The last ten days or so have been pretty good. I've been incredibly busy, work takes from six in the morning until about six in the evening all said and done. By the time I factor in dilation, yoga, and a brief workout and dinner, it's maybe an hour before bed. Tonight, I had no time to actually do anything since I had some chores to take care of spent some time talking to a friend before coming home.
The excitement of the new job has given way to the reality of it all, and while it's a refreshing change from the last job, the realization of boredom of what I'm being asked to do on a daily basis is starting to creep in.
I find myself aching to write more of my story, without really knowing what to, or how to write it. It's just the urge to be doing something I think.
Intermixed, I've been dealing with a restricted dosage of my medication due to a rescheduling of appointments, and a few obstinate doctors not refilling things as they said they would. This may be the cause of my lows seeping back in. Though, it could be any number of this that are correlating to this point.
There wasn't anything to trigger the lows, just, lack of sleep, and emotional exhaustion from dealing with privileged cisgender idiots on the internet. Engaging with them is beneath me, yet it's addictive to want to defend my space and my rights from attack. Solidarity is nice, but it doesn't refill my energy.
It's remarkable how fast the suicidal ideation returns too. All in all, objectively, things are much better than they have been for a while. Yet, emotionally, mentally, I feel drained and apathetic. Like I've had the life energy sucked out of me again.
Romantically, I still miss people. Both my most recent relationships occupy a good deal of mind space. The more recent obviously the more mentally taxing. The one positive aspect is that between my new lack of time is I've less energy to focus on her moving on and forgetting about me. I find a lot of internalized transphobia pops up in those moments (who wouldn't, why would anyone want to date you, you're entirely forgettable, You don't deserve someone like her anyway, etc). In focusing on this new gig, I can at least put that mental energy to better suited things.
In the midst of such, I find myself purging unnecessary social groups that tax and divide my energies. My efforts are better spent working on my life, rather than arguing pedantic and insufferable comments with strangers. With no romantic motivations, those social groups hold no value anymore.
There are a few lights dancing on the horizon, but they're faint, and if they become something of a romantic nature, I'll gladly embrace them, but at this point, hope is a luxury I can no longer afford.
Embrace the spinster, get a cat. Wait, I don't have time for a cat, I can't even keep my plant happy.
2.24.2016
2.15.2016
Pure Exhuastion
Lately I've felt relatively good. That, in itself might normally qualify as good, but it does feel like things have gotten easier since the turn of the year.
My routine and exercise has really helped to keep my mood lifted. Partially because I'm enjoying how my body feels and seeing the changes it's going through. It helps me have a feeling of agency over things, which is normally lacking. That said, it hasn't been tested really.
That changed today. I took up a new job and started today. The commute is about two hours out of a day, the job length is about eight. Leaving me about four hours of a day to do what I want, before I can get a reasonable amount of sleep. I don't mind being busy, really, but the sheer amount of time that having a job sucks out of you is infuriating. I find it amusing that after studying Capitalism for six years, I'm now one of the biggest opponents to it. It's done nothing for me, or my generation except ruin our lives. I digress.
On my way into this office this morning I get a call from my mother. It wasn't unexpected, as I got one from my father the day before wishing me luck, and good vibes on my first day. The tone in her voice was off, which I initially attributed to it being early in the morning. She would later tell me that her mother had died in the night.
It's a mixed sensation. We've known she had a terminal illness for the last ten years, and it's steadily gotten worse. I'm glad she's at peace. I had a chance to see her last month and didn't take it. I don't, really regret this though. Her and I didn't get along that well when I was a child, and we continued to drift apart due to her awful behavior, and my refusal to enable her shitty behavior.
Normally I'd have gone, knowing she didn't have time left, but I just didn't have the emotional energy after dealing with an ending relationship at the same time. I could hear the disappointment in the conversation she had with my mother when she was told I wasn't coming. I feel guilty over that, but, then I remember all the awful things she's said to me, my cousin, and my brother over the years.
The dead don't get pardoned by virtue of being dead.
Still, I feel bittersweet about the whole thing. My mom said not to worry about coming down to the funeral since it was still my first week at a new job. It makes me wonder what the family will think.
Which brings me to an interesting cross roads. She died, literally, from a disease she got on the job. Work killed her. Here I am, starting a new job, wasting 70% of my daily schedule, and for what?
