, all of my relationships, the security and safety that comes with knowing a place and being familiar with it. That is how high of a priority it is for me.

Around late December, I was forced to move in with two people. I had no money, I had no job, and they were the only ones willing to let me stay there for free. I thank them for that. However the negativity that erupted from that engagement, is the stage for all of this.

That being said, in the midst of all this negativity, I fell in love. For the first time, really, I felt obsessed. Had you asked me before if I had been in love, I would have said yes, and believed it. It is, however a feeling completely and utterly unique to itself. I can now safely without doubt say I know the difference between loving someone, and being in love with them.


"No one can tell you you're in love, you just know it, through and through, balls to bones".

Being in love drowned out every other emotion and natural feeling I had. It became the priority in my life. The shitty home life that had developed, the dread and disappointment, the anger, frustration, disgust, and utter contempt that surrounded me every day, every moment I was at home was still being felt, but I was blind and deaf to it.

I continued to be, until I finally left it, and realized just how unhealthy that environment had been for me. Now, at worst, my home is neutral. At best, it is my sanctuary away from the evils and perils of the world. It is a stark and shocking difference to realize.

Why then, is love so blinding for me? I didn't have an answer for this, until I came across this page from the Evangelion Manga (read top to bottom, but right to left)

"I still hate the dark. The cold last night of the world is there. There. If only we could have stayed in the dark together. I could be there, if it was with him"





This, while different in terms of gender roles, and the sexuality of the partners, represents perfectly how love is for me. It is what I'm searching for, and what I'm longing for. The end of the world, in Misato's (the girl) world is more literal, but for me, it is symbolic of all the negativity of the world, the truely bad shit that I deal with, that crippled hole that I've often been thrown into and slid into where I can see nothing else but dread, death, and despair.

When I fall in love, all of that is bearable. I can let my guard down, I can relax, finally, and not worry about the rejection, the neglect, the self-harm, the conditional bullshit of social red flags and contracts that I'm always wary of.

In January, I thought I had found that. For a brief flicker of time, I did.

I spent February, March, April, May, and part of June trying to light that flame again. I needed it. Life was difficult to bear without it. But I was so focused on that flame that I lost sight of things. Rather than fix the problems, issues, and all the negativity being injected and ejaculated into my life, I became addicted to the medications to make it numb and bearable.

Coming away in this, recently, having fixed the large amounts of negative energy being directed towards me, I started to regain my sense of self-respect. Stepping back, away from that flame, I can see how dim it actually was, and how harshly burned I had become from it.

I still want that flame in my life, the love I felt is still there. But I will no longer let it burn me.

This, is my life. I have spent most of it alone. I will continue to spend great amounts of it continuing to feel alone. I love connections, I love human touch, human interaction, I have been devoid of it for most of my life. Yes, I get validation from it. I have learned now, though, that I cannot sacrifice myself for it.

I possess the capacity for self-sacrifice in regards to love. It is ...breath-taking to actually realize. It is also highly destructive and dangerous for me. Loving someone, requires a great deal of trust. In this instance, it was abused (unintentionally) due to my inexperience with being in love.

The danger, lies in that I do not commit but completely. It allows me to be abused, harmed, neglected, starved, asphyxiated, beaten, and broken, at will, without penalty or doubt, for and by, the person I am in love with.

In this, however, I allowed myself to be neglected, and starved in the name of a love I was afraid to lose due to the massive amounts of negativity originating from my home life.

Now, having that fixed, the value of a hurtful, damaging relationship in the name of love is diminished. My desire, to stay in this state of being, with this person, is naught. My desire to be in love, and experience that connection and intensity of emotion is still great, but not at the cost of my self-respect, and my strength of will.

My love, sweetness, romance, passion, loyalty, and commitment must be earned and cherished. I will no longer sacrifice myself for anyone who I feel does not.

Lastly, I do not scab and scar for anyone, but for the health and betterment of myself; while these wounds do run deep, they will heal just like the others.

