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.

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.

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.

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.

Tried and True, Black and Blue.

Apologies for the lack of updates given the drastic nature of my last post. I'm not sure, really, where or how to begin. I've started medication for my depression, which, truth be told, has helped. It cuts out the extreme lows that are normally crippling and dehumanizing. That being said, I still feel the limitation on my emotional range. A large part of me resents that, and wants the full spectrum of my emotions back. I feel in some regards bound, and unable to stretch that capacity. I realize at this point that's likely for the best, but not being to stretch still feels uncomfortable for me.

I've set a soft limit for the first of the year to start getting things back on track. It's a bit silly to attempt to do so during the holiday season and all. Plus it marks a natural starting point with the season, and I've always been big on important dates. Not that finding a job will inherently fix my life, but it's a chore I need to do regardless. If I can manage to do that while also keeping up my writing, I might actually find something worthwhile. Though, the cynic in me is doubtful.

The other bit of news is that I started dating someone. Rather that elucidate my otherwise somber entry with the glowing reports of her, I'll truncate it by saying that it's a bright spot of happiness at the moment that stands in stark contrast to the past few months.

I'm sure there will be more to elaborate as her and I form stronger bonds and begin a D/S style dynamic that has been missing from my life for the better part of three years. The symbolism of this starting also around the turn of the year isn't lost on me. I'm trying not to look to hard into the cyclical nature of these things, but being aware of them isn't terrible. It is nice to feel romantically fulfilled again though. Incredibly nice.

There feels like a lot of emotional expression that's being repressed by the medication. So much water held back by chemical bonded damns. I'm going back to Austin to visit my family the week of New Years. I'm not terrible fond of air travel this time of year, but felt a bit obligated given how much my parents have done for me this year. Obligated, but also thankful. Hearing the excitement in my mothers voice was nice.

The bridging sentiment of the two subjects is that in my trip down, I'm hoping to visit my grandmother's grave for the first time. I've yet to really sit down and process the grief from that. Partially because I was so distant when it happened, and so enthralled into my own life (for understandable reasons). I told my dad to go and process while I was there, as it was what he needed. I wanted to make my peace with her when I could. I've yet to really sit down in do so. This, in theory, should be the first time I'll get a chance to.