So I can feel upbeat and guilty that I still make more than my friends at a paltry thirty-eight thousand a year?
It all just feels so futile, and, pointless. Especially when you come home to an empty apartment, too tired to think.
My routine and exercise has really helped to keep my mood lifted. Partially because I'm enjoying how my body feels and seeing the changes it's going through. It helps me have a feeling of agency over things, which is normally lacking. That said, it hasn't been tested really.
That changed today. I took up a new job and started today. The commute is about two hours out of a day, the job length is about eight. Leaving me about four hours of a day to do what I want, before I can get a reasonable amount of sleep. I don't mind being busy, really, but the sheer amount of time that having a job sucks out of you is infuriating. I find it amusing that after studying Capitalism for six years, I'm now one of the biggest opponents to it. It's done nothing for me, or my generation except ruin our lives. I digress.
On my way into this office this morning I get a call from my mother. It wasn't unexpected, as I got one from my father the day before wishing me luck, and good vibes on my first day. The tone in her voice was off, which I initially attributed to it being early in the morning. She would later tell me that her mother had died in the night.
It's a mixed sensation. We've known she had a terminal illness for the last ten years, and it's steadily gotten worse. I'm glad she's at peace. I had a chance to see her last month and didn't take it. I don't, really regret this though. Her and I didn't get along that well when I was a child, and we continued to drift apart due to her awful behavior, and my refusal to enable her shitty behavior.
Normally I'd have gone, knowing she didn't have time left, but I just didn't have the emotional energy after dealing with an ending relationship at the same time. I could hear the disappointment in the conversation she had with my mother when she was told I wasn't coming. I feel guilty over that, but, then I remember all the awful things she's said to me, my cousin, and my brother over the years.
The dead don't get pardoned by virtue of being dead.
Still, I feel bittersweet about the whole thing. My mom said not to worry about coming down to the funeral since it was still my first week at a new job. It makes me wonder what the family will think.
Which brings me to an interesting cross roads. She died, literally, from a disease she got on the job. Work killed her. Here I am, starting a new job, wasting 70% of my daily schedule, and for what?
So I can feel upbeat and guilty that I still make more than my friends at a paltry thirty-eight thousand a year?
It all just feels so futile, and, pointless. Especially when you come home to an empty apartment, too tired to think.
2.09.2016
The gathering storm: Or getting my shit together.
Next week I start work at a new gig. It's been six months since I was last employed. While I'm excited to start a new process, I'm depressed by my financial situation. I'll survive, but it's that area between being poor enough for assistance and rich enough to live comfortably. It will manage for now, somehow.
It is on one hand, a great relief to not have to worry about money, but at the same time a great new stress to deal with.
It continues. After four or so years my therapist is leaving her current practice, which means I now get to reestablish myself with a new therapist. She's been arguably the longest running relationship I've had since moving here (granted I pay her for it). Still, it's a sad and tedious thing to have to re-engage in. Another emotional labor tax that I'll have to deal with.
In an effort to push the boundaries of my comfort, I've started going out to to events I'd normally be uncomfortable at. This started with a few Kink parties, and engaging in pick-up play (play with people I don't know well or at all). It's so far been okay, and enjoyable, even if I have to fake my attraction to people. They beat me, I enjoy it, we thank each other, and I pretend we'll do it again sometime. There is no desire for them in my life however. They're great people I'm sure, but I've just, no urge for them. The endorphine drop kicks in and I cry myself to sleep.
The urge, is for someone who doesn't want me. I think about her anytime I'm hit with something, I think about her anytime a cane or hand bruises my flesh. I think about her anytime someone mentions the word collar, or talks about a cage. I think about her when I walk through downtown, when I eat dark chocolate. When I work out, and when I take photos of my body. When I check social media, and when I cry.
That's...just life. So, so much of my life can be described as painful unrequited longing. Avarice, pure and simple. It isn't a longing for something better than what I have, it's a longing for a life that is better than mine. A refusal to accept the mediocrity and pain that is my daily life can't be changed.
That urge is one reason I've started the journey of exercise to change my body into something desirable. Childish fantasies of being good enough for an ex aside, it's helped with the depression. Feeling agency over my body is a nice feeling. Along with it though, has seen a reemergence of an aggressive and domineering energy. It's a very angry emotion, rooted in frustration and strength. It's a damaging emotion based in that avarice. That I have to deal with the enormity of this existence of strife, while so many unworthy others have it so easy. The anger at that unfair comparison is a tremendous source of energy and strength that I've rarely tapped into. Mostly due to it's ugly and aggressive nature.