A Justifiable Ache

Everywhere I look I see death and horror. I check the news and see nothing but rape, murder, intolerance, "justifiable homicide". There, is an abundant amount of negative energy being pushed at me. Ejaculated onto me by the cosmic rapist that is my fate. I ache. My eyes hurt from weeping, my head aches from the weariness. I have just basic amounts of energy to do anything.

I look to people, and only find myself unwanted and pushed away. I apparently require too much time, or too much energy to be around. I am too much of a burden to people, my issues are too much to adapt or navigate around, though, I can photocopy a map of them for you.

People, move on, they live their lives, they lie, to me, and to themselves.

I am amused by how skittish and frightened my strength is. It is a lie, a mask, that I put on when I pretend to be someone I'm not. I wear it because being honest with people is too painful. Being honest with myself, is too painful. Letting people close to me has only resulted in people hurting me. Even when I try and negotiate, they hurt out of neglect, indifference, and ignorance.

I reason it away. Oh well of course, This person has this going on, that takes priority. That person is dealing with this right now, so that explains this. Another person is doing this other thing, so don't expect much, but this person had this happen, so it makes sense that this might happen.

Everyone has a reason, an explanation, it all makes sense. Hurting someone is justifiable when they mean nothing to you. But hey, simply say you're sorry and everything is alright. Right as rain. Reign over me. April showers bring may flowers, yet, it is June now and I still don't have an umbrella.

I have endless reasons to leave, yet I can't find the motivation to rip out a kidney. Do I keep it, letting it poison me in the hopes it will heal one day. Or do I remove it, and go on forever damaged and impaired. Memories are a comfort, but, regret is not.

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.

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.

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.

Folley

There is a distinct loneliness about cities. Perhaps it is just the return of the overcast that has me somewhat withdrawn, but I find myself lacking in motivation again. This isn't new, it never is. I won't call myself naive, but, perhaps overly optimistic in my expectations of when I moved here. I didn't think it would solve all my problems, I knew moving here would simply relocate my problems here. By and large they are still with me, the depression, isolation, loneliness, and escapism are all just as bad now as they were when I lived 2300 miles from here. However there are a number of benefits to being that I do enjoy, I digress however. My original point being that being around so many people exacerbates the feeling of lonliness. Sure living out in the middle of nowhere is lonely, being surrounded by people, while giving off a social energy, is often just as lonely if you don't know any of them. It can often be worse.

I know none of this is strictly an external issue. Much of it is my own paralysis in dealing with social situatoins. Often complicated by the stress and depression brought on by the economy and failing to find employment. I find that I wish I had my old friends from Texas here, not for any real particular reason though. I have friends here, and they are great people, but...there is simply something missing. At the moment, i'm inclined to push that off on being mostly partly single and looking for a romantic interest. That probably isn't entirely the case.

I've abandoned my guitar as well. It has been lost in my lack of motivation like so many other things I at one point enjoyed. It is almost amazing what the frustration and depression of not finding employement can do to someone. I often find myself wondering what the point is. Which, has always been a very good indicator of my mental state. I usually only begin to question it when things start to turn bad as it is a question I can never answer.

I am slightly comforted by the notion that I'm not alone in it. A lot of the people I talk to are struggling to find work, I've also heard annecdotal tales of grown children still living at home because there simply isn't anything out there. I'm sure there are people working, but by and large it seems the young are perpetually screwed over in this. A situation I don't see being fixed for a good while.

I have some safety measures in place, friends of mine willing to put me of until I can find a place, a favor I probably will never be able to repay despite how much I cook/clean for them. I can't honorably ask my parents for anymore support than they have already given, and the feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness is beginning to pervade just about every aspect of my daily life. I often see positions available that I pass up because I wonder what the point of applying is. I know the old addage, "You don't get every job you don't apply to", but I have trouble convincing myself that I won't be hired regardless, so there is no point.

