Tricks of the treats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Assaults

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Inherent Gravity

I am very much forcing this entry. I have not been in the mood to write, despite knowing I should. It is hard to pin down where I stand these days. One day, I'm a fucking mess, getting emotionally triggered shakes and enraged beyond belief. So utterly pissed and frustrated that even thinking about my situation tenses my arms and sends me into tears. The next, I'll feel tolerable, confident, awake, and ready to slit the throat of anyone who would dare cross me.

I believe I've come to a point where I know things are gone with my ex. I just have to reiterate to myself why, and how, and the plethora of reasons we aren't together. What we had was an infatuation, I've no other words for it. I understand what triggers those emotions in me, and having been there, I know now what I'm looking for. I won't however, tolerate the rest of everything that happened. I've seen the type of person ze thinks I am, and I know I'm not that person. I'm done trying to convince or alter opinions.

In a sense, this is back to the drawing board. I feel like I'm resetting everything and starting fresh. Which, is nice, but at the same time, it feels exhausting.

I'm complimented, a lot. I get told regularly how attractive I am, I get cat called, and pass with ease. Yet, every time people do compliment me, I can't help but feel I'm queen of the trans girls. As in, "Yes, I'm quite pretty, for a trans girl". Whether or not they mean it, I add it on whenever they leave it off. Yes, I am pretty, but I still feel like I'm winning the special Olympics. This becomes extremely apparent to me around other trans girls who don't pass as well as I do. I notice things, the most minute details that they have forgotten, yet that I've picked up. How to walk, carry one's self, posture, demeanor, not pitch of voice, but tone, intonation, the list is endless. It just, furthers my feelings of isolation, that sense of better than the undesirables, but not good enough to be wanted outright. The first pick for a second choice.

I don't know what the answer is. Let me be clear that I don't feel I am better than anyone else, simply because I pass easier.

I'm, just exhausted from being frustrated and angry, all the time. I'm exhausted of having to presume most people aren't interested in me, even if they are into girls, simply because they won't be into the type of girl I am. You'd think being trans was like being a drug addict or a child molester. And people scoff, question, and deride me for not wanting to tell people I'm trans, when I'm post op. Why the fuck would I? Yes, let me voluntarily make myself more undesirable. I've had enough rejection in my life, thanks.

The anger, the pain, and all that lot aren't gone. I know they are hiding around the corner for me. I've no more reason to continue on than I did last week, but, at least now it's because the so called journey that is life, that so many people seem to just be able to enjoy without effort, is full of shit and pain. Not because it isn't filled with an addictive emotional high triggered by an ignorant girl pulling on strings with no idea of what black holes they were attached to.

A Moment of Peace

Earlier today, sitting out in the sun with my coffee, and book, I had a small pleasant moment of peace. I felt a bond to my city, my wondrous respite from my relationship wanderlust. It was great to be able to simple exist without thinking about my ex, or my job, or how absolutely miserable and a complete emotional train wreck I was the night before. It was just nice.

That said, I approach a point of losing hope. A conversation with my brother about the possibility of an upcoming marriage/offspring between he and his girlfriend does not encourage me. I was held together with a very thin line of sanity at my mothers wedding, I don't suspect my brother's to be much better for me.

I digress.

I surround myself with people, but feel increasingly more isolated. If I don't continuously distract myself with entertainment, I begin to break and weep uncontrollably after about five minutes. My efforts at venting my anger have helped, but about as much as pissing into a volcano serves to cool the planet. Putting a name on the injustice and wrongs done to me and mine does nothing to right them or make them hurt less.

I find I long to be put in my sub-space again, to have structure and order given to my life via someone I respect enough to let them dictate such things. The problem is finding that person, and then finding a variant of that person who is likewise attracted to me. It would seem, those that would date me, at least, those that inquire, are mutually exclusive, from those I'm attracted to.

Programming a computer to print out the words "good girl" does not, in fact, make me feel better.

The Tinderbox II

This, is the start. It is long, and likely has no end. (Most recent update 10/7/12)

1. I'm angry, I'm always angry. I don't express this, or let it out, because venting does nothing to remedy the issue. The source of the anger never goes away, as I never get any answers, I never get a resolution, I am done a disservice by being born.
   
2. I am angry that I was born trans. It isn't fair that I should be chosen/picked/cursed to be this way when others are not. I have done nothing to warrant this, and I have done nothing worthy of this level of punishment.
   
3. I am angry that, even accepting being trans, I can't fix it. I will never be the woman I want to be, I will never be able to bear children, have a natural cunt, or have a menstrual cycle. I can alter my body but it isn't natural, and I have to pay upwards of $50,000 to simply alter my body to how it should have been to start with.
   