In the midst of improving my situation, I find there's just more shit to gather. I clean up one pile, and another pile oozes out of the cracks for me to sort through and clean up. A great part of me wants to descend into a bottle and never come out again. Anything to make this easier, anything to get her off my mind.
Sometimes I do really wish I could rip people out of me. It would be worth the massive scaring.
And then tomorrow, I dawn my mask of my best self, and pretend that graceful creature is who I really am. I can wear her for a while, pretend her soft flesh and strength, ease of grace and elegance, are yy own, but both of us know I'm an imposter.
It is on one hand, a great relief to not have to worry about money, but at the same time a great new stress to deal with.
It continues. After four or so years my therapist is leaving her current practice, which means I now get to reestablish myself with a new therapist. She's been arguably the longest running relationship I've had since moving here (granted I pay her for it). Still, it's a sad and tedious thing to have to re-engage in. Another emotional labor tax that I'll have to deal with.
In an effort to push the boundaries of my comfort, I've started going out to to events I'd normally be uncomfortable at. This started with a few Kink parties, and engaging in pick-up play (play with people I don't know well or at all). It's so far been okay, and enjoyable, even if I have to fake my attraction to people. They beat me, I enjoy it, we thank each other, and I pretend we'll do it again sometime. There is no desire for them in my life however. They're great people I'm sure, but I've just, no urge for them. The endorphine drop kicks in and I cry myself to sleep.
The urge, is for someone who doesn't want me. I think about her anytime I'm hit with something, I think about her anytime a cane or hand bruises my flesh. I think about her anytime someone mentions the word collar, or talks about a cage. I think about her when I walk through downtown, when I eat dark chocolate. When I work out, and when I take photos of my body. When I check social media, and when I cry.
That's...just life. So, so much of my life can be described as painful unrequited longing. Avarice, pure and simple. It isn't a longing for something better than what I have, it's a longing for a life that is better than mine. A refusal to accept the mediocrity and pain that is my daily life can't be changed.
That urge is one reason I've started the journey of exercise to change my body into something desirable. Childish fantasies of being good enough for an ex aside, it's helped with the depression. Feeling agency over my body is a nice feeling. Along with it though, has seen a reemergence of an aggressive and domineering energy. It's a very angry emotion, rooted in frustration and strength. It's a damaging emotion based in that avarice. That I have to deal with the enormity of this existence of strife, while so many unworthy others have it so easy. The anger at that unfair comparison is a tremendous source of energy and strength that I've rarely tapped into. Mostly due to it's ugly and aggressive nature.
In the midst of improving my situation, I find there's just more shit to gather. I clean up one pile, and another pile oozes out of the cracks for me to sort through and clean up. A great part of me wants to descend into a bottle and never come out again. Anything to make this easier, anything to get her off my mind.
Sometimes I do really wish I could rip people out of me. It would be worth the massive scaring.
And then tomorrow, I dawn my mask of my best self, and pretend that graceful creature is who I really am. I can wear her for a while, pretend her soft flesh and strength, ease of grace and elegance, are yy own, but both of us know I'm an imposter.
1.28.2016
Taking Breaks and Learning to embrace
The past few days have been a tumultuous run of ups and downs. I had a job interview that I think went well, but followed it with a massive depressive down swing at the idea of taking yet another job I didn't really want, and being forced into something I don't want.
Still, its better than my last gig in every possible way so, there's that. I honestly wouldn't mind it, I think, once I get used to it.
The real depressive aspect has come from dealing with the setting reality of my returning to my search for a partner. My cravings and desire for the recent tirade I think will always be there. Maybe this is due to her ending things in the height of my New Relationship Energy, or possibly just because I always seem to fall fast and very hard for dominant women. At the end of the day it doesn't so much matter, anymore than the fact that I desire her, and can't be with her.
