Post Op Frustrations

I'm less than two weeks out of my surgery. It feels like years, I feel like years ago that I was dealing with the withdraw from morphine and caffeine and shitty hospital food. There is this mood of frustration and anger and depression and unmotivation. A lot of the rage is based in, and found around my trans status, having a vagina now, makes me face a lot of the maintenance hassle of having to deal with something now, for the rest of my life. It is an amazing thing to do, but also an amazing hassle that I now have to deal with, when I shouldn't have to.

It's the same anger at cisgender privilege and ease of life that has always frustrated me.

I know this will pass, and that this will get easier, but it's just hard to stay out of the here and now, when you're forced to deal with it at least twice a day.

Less than two weeks, and it will get better. I have to believe this. I can let myself feel these emotions, but I should not try to get bogged down in them, they will pass as my health and my new organ heals and gets better.

There, is just a lot of isolation and loneliness here. Being across the planet leads to a lot of time problems as my friends and loved ones are nearly exactly opposite of my time. I really want to communicate and talk to them, and hug and have this dialogue, but it just isn't there. I understand they are busy and have their own lives, and I have a bias telling me that I don't matter, but it still hurts, and feels lonely here.

I keep looking to my ex and wanting that emotional connection, but I know it isn't where I should be turning, and it isn't going to be there anyway, but still, old habits die hard.

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.

Beating the War Drums

These are tired drums. The old war between my body and mind is one fought for many, many years and for a while a decent armistice seemed to brew. Now though, tensions are starting back up. I could spend the hours trying to figure out the innevitable cause, but end the end it doesn't really matter. Be it stress, or hormonal fluctuations, or what have you, this existence is never one I will be at peace with. that thought, that I'll always be blaming and pointing at my trans identity as the root cause for all my personal, and interpersonal woes, is exceedingly exhausting. It would be reasonable if say, post surgery, I could just cast off the identity like so much baggage and proclaim myself cured, but that's not an option.

 

Speaking of, There's about 6 months until then, and I'm slowly coming to simply accept the fact that my parts will be ugly to me. At least then though their form will follow and match how they should. I can live with an ugly vagina, hell it matches the fucked up and ugly rest of me, so why should it stand out as being normal. I find myself asking why again, which I expect will start coming back up again as it draws closer.

I'm starting to feel numb again. My hunger and body signals are slowing down or becoming quiet, I don't know when I'm hungry or at least I never feel the urge to eat. I occasionally think about food if it comes up, but by and large its a thing I don't put thought into. This mirrors my thoughts on anything else, I'm bored and distracted easily, I find no real attraction or happiness from things. My sex drive or desire for affection has fallen off the face of the planet.

I don't want to do anything, and everything sounds like shit. I'm withdrawn, unsocial, and by and large simply depressed. In that though, It feels like disillusionment. Like there is no point or hope in trying to find the things I feel are missing from my life, the things that I feel are unsatisified. I base this, entirely off the few times that I can remember feeling as such, and trying to pursue the same avenues again (finding an D/S relationship for one). But even that I can't say was established in a firm ground of emotional health, wellbeing and secure/reassured reality. More, thrown into a full on NRE ecstacy filled abusive drug habbit with someone who seemed to get off on the idea. I remember being happy (or at least, the abuse led me to believe I was) and now I pursue that again because its one of the few times I remember not feeling partially empty inside.

Not to cast out the efforts and strides of my partner, who genuinly is wonderful. That relationship however, just isn't, and can't be the entirety of my desires. I hate that I continue to look for that missing piece, and I hate that I never find, and that I feel like I never will, and that there is no point in searching. It feels like I just have to accept the fact that I'll feel partially empty and hollow for the rest of my life, living a pale, shallow existence devoid of anything resembling meaning or passion. People say do what you love, or do what you want to do with your time. I have no idea what that is, and no idea where to even begin looking

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.

I need to buy some super glue.

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

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

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

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

 

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

Nightmares and enslavement

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tumultuous Turmoil of Tinkering

Things are tumultuous. My days are ranging from a physically sickening level of depression and feelings of lost helplessness, to being okay and nigh bearable. I've increased the frequency of my therapy sessions to once a week until I can get out of this fog. In addition, my acupuncture and massage therapy seems to be helping, at least on the days I have them.