4. I am angry that I have to shave my face. It hurts, a lot. that I have to worry about if cutting my hair short will make me not pass as well, that I have to worry if someone can tell that I wasn't born naturally female. I am angry that I can't go outside without makeup on out of fear I'll be read as not naturally female. That every week, I have to inject a synthetic chemical into my body, just to be able to think and process cognitive thought correctly. I have to actively damage my body, simply to be able to function properly.
   
5. I am angry that I have to be reasonable, when people say they aren't okay being sexual with me. I have to understand that, because after all, I can't expect people to be interested in me to have open minds. I have to accept the fact that being myself, means they get to instantly nullify their feelings when they find out I don't have a cunt. Well of course they aren't attracted to me anymore, that only makes sense. Try to have an honest relationship with someone? Fuck me, right.
   
6. I am angry that I'm only attracted to people in rare circumstances. I'm angry that I apparently have held so much of myself from people, that I find no one attractive, that except in rare circumstances most people excite me somewhere on the level of meh and sure, why not. I am angry that I can't feel anything for people.
   
7. I'm angry that being sexual with someone requires an hour long conversation and a fucking instruction manual and exam beforehand. I hate that I wear clothes because I'm not comfortable with my body. I HATE the fact that I resist public affection because it might make me aroused and in turn produce an awkward bulge. I hate the fact that I have a "sex skirt" that I wear so that I don't have to look at myself.
   
8. I'm angry because anytime I want to be more aggressive sexually, I feel like a boy. I'm angry because I am afraid to hear my own voice recorded for fear of it sounding boyish.
   
9. I'm angry that I have to worry about things like shoe size, and how large my feet look, about how often I look up at Seattle's amazing architecture because my Adam's apple is prominent and might be seen.
   
10. I'm angry that I have six years of education in a marketable field, and a masters degree, yet make $30,000 a year.
    
11. I'm angry at politics, injustice, and all the horrible shit that happens to undeserving people.
    
12. I'm angry that greed controls our country. I'm angry that at the apathy, and content-ness of people to be satisfied with injustice as long as they are not personally affected. The fact that "I got mine so..." mentality rules this country, while this country was built and founded on the notions of helping each other, and a united group of people coming together for a common betterment. A notion that together we are better than separate.
    
13. I'm angry that this country doesn't give a shit about other people. We don't care that other people are hungry as long as we are fed. I hate that we don't see health, as a fundamental right, just the ability to make money is.
    
14. I hate violence, I hate that I fear being raped not because of the trauma, or violence, or risk of STD's, but because of the person finding out I am not a natal female and that it might turn into a murder.
    
15. I hate how closed off everyone is, and myself, even more so. I hate how I'm afraid to talk to people. I hate how even if I flirt or make eye contact with someone I'm attracted to, I brush them off because I know once they find out, they will probably not be interested in me.
    
16. I hate the fact that I grew up in a lie. I hate that I can't forgive my parents for their negligence, and for their lack of ability to handle their shit. The emotional blindness they had and how they managed to go through years of it, without dealing with it. I hate that I lost, or missed out on the childhood I should have had, and never will have.
    
17. I hate that I have to recolor my memories to try and make them fit into a past that doesn't exist. I hate that I have to fantasize about people to get any hope at normality. I hate that the only chance at being what I want to be, or with who I want to be with, comes from a deluded 20 second glance at a restaurant, or bus, or street corner. That my life, is lived in breaths shared with someone who doesn't know me, but in my head spends the night pleasuring me and my non-existent normal body.
    
18. Then it ends, and I continue my day, hating myself that much more for the moments I won't get, and apparently don't deserve to have in life.
    
19. I hate, that I have to find reasons to live or exist, because the simple act of being alive, is not good enough. It doesn't warrant its self purpetualization due to the pain and shit I have to go through. At what point does putting up with all the shit that is my life, pay off? Or is it just always shit, in which case why bother continuing another 60 years of it, which arguably, won't get any better?
    
20. I hate the fact that on any given day, I have fantasies about suicide or violence, just to make the day at least partially interesting.
    
21. I hate that my family is so fucked up. I hate that they have become addicts and that I can't help them. I hate the fact that I've given up on helping them.
    
22. I hate the fact that I can't write music, but can only play it. I simply am not talented enough to make new things or create in any meaningful fashion.
    
23. I hate that my bone structure is masculine, and that in certain shirts, I look too broad. Or that my chest is too large and I don't fit right into certain dress forms. I don't even bother trying them on anymore. It is too painful to see how shitty it looks on me to bother fitting myself into them.
    