I know this worries people, but, there is little else I can do but try to keep fighting. Without any rhyme or reason as to why except the foolish notion that at some point it will pay off/work out.

I know myself pretty well. I know that most of this depression and dark thinking is brought on by not being able to cope with this issue. The problem is I don't see the solution anymore. I see my life, and myself, and just don't see any way that things miraculously pay off until a random job just falls into my lap.

My goals/expectations during college seem childish these days. The goals I had set are almost laughable now. Believing things would eventually work out well, oh the folely of youth.

Machinations

The routine of things is starting to get to me. I find in my escapism I loose track of entire days at a time. I don't find this to be positive. I don't think I've actually sat and thought about life in a couple of months. It is just too painful to do at the moment. I've moved on from strangers who can't handle transwomen. It isn't that I think it won't hurt me next time, but more that the pain from that experience has been buried and healed over. As things are want to do.

My family life is deteriorating. My ability to care about the elder members is severely diminished, even the lamentations of my mother seems to fall on deaf ears these days. I just can't seem to find any capacity to really care about such terrible people. My mother in particular seems to prove to me that she has no concept of integrity at every turn.  My cousins, and my brother, and the only relatives I really muster up feelings for. I believe this is mainly because they have much better character traits even among their vices.  They have their issues, but they aren't ones to judge. I still don't feel any real connection to them, but I don't actively wish to disassociate with them like I do the rest of the family.

I've been flirting with people lately, mainly those who I know will reciprocate, even in vain. I'm not quite sure what is driving me to seek their reassurance. Perhaps it is just nice to enjoy the company of others now and then. My other relationships, one in particular, are tentatively disruptive and disturbing. It isn't that I wish harm to this person, I just have no desire to actively be around or involved with hir at this point in my life. I think it is still too painful.

In the meantime, I'm aching to leave Texas. It seems I can't leave soon enough. The job search however seems to keep pushing me back to square one, no matter how fruitful a particular lead or position seems to be. I know this is something I must get used to, job searching it seems is a definition in futility and frustration. It is difficult to not let the excitement of possibility and the frustration of disappointment get to me. In addition, I have trouble expressing the negative emotions because I don't want to let it get to me since it is likely going to happen multiple times.

My depression is still in a strange...unusual hidden state. I am attributing this to my living conditions, I don't feel normal while I'm in this house. I feel like I've regressed into my actress stage where I pretend nothing bothers me and everything is fine. This repression tends to erupt violently and I'm dreading what happens when it does. That said, this house is not good for me, and I may find ways to leave it for good regardless of employment or specific deadlines. I know my mother thinks I'm joking when I talk about working the street, I don't think she grasps my distaste for this environment. It sickens me to be here, and to see what it is doing to me.

New (Years) Resolutions

It has been a while since I've written, and I left last time on a rather dramatic, worrisome note. In the time since then, I've pulled myself back together. I'm not sure completely, but it seems like the burden I carry for being trans is just a bit too much to bear at times.

Since then, I've had to celebrate the holiday with my biological relatives. I knew this was going to be a struggle when I left to visit them. The first night wasn't bad, but I got wind of plans for a "family get together" the next night. This was different as it was to include my father's surrogate daughter, her husband and newborn son.

I left the apartment early and didn't show up until after things were already going. I tried in vain to find anyone to give me an excuse to not return, I also tried shopping, movies, and driving around my old neighborhoods. I eventually returned, and only then, was it after wasting time at a local pub drinking beer, and debating whether or not to cut myself in the bathroom stalls. When I finally left, I walked outside and a chilling rain was dumping large drops onto my head and face. I looked up and just started laughing and letting it hit me for a bit. I wasn't upset at the rain, I was ecstatic for it as it reminded me of all things Seattle. Cold, wet, rain. It was cloudy, humid, and 80* when I went into the bar. I drove back in an ecstacy of tire spin and hooliganism on empty wet roads.