In discussing things, I came to the realization that I can handle most emotional situations with grace and elegance, I remain collected and stable through most things. The one exception being handling the loss of emotional intimacy. That removal turns me on my addictive personality, and reduces me to a neurotic, anxious mess. I yearn badly for that intimacy, and when I get the news that it is ending, I can let go briefly. However the next day or two I find myself doing small enabling actions to push me towards another fix. Be it a small text message of romance, or small sweet compliments, things you'd normally do in a relationship that aren't beneficial now that it has ended. I do anything in my power to get whatever small fix of intimacy that I can, which normally serves to drive the person further away as I become a clingy, insecure, and vulnerable mess of a woman.
I don't handle loss well, and not nearly with the grace and patience I can show with almost everything else.
So, it's something to work on, and something I want to get better at. I asked the recent parter I was with for advice, and got some interesting answers. The most biggest and most influential being that my little, that is the essence of the little girl that I have in me (she's around 9-11 years old) who was abandoned as a child, still yearns badly for the connection she never had. So the resulting loss hits me hard, and that connection comes through to her, rather than to adult me. She takes over when dealing with loss, and I act much like she would, in begging for intimacy and attention from someone who can't (or doesn't want to) give it anymore.
The advice, then, was to comfort and give her the reassurance and protection she needs during that time. It's something I don't think I've ever done before and the concept is completely foreign to me. It does sound helpful though and beneficial. So, it's at least something to appeal and work through, which I've always enjoyed. Having goals and achievements to work forward always seems to help my depression.
I think the medication, in combination with my new workout routine has served to help as well. It generally gets me out of my mourning funk and into a place where I feel okay enough to go out and do things a "normal" person would be able to do.
I still cry and mourn the loss, and I fall into old habits of obsessive thought about her. Of dwelling on any little things that reminds me of her, of wanting her in all things, of romanticizing her into a perfect being (which she isn't, and which doesn't exist). It's something I just have to accept is part of my process of moving on. I did similar things with each previous partner, and it's come to be an agonizing part of my mourning. Coming to grips with the idea that my love of a person never goes away, is both agonizing and sweet in some regards. It's just a shame it never quite gets appreciated until a relationship ends.
The work now, is to maintain an openness to it all, and a willingness to let go, and embrace the change. I'm a celestial body, and many other bodies may embrace similar orbits. We can dance and flow together, and then eventually part. It is the way of things, and it is how it has always been.
Still, its better than my last gig in every possible way so, there's that. I honestly wouldn't mind it, I think, once I get used to it.
The real depressive aspect has come from dealing with the setting reality of my returning to my search for a partner. My cravings and desire for the recent tirade I think will always be there. Maybe this is due to her ending things in the height of my New Relationship Energy, or possibly just because I always seem to fall fast and very hard for dominant women. At the end of the day it doesn't so much matter, anymore than the fact that I desire her, and can't be with her.
In discussing things, I came to the realization that I can handle most emotional situations with grace and elegance, I remain collected and stable through most things. The one exception being handling the loss of emotional intimacy. That removal turns me on my addictive personality, and reduces me to a neurotic, anxious mess. I yearn badly for that intimacy, and when I get the news that it is ending, I can let go briefly. However the next day or two I find myself doing small enabling actions to push me towards another fix. Be it a small text message of romance, or small sweet compliments, things you'd normally do in a relationship that aren't beneficial now that it has ended. I do anything in my power to get whatever small fix of intimacy that I can, which normally serves to drive the person further away as I become a clingy, insecure, and vulnerable mess of a woman.
I don't handle loss well, and not nearly with the grace and patience I can show with almost everything else.
So, it's something to work on, and something I want to get better at. I asked the recent parter I was with for advice, and got some interesting answers. The most biggest and most influential being that my little, that is the essence of the little girl that I have in me (she's around 9-11 years old) who was abandoned as a child, still yearns badly for the connection she never had. So the resulting loss hits me hard, and that connection comes through to her, rather than to adult me. She takes over when dealing with loss, and I act much like she would, in begging for intimacy and attention from someone who can't (or doesn't want to) give it anymore.
The advice, then, was to comfort and give her the reassurance and protection she needs during that time. It's something I don't think I've ever done before and the concept is completely foreign to me. It does sound helpful though and beneficial. So, it's at least something to appeal and work through, which I've always enjoyed. Having goals and achievements to work forward always seems to help my depression.
I think the medication, in combination with my new workout routine has served to help as well. It generally gets me out of my mourning funk and into a place where I feel okay enough to go out and do things a "normal" person would be able to do.