I've been taking Sundays as a self care day that prohibits sitting on my computer for extended periods of the day. I believe one of the main issues is one that I've faced previously. When I first started therapy a few years ago to deal with my depression, I couldn't figure out who I was, I didn't know what I enjoyed, or liked, and nothing felt like fun. I find myself facing the same feelings.

I've begun to loath myself for my laziness, and my addiction to escapism. I refuse to play my guitar, to try to compose anything, to draw, or write, or sing, or anything because I know I won't be any good at it. I'm approaching it as a means to and end, rather than as an activity to enjoy for the sake of doing the activity. it is the same petty childish mindset that paralyzed me as a teenager. The "I can't be perfect, so I'm not going to try" sense of fatalistic self-deprecation that keeps me attuned to depressions and infatuations with all I can't do, rather than what I can. I get so wrapped up in my lack of ability to achieve my end goal/desire/validation, that I forget the reason I started doing it in the first place.

If I had spent as much time as I do playing games, doing some form of art, I'd likely be a master at it. Games have a level cap, there is an attainable end goal, which, I guess is one reason they appeal to me. Life, itself has an end goal. The mortality aspect of life means at some point we all finish. My obsession with this seems to be a similar motif. Focusing on end goals and achievements, rather than the act or journey itself for the fun of it.

The theory behind all this is fairly simple, but the applications towards my behaviors and mindsets are much more stubborn. If you were to imagine my identity as a pie chart, I'd say a good 65-70% is taken up by my identity as a trans-woman. This, is almost always a negative aspect, as being trans largely fucking sucks 98% of the time. The rest, that 30%, is at any time taken up by various other identities, hobbies, relationships, and anything else you might attribute to intrapersonal or external stimuli. The two parts (internal/external identities) are largely intertwined and a depression/trauma in one can cause the other to collapse, exacerbate, or respond in a similar way.

You can see this in my lack of satisfaction in my personal life, which largely leads to my focusing on my lack of satisfaction in who I am as a person. It comes down to how I look at things, I see negatives easier than I see positives. Chalk that up to whatever you will, but I have situated myself on a precarious mountainside slope. It is vastly easier for momentum and gravity to carry me downward in a snowballing effect of depression and negative emotions. Likewise, pulling myself up, in a positive way feels unnatural for me, it is a struggle and requires far greater amounts of work the more alone I feel.

It is, however, definitely easier to climb the mountain with people helping me. I know, this is an unpopular statement, and considered a red flag for some. People say "you should be content to be alone, before you try being in a relationship". That is fine and dandy if you're perfect. If you've no emotional problems or mental illness (which depression most certainly is). Personally, I find it bullshit. Humans are social creatures, we die if we are isolated long enough. We all want and desire to have friends, partners, relationships, and families. I do NOT think the desire for that, or the need for that, is a bad thing. Nor do I find that inherently abusive, addictive, or problematic. I consider myself a broken clock. I require a little elbow grease and work, but can be polished nicely, and end up being a rewarding, lovely, and entirely fantastic experience.

The ability to be content by one's self, to me, definitely feels like a privilege of the healthy, wealthy, cisgender, and untroubled. It is easy to be content with yourself, when you aren't constantly at war with yourself over things you have no ability to change, but the utmost paramount and salient desire to do so.

SO, that rant aside, the schematics of my emotional framework on display. Where, do I go from here?

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?

Updates, and innebriation.

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

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

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

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

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

Endure, Master Wayne.

Reading through this book, I see so much more than I did prior to transitioning. It is where I draw my name, and the similarities are striking. I find myself laughing, hysterically, and then weeping. The latter, on this passage;

But she had become a goddess and he could not help it if he were astonished. She had always been beautiful in his eyes, and admirable, too. He had worshipped her, in some ways, for her courage in adversity, for her resistance to the ways of his own world. But that had been bravery under siege and now, it seemed, she single-handedly gave siege to that same society which, a few months before, had threatened to engulf and destroy her identity. There was a determination in her bearing, a lightness, an air of confidence that proclaimed to everyone what he had always sensed in her -- and he was proud that his world should see her as the woman he knew, in full command of herself and of her situation. Yet there was, as well, a private knowledge, an intimate understanding between them, of the resources of character she drew to achieve that command. For the first time he became conscious of the depth of his love for her and, although he had always known that she had loved him, he became confident that her emotion was as strong as his own. Like her, he required no declaration; her bearing was declaration enough.