When I got inside, I said my hellos and gave meaningless hugs. I don't remember many of the nondramatic details. At one point, my father interrupted a conversation between my brother and I, so we could be sure and watch him take pictures of his surrogate grandchild. The impact of this, on my brother and I, is apparently lost on my father. After emotionally abandoning us to her, he still invites her over as if he had done nothing wrong. I appeased the bile and rage I felt and continued my escapism with my brother and his girlfriend. At some point, sentences by cisgender women began "As a woman". At this point, I felt I had to run to the bathroom for fear of hearing how that conversation would turn out. I bargained with myself in said bathroom to only do two more cuts. Exiting, sane again, I rejoined and continued a very shallow consciousness until the night eventually ended.

Christmas day came and went largely unnoticed. Gifts were appreciated, but nothing I could not easily live without. Especially considering they mean so little coming from people I've no real emotional connection to anymore. The entire time I kept hearing the theme of "it isn't about you" echoed by various people. I was forced into taking pictures I didn't want to be a part of, and instead of understanding that I didn't want photo's taken, I was patronized and told I'd eventually want them. I sincerely doubt this. Lack of connection aside, why would I want photos of me at my worst? The whole event shows a huge lack of understanding on their part, and a dismissal of my feelings.

At the end of the day, my brother repeated, again, the "not about you" mantra. What bothers me about this, is the sheer hypocrisy of the statement from him. I have lived these past 7 years completely for my parents. I answered every call, I cut spending when I told to, I came down when they asked, I did favors, I helped out where I could. I took out loans to help pay for my tuition and living expenses. I do everything I can to placate, and make their lives easier. Now, having graduated, and finally free from whoring myself out for their support, I can relax, be myself, and not do anything, I don't want to do. Meanwhile, my brother has done the complete antithesis of this, to the point that my parents either A, don't bother calling him as he never answers, or B, rant to me about how they can't get in contact with him. The nerve, gall, and hypocrisy of him telling me to do anything for the sake of them asking me to, is absurd and complete bullshit.

I've since vowed I will never return to celebrate any holiday out of obligation or guilt. Especially not with them. I want to celebrate with an actual family, one that when I leave I feel sadness, not relief. People I have an actual emotional connection and investment in, not a glorified financial planner and debt collector. The same applies to both sides of my family, I'd almost rather not take their gifts and cut off contact from them, than to have to remain attached to them because of material possessions.

That said, I am back home now, and feeling much more like myself now. Healing up, again, as per the usual.

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.

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.

Honestly

Okay, I'm going to try and be honest about how things are going. Not that I'm dishonest in these posts, but I tend to make things vague and buried within metaphor. I've been cutting fairly regularly, and my hip is beginning to look pretty nasty. It is to the point that I'm doing it in the bathroom while people are over. I would like to say that it isn't out of malice for myself, but just an act to feel something, anything.

Today I woke up, and proceeded to go right back to bed until around 7pm. I normally wake up around noon or so, and thus waking up in the mid afternoon isn't terribly uncharacteristic, but finally waking up around 7pm is. I felt very much like I was clouded in fog all day. A friend of mine came over, to which I was very nondescript and aloof. I'm not sure what gave me the urge to cut again today. We went over to a party where I hung around a bunch of people in relationships, and watched them interact. I'm honestly trying to snap out of this, and it at times somewhat works, but it always feels like I'm just taking small steps out of the hole, and not actually getting out of it. In the interim, I may have to find a new place to exercise my vices.

FYI, The concert was awesome, but I didn't feel the connection I was looking for.

Tampons

I know that simply moving into a new environment doesn't solve any old problems, as it just puts them in a new environment. I'm really beginning to feel though, that if I can't get out of Texas, that things won't really get better. I'm in a drastic need of a new situation. A place to begin again, and remake myself...again. Not that it will be easy, but my motivation to stay in this place is threadbare, and no one is really making me want to stay. This place doesn't foster the kind of friends I want to have. While they are great in their own way, it isn't what I'm looking for, nor has it been for a long time.