I still cry and mourn the loss, and I fall into old habits of obsessive thought about her. Of dwelling on any little things that reminds me of her, of wanting her in all things, of romanticizing her into a perfect being (which she isn't, and which doesn't exist). It's something I just have to accept is part of my process of moving on. I did similar things with each previous partner, and it's come to be an agonizing part of my mourning. Coming to grips with the idea that my love of a person never goes away, is both agonizing and sweet in some regards. It's just a shame it never quite gets appreciated until a relationship ends.
The work now, is to maintain an openness to it all, and a willingness to let go, and embrace the change. I'm a celestial body, and many other bodies may embrace similar orbits. We can dance and flow together, and then eventually part. It is the way of things, and it is how it has always been.
1.19.2016
Learning to Dance again
The past few days have been a strange mixing of emotions. Since coming back home I've felt surprisingly up. Powerful, confident, in control, light hearted, and generally acceptable. This is likely a product of the combination of drugs and structure that routine gives, as well as all the physical exercise I'm doing. It's been enjoyable to be in a different state of mind for a bit, but, I think some of that may have also been a bit presumptuous.
I caught myself ignoring the reality of my situation the other day. I was sending flirty texts, and messages to someone who wasn't interested in a relationship, despite continuing to be sweet and kind to me. In my newfound mood, I'd forgotten about that boundary, and continued to behave as if it hadn't happened, with only slight changes in vernacular to attribute to it. This left me feeling embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior. I'm typically a bit more self aware than that, though, I do inherit a good deal of fatalistic optimism from my parents.
The two of them are both romantics, and love dramatic shows of affection. That idea, tends to leave me feeling like I can change things if only I was somehow different/better/made one last grand effort. I've written about that a few times before I'm sure.
I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I can't change myself into the person she wants. Still coming to terms with having my hopes dashed once again, and the having to retake up the mantle of my own pursuit of a partner. It's funny how immortalized someone can become when you aren't given time to find their flaws. NRE is a deceitful mistress like that.
Still, it's moot now, and I have to be an adult and keep my emotions and desires under control. We are no longer dating and it is inappropriate of me to overstep my bounds, even if they were once well trodden.
I want to believe that at some point, my pursuit of polyamorous relationships will come to fruition, and I'll have two ongoing relationships at once, I feel/know I am capable, I just lack the ...well people.
Amidst all this, I find myself dealing with new lows. Not new in depth, but in, technique. In the midst of an relative good feeling up, I'll enter periods of derealization. Where nothing seems or feels real, and I begin to question what I'm doing, why I am here, what everything means. It generally also occurs with some disassociation, where I zone out for a few minutes at a time and withdraw into my mind. I can usually feel the low coming soon after. The low isn't as bad as some I've had in the past, but, it is interesting.
I caught myself ignoring the reality of my situation the other day. I was sending flirty texts, and messages to someone who wasn't interested in a relationship, despite continuing to be sweet and kind to me. In my newfound mood, I'd forgotten about that boundary, and continued to behave as if it hadn't happened, with only slight changes in vernacular to attribute to it. This left me feeling embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior. I'm typically a bit more self aware than that, though, I do inherit a good deal of fatalistic optimism from my parents.
The two of them are both romantics, and love dramatic shows of affection. That idea, tends to leave me feeling like I can change things if only I was somehow different/better/made one last grand effort. I've written about that a few times before I'm sure.
I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I can't change myself into the person she wants. Still coming to terms with having my hopes dashed once again, and the having to retake up the mantle of my own pursuit of a partner. It's funny how immortalized someone can become when you aren't given time to find their flaws. NRE is a deceitful mistress like that.
Still, it's moot now, and I have to be an adult and keep my emotions and desires under control. We are no longer dating and it is inappropriate of me to overstep my bounds, even if they were once well trodden.
I want to believe that at some point, my pursuit of polyamorous relationships will come to fruition, and I'll have two ongoing relationships at once, I feel/know I am capable, I just lack the ...well people.
Amidst all this, I find myself dealing with new lows. Not new in depth, but in, technique. In the midst of an relative good feeling up, I'll enter periods of derealization. Where nothing seems or feels real, and I begin to question what I'm doing, why I am here, what everything means. It generally also occurs with some disassociation, where I zone out for a few minutes at a time and withdraw into my mind. I can usually feel the low coming soon after. The low isn't as bad as some I've had in the past, but, it is interesting.