I had been meaning to write for a while, but I find I often lack the energy or motivation. My depression grows daily, and while some days I fight it off more than others, the beast wins more and more. The monotony, the daily bullshit is just..exasperating. Every week is the same, every day is the same, with mere strange changing of temperatures to make the seasons. Ask me what I've done the past year and I can't tell you. I feel useless, and meaningless. I find myself wishing I'd get hit by a car, or mugged, or robbed, just for a change of pace. I know better than to hope for positive things to happen randomly to me.

I deceive myself. I surround myself with avenues for creation, yet I never use them. I play, I write, I sing, I compose, or, rather, I have the ability to. Yet when I sit down and get ready to, nothing comes. My mind is blank and my emotions freeze. I shrug my shoulders of it in frustration and return to mind numbing escapism. I read, I play games, I do anything and everything I can to not think about things. Until something triggers me, like the passage above, and I twitch, spasm, and then just bawl my eyes out at the frustration, envy, and anger, so much anger, of everything.

I don't pine for my ex-love any longer. I am cautious, but the intense desire is gone. I realize now how young, and nubile ze is, and how not-ready for me ze is. Instead I long for the feelings produced then, I miss being drunk on love, of finally after so many years being able to let my guard down with someone. It was premature, I recognize that, but it was honest. Now, everything just feels passionless, the days blend together and there is just, nothing there. I question my motivations for everything and habit or routine are the only answers I find.

I am struggling heavily with the question of why. What purpose or driving factor do I have in my life? It is a question I have had since I was a little thing, and I've never had a good answer. I went to school because I was supposed to, I went to college because It delayed that question, I went to graduate school because it delayed that question. My motif in life has been to improve it, personal growth, and positive change above all things. I'm lost as to what direction that now means.

For a long, long time I thought it meant love. So I put myself out there, in often uncomfortable, abusive situations, because I felt that sacrifice or being uncomfortable meant doing difficult things, and thus growth, as a person. It hurt when people mistook that for weakness, or a fear of being alone. Now, being able to say I know what being IN love feels like, and yes, that word makes a remarkable difference. I'm not sure my purpose is there, and if it isn't I'm not sure where I've left to look.  More so, I'm quickly encroaching on Middle age, and I fear greatly holding out hope. and living a shit life for the naive idea that one day I'll find someone. Only to look back at the past 10-20-40 years at how much of my life I wasted, sitting here, typing entries about pining for a reason that never came.

My life, as such, then, is not enjoyable by default. Why should I have to endure?

The Cadence of Rage

Having recently resigned myself to not giving a fuck what people think of my habits and coping mechanisms, I've found that there is a lot less guilt about it, and a lot less negative emotions flying around. Shame, being a big one that people like to saddle on me. They through around terms like unhealthy and self destructive, but is it anymore so than a night of heavy drinking? Sure my way is more cosmetic and visible, but I don't damage my internal organs at all.

I digress.

I've been meaning to write since last week as an update since last week was, admittedly, fucking insane. I haven't had to cut emotions out of me in a long time, and now having done it, it feels oddly peaceful. It was a part of my life pre-move, and much like my attempted fasting and abstaining from sexual activity pre-transition failed, my attempt at doing such for my emotional safety net also failed. I was under so much pressure to be this perfectly healthy girl that did everything right. Moving was supposed to be the start of a new beginning with no therapist and no cutting. I've lost the sanctity of the act, It isn't a big deal, and it isn't something I'm going to let people talk down to me about or give me shit over. Yes, I see the frowns you give, I see the disapproving glances and hidden admonishments stuck in your throat. No, I don't care about that, and will offer you cuddles and hugs to comfort you. Rest assured there is nothing you can do (oh wait, apparently if someone else does it for me, it's healthy) to fix things.

The assertiveness and assuredness of the language used here is largely reflective how it changes my mood. It is that of my switch side, that simply does not care about most things, and knows the uselessness of 90% of what we decide to do in a day.