I'm not sure if my decline in mood is attributed to my living alone, or a combination of other things. I'm inclined to think it is stress, along with lonliness. I'm glad I have another concert tonight, being shoved into a small cluster of humans sounds like exactly the type of subtle human connection that will do me good.

I got my period today. I thought about how to phrase this, and whether to publicize it, but I think it fits best here. I know many cisgender women would be quick to criticize a transwoman saying that, but transwomen bleed just as often. We do just as much work to hide it, tolerate, and deal with. The only real difference being that one is genetic, and the other self inflicted. I debated posting a "tampon" picture on facebook of the aftermath, but it would probably generate the type of attention I'm not looking for. The notion is something I very much want to spread, but as much as it appeals to me, I think much of the message would be lost in favor of inquiring about my state of mind and self destructive habits.

Anyway, I'll update again tonight or tomorrow and hopefully will be feeling better.

Praying

Well I finally started taking charity donations for surgical operations. You can view that website at angelsinabsolute.blogspot.com. It is a play off this website, I thought it was clever. Anyway, it is hard to say just where things are these days. I've sent out my first of many job applications, and while I don't expect much from them, I'm not going to be disappointed if I don't get anything. Things are simply just very tense at the moment. Between finances, the chaos of post-graduation, school work, and all the rest, I'm just beginning to crack I think.

What is more disturbing, is I'm not the only one. A good friend of mine, and fellow trans person, checked into a hospitality voluntarily. I talked to him extensively the night before, when he was having an emotional melt down. I don't see that as a far out possibility. I think the only real difference is that I haven't had the hope driven out of me yet. Had my situation been as dire as his, I can easily see myself going down that road. Last Thursday was an equally bad day, that was filled with very trying circumstances, arguably one of the worst in a long time, but I held it together. When prompted at therapy, the general consensus was it was an issue of loneliness/lack of connections, underneath a large banner of unimaginable stress. Indeed, I can handle almost anything with the supportive of my friends, but alone my strength dwindles considerably.

That wasn't the case this past Friday however. The day was actually relatively fine, with nothing really going on. However, late in the evening I purposefully dived into some areas that I knew were going to upset me. I'm still not sure why, aside from a weird urge to take care of an issue then and there, and release the negativity, rather than wait for it to bubble up to the surface.

I did make use of my knife to cut in a few places, but it didn't carry the shame that it did the last time I did. I'm currently chalking that to being upset (last time) vs depressed (this time). No, This time was only a nice sharp release that I am accustomed to. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue doing so, I had thought I was done with it, but it seems our daemons will always come back if we allow them an avenue.

Coming out day

It is National Coming out day, and I am struck by a complication of things. I've come to believe that coming out day is a day to release things that you've been holding inside. It seemed appropriate that I discuss what has been bothering me lately, and that came out as "a girl with suicidal tendencies".  Honestly, I see these young kids who kill themselves, and a part of me thinks they have the right idea. As someone with no fear of death, and no particular enjoyment of life, taking one's life has never been a moral question for me, but one of practicality. It always seemed an easy solution to a problem that many people struggle to see. Everyone dies regardless, and I don't see the harm in taking a short cut there when there is no particular enjoyment in life.

I'm feeling normal again, but this past Saturday I felt a depression that was abnormally bad. Something I hadn't felt in a particularly long time. This overwhelming patheticness and hopelessness, loneliness and fatalism that was all but overwhelming. I thought hard about cutting but refrained, and I'm thankful that I've learned to cry a lot more easily. The cause can be traced back to a lack of resources, and being stuck inside my apartment, again. I don't particularly enjoy staying inside, but it is something I've had to deal with more frequently this semester as my few friends now have scheduling problems. I'll spare you other details, but suffice to say that things built upon one another.

I was out of it the next day, but it has given me some serious doubts on what I want to do after graduation, and how I'm going to go about doing it. I'm much more fragile than I remembered.