24. I hate that the mention, thought, image, picture, notion, idea, reminiscent smell, or name of my ex-partner still churns my stomach and turns me into a 14 year old girl who got a rejection letter from a movie star.  I hate the fact that I let this decide my schedule or willingness to go to events that we might both go to.
    
25. I hate that even if I find someone to be with, I notice nothing but flaws, I don't notice attractive things, just things that ruin who they are to me.
    
26. I hate that I turn away in photos, when I smile, if I laugh or show my teeth because of my brother's endless teasing as a child about my teeth.
    
27. I hate that I avoid pictures in which I might turn out boyish, or not perfect.
    
28. I hate that I don't talk to my old friends as much as I would like, and that they have gone on with their lives largely unnoticing of me.
    
29. I hate that my brother takes no interest in my life as well, and likely never will, yet he is the closest member of my family to me.
    
    
30. I hate that most if not all of my current relationships can be described as "meh".
    
31. I hate that the only luck I have, is apparently bad luck. Or that the only person I manage to find attractive, I then fall in love with, and then break up with, as it doesn't work. Yet my feelings remain, and there is simply nothing to do about it wait, or learn to cope.
    
32. I hate that I have to get up, everyday, and go to the same mindless job, everyday, to pay for useless shit, that society says I need, to enjoy a weekend, to rest and relax from the shitty job that I go to every weekday.
    
33. I hate the fact that there are fewer and fewer times that I look to the space needle and get giddy at the sight of it like I used to. Or that the newness is wearing off, and I draw no more happiness from my location, like I used to.
    
34. I hate the fact that my friends are getting married, or having kids, and the best I can say in return is that I have some shitty job, and meh relationships in a city I love.
    
35. I hate, that I've become so addicted to escapism, that turning my emotions or cognitive thought on, without some distraction, almost renders me completely helpless and an emotional train wreck locked into compulsive crying fits and such intense blinding anger that I fear for what I would do.
    
36. I hate that I cry when I write these, and that it is only by doing so that I can begin to control the release of extremes that have built up inside me like a cancerous plaque in my emotional arteries.
    
37. I hate religion, and all the utterly unreasonable people it enables to violence and bigotry.
    
38. I hate that people compliment my physical beauty, and I don't believe them. I think they are liars, patronizers, idiots, or have terrible taste.
    
39. I hate that my mother thinks I will always be lonely, and I hate that I find it harder and harder to disagree with her.
    
40. I hate the notion of shame, and how trans-pride conflicts with that. Why would anyone be proud of being disfigured? I hate that I feel that way, and that I'm afraid of telling people else being ostracized in the trans crowd.
    
41. I hate that I have to masturbate regularly. I HAVE to, if I don't I begin to lose feeling in my genitals (numbness) and any potential further use becomes excruciatingly painful.
    
42. I loath that the only time I like the look of my body is in the exaggerated silhouette of the setting sun, or in the reflect of a store window, where I can make out the general idea, but not specific details.
    
43. I loath that even in those moments where I was happy and content, and enjoying my life, I was still preoccupied with suicide, thinking that it would be a high moment, and that at some point it would come back down and killing myself then, would be both poetic, and going out on a high note.
    
44. I hate that I can't simply be happy, I'm so obsessed with shitty things, and how horrible life is, I can't just exist and be content, I have to have a reason for everything, I have to know everything is valid, and verified, and purposeful.
    
    

Visions of Destruction

Earlier tonight, in a restaurant, I had a violent fantasy about walking over to a table in the room, stabbing and beating one of the girls at the table, and then throwing her through a window. She hadn't done anything to upset me, or wrong me, my day was not outstandingly bad, or upsetting, she was just there.

I felt hints of emotional collapse at the same time. A slight tinge of a muscle spasm in my arms that I can't control. I find myself reliving a moment in which, when asked, I couldn't express my anger because I said it would destroy me. I am going to try a contained, expressive post later on that vents a lot of that, but the problem is that there is just so much of it, and it never goes away.

I feel I have to do something though, I am disgusted by violence most of the time, consensual things can be tolerable, as there is often a mix of affection involved as well. This though, was nothing but a hate filled rage of emotions. While I would never act on anything, the urge to, is new and undesired. Violence leads me to cutting and while before my cuts have been enjoyable, I haven't cut out of rage in a long time as it is always intensely more destructive and dangerous.

I know my depression is pretty strong at the moment, I just don't know what to do about it. Before the answer was simple(ish) I knew where to go, what to do, I simply couldn't. Now, I'm just completely lost and unsure of anything anymore.

I feel like there are perpetually walls falling down and one day the last will crumble and everything will just come with it at once.

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?