That doesn't mean I'm not still upset. I still break down and bruise easily. I had a very sweet moment with a metamore this past weekend who also happens to have been a cutter at one point. Very sweet words were exchanged, tears fell, cuddles were given and it was very nice.

But while nice, it is a patch at best. I still pine and wish for a sweet romance of my own, one that I don't have to sacrifice my standards or expectations for. Not that I am overly picky, but just being able to have a suitor that knows about my sexuality and gender issues would be nice. I grow entirely too weary of being ashamed of who I am and of my body.

The rest of life is largely the same. Pointless and hollow, and in dire need of some sort of creative expression. The problem I have is that I never know where to begin. I have a thousand possible choices and it dwarfs me completely to have it laid out before me. I am paralyzed by it and never get anything going because all of it is a blank page with no structure of idea to guide it, except for the general idea of "make life not shit".

My Metamore said that I should try letting it all out at once. I responded that it would likely destroy me. The more I think of it, the more it seems that my life is defined as watching a fragile girl explode from the inside out in a very slow controlled demolition one day at a time. There is such..an unending rage and grief that swallows my existence. It is deafening.

Perhaps learning to mute that sound, has rendered me also deaf to all the other internal sounds. To hear one, is to hear the anger, and after spending 20 years learning to tune that out, learning to listen to it again is proving difficult. 

I can write the words, I can carve them into my skin in fact, but the melody still eludes me. In the end though, perhaps I am, just a silly girl. Hoping for things she can not have.

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.

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 Funny Thing Happened

So, my switch side came back. I noticed this with one of my partners in the grocery store. It is a side of me that I associate highly with my strength and confidence. Since I started in a D/S relationship with one of my partners, my life has revolved around that. Naturally, like loosing my virginity, I place significance in that relationship, and its roles and meanings and health. The problem is, that relationship hasn't been healthy, or healthy for me. Falling in love for the first time, was...intense, and, I don't think I'll ever get over it. This relationship will forever be a part of me, and even if I decide that until things can be more equal, that it is best for me to move away emotionally, I will always have a deep, vested interest in that relationship. It doesn't necessarily mean we will stop being involved, or stop seeing each other.

I am a hopeless romantic, it feeds into my submissive role in a very synergistic way. In a very true sense I'm wanting someone to sweep me off my feet, to overwhelm me, to render my defenses moot. To be so amazingly intense that my defenses don't hold and I pour myself into them.

I felt a sense of this, when this relationship started, and I hold out hope that it will at some point return to that, and if it does I will with noticeable hesitation put myself in a place to experience that again.

The struggle for me, is that in falling in love, I lost myself. I have no hesitation to living a life of servitude to someone, to devoting my existence to someone. That is my Cancerian blood, and my romantic religion. It doesn't feel like slavery when you do it willingly for someone you love with the fabric of your soul.

In that devotion, it becomes hard to see life outside of that emotional orgasm overloading my senses.  In a very real sense, it becomes who I am. I did not fall in love half-hearted.

I understand, this level of emotional intensity, and commitment is not for everyone, I didn't think it was for me either, until it happened. Realize I had no plans to fall in love, or to become so devoted to the idea, to crusade for love at the expense of all aspects of myself and emotional solidarity.

The return of my switch side, is very much a symbolic return of my emotional strength of will, spirit, and solidarity. It means I'm no longer reveling in my submissive mindset. That mindset for me, is tied in with that relationship, and as long as I was enthralled with that relationship's intensity, I was enthralled in the mindset.

It means that I'm gaining my solidarity back. My strength is fickle. It comes and goes on a dime and is based very much in roots of shitty experiences, scars, internal strength of will, and emotional tempering.

Don't mistake me, however. I am very much still in love, and can be reduced and shattered without much effort by my partner. The difference now is in my strength in being able to fight those efforts for what I know is better for me.

My switch holds her strength as a tool, to be used for her will. My submissive holds her strength as a shield, to hold people back and test them. When that strength is gone she is helpless to anyone who would abuse her. Falling in love bypasses all of my known defense mechanisms, and essentially renders me enraptured and powerless.

The switch is never without power.

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.

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.