1.09.2016
Global Warming and Heavenly Bodies
There are fewer things I find more sad and depressing than burning contacts. The act of removing contacts or notes, passage ways of information about someone, out of self-preservation. I find I end up doing this as I move on from relationships as the idea of seeing a person with someone else is painful for me. I know, at some point it will be tolerable, but for now, I have to create distance between a person that I was once very close to. That, separating of orbits, always tears a bit off of me and sends it with that person. Every time I come off feeling a bit less whole, a bit more tattered and worse for the wear.
I no doubt, have and will continue to analyze all the reasons that exist, internalize all of them, and use it to beat myself down even further. If I'd been born normal maybe I'd have the curves desired, maybe I wouldn't be depressed, maybe there would be chemistry, maybe I'd have an easier time finding potential partners. Maybe things would be just that slight bit easier that everyone else seems to have. Rationally, I know comparisons are fruitless endeavors, but, emotionally, I feel like everything only gets worse, and more difficult.
I feel, overwhelmingly, inferior. Even being post op now, it's like people just find some other reason I'm not good enough. It isn't just this latest adventure either. I just wish I'd known it wasn't going to last so I wouldn't have gotten my hopes up. That, felt cruel. I'd have normally been more guarded but I felt no reason to assume things weren't going well. Now I've no real choice but to be on guard for longer before allowing my emotions to run wild.
Words do no justice to how exhausted I feel in being rejected over things I've no control over. I imagine, it's easier for "normal" folks, who can see a person, and know if they'd like to smash faces with them rather quickly. I've no such luxury, and by the time I've found out if I do, my emotions are invested in the idea. I'm sure these folks feel chemistry, whatever it feels like, I just have no concept of the idea. It exists in the realm of all things I'll never have a conceptual perception of. It exists along side my normal cisgender childhood, my potential children, my artists dreams of college, and every other aspect of my life that I didn't or couldn't choose.
It's no wonder my emotions are so muted. When you spend your whole life mired in the depths of disappointment at everything: your life, your very body, your entire existence and everything therein, it makes sense to mute the omnipresent desire to kill yourself, to numb everything away, and to do anything to stop feeling the entire spectrum of emotion. It then becomes a self-fulfilling cycle of depression, to disappointment, to hurt, to depression, and so on.
The futility of it all, of just the hurry up and wait to find someone to try again with, is both infuriating and madening. I'm powerless to really do anything different within my comfort boundaries, yet I'm entirely unsatisfied.
Chris, has mentioned in the past that deep down I'm a hopeful person. It's, arguably true. In the sense that I won't give up if there is no cost to continue doing so. But that doesn't mean I believe there is any real hope in doing so.
I'm, just, overwhelmed with the sullen nature of relationships, and the slow heartache and rejection of watching a beloved moon leave orbit, and find a prettier or larger planet to orbit around to everyone's mutual enjoyment, except mine of course.
My core aches, and weeps for the loss. Even if I understand and acknowledge the reason, it all makes reasonable sense, it just hurts to be pulled out of my orbit by a lovely celestial body, that was really on it's way to someone else.
I no doubt, have and will continue to analyze all the reasons that exist, internalize all of them, and use it to beat myself down even further. If I'd been born normal maybe I'd have the curves desired, maybe I wouldn't be depressed, maybe there would be chemistry, maybe I'd have an easier time finding potential partners. Maybe things would be just that slight bit easier that everyone else seems to have. Rationally, I know comparisons are fruitless endeavors, but, emotionally, I feel like everything only gets worse, and more difficult.
I feel, overwhelmingly, inferior. Even being post op now, it's like people just find some other reason I'm not good enough. It isn't just this latest adventure either. I just wish I'd known it wasn't going to last so I wouldn't have gotten my hopes up. That, felt cruel. I'd have normally been more guarded but I felt no reason to assume things weren't going well. Now I've no real choice but to be on guard for longer before allowing my emotions to run wild.
Words do no justice to how exhausted I feel in being rejected over things I've no control over. I imagine, it's easier for "normal" folks, who can see a person, and know if they'd like to smash faces with them rather quickly. I've no such luxury, and by the time I've found out if I do, my emotions are invested in the idea. I'm sure these folks feel chemistry, whatever it feels like, I just have no concept of the idea. It exists in the realm of all things I'll never have a conceptual perception of. It exists along side my normal cisgender childhood, my potential children, my artists dreams of college, and every other aspect of my life that I didn't or couldn't choose.
It's no wonder my emotions are so muted. When you spend your whole life mired in the depths of disappointment at everything: your life, your very body, your entire existence and everything therein, it makes sense to mute the omnipresent desire to kill yourself, to numb everything away, and to do anything to stop feeling the entire spectrum of emotion. It then becomes a self-fulfilling cycle of depression, to disappointment, to hurt, to depression, and so on.
The futility of it all, of just the hurry up and wait to find someone to try again with, is both infuriating and madening. I'm powerless to really do anything different within my comfort boundaries, yet I'm entirely unsatisfied.
Chris, has mentioned in the past that deep down I'm a hopeful person. It's, arguably true. In the sense that I won't give up if there is no cost to continue doing so. But that doesn't mean I believe there is any real hope in doing so.
I'm, just, overwhelmed with the sullen nature of relationships, and the slow heartache and rejection of watching a beloved moon leave orbit, and find a prettier or larger planet to orbit around to everyone's mutual enjoyment, except mine of course.
My core aches, and weeps for the loss. Even if I understand and acknowledge the reason, it all makes reasonable sense, it just hurts to be pulled out of my orbit by a lovely celestial body, that was really on it's way to someone else.
1.06.2016
Greek Mythos
I don't really, have the energy or willpower to write this. I'm forcing myself to in an effort to try and progress out of the current mental state that I'm in.
I find myself back in this pit of depression after having hopes dashed for something I thought had a lot of potential. The frustration and exhaustion of rebuilding from scratch, after having started the long process is dehumanizing. I feel my mental and emotional capacity atrophying and weakening after each attempt. I just don't have the energy to keep doing this over and over. Yet I don't have any real alternatives. Not, reasonable anyway. As much as my tumultuous and insidious monologue cries for my death, it's not a reasonable solution. It sneaks up on me, as it is want to do, but it isn't, and was never, a desired outcome, just the only one left at times.
I digress.
I feel Sisyphean. The effort involved in pushing this boulder up the hill is Herculean, yet, I've no real other choice but to do so. I watch other folk, and they seem to manage to get it up and over the hill and into a place that seems ...stable? No, something more akin to contentment. Yet my mountain seems much more steep, or perhaps my boulder is more a cube. I'm not sure how to aggrandize the metaphor to encapsulate my struggles.
Needless to say I'm not again dealing with the throws of depression, the numbness, the psycho-motor retardation, the loss of appetite to do...anything really. My family helps, and they're by now used to seeing me this way and know the best way to help me through this, but the leg work is still on my end. No one can move that boulder for me. I just feel like laying down and letting it crush me for a while before attempting again. They say my attempts to leave the mountain are unreasonable so, I guess this is what my life is.
I find myself back in this pit of depression after having hopes dashed for something I thought had a lot of potential. The frustration and exhaustion of rebuilding from scratch, after having started the long process is dehumanizing. I feel my mental and emotional capacity atrophying and weakening after each attempt. I just don't have the energy to keep doing this over and over. Yet I don't have any real alternatives. Not, reasonable anyway. As much as my tumultuous and insidious monologue cries for my death, it's not a reasonable solution. It sneaks up on me, as it is want to do, but it isn't, and was never, a desired outcome, just the only one left at times.
I digress.
I feel Sisyphean. The effort involved in pushing this boulder up the hill is Herculean, yet, I've no real other choice but to do so. I watch other folk, and they seem to manage to get it up and over the hill and into a place that seems ...stable? No, something more akin to contentment. Yet my mountain seems much more steep, or perhaps my boulder is more a cube. I'm not sure how to aggrandize the metaphor to encapsulate my struggles.
Needless to say I'm not again dealing with the throws of depression, the numbness, the psycho-motor retardation, the loss of appetite to do...anything really. My family helps, and they're by now used to seeing me this way and know the best way to help me through this, but the leg work is still on my end. No one can move that boulder for me. I just feel like laying down and letting it crush me for a while before attempting again. They say my attempts to leave the mountain are unreasonable so, I guess this is what my life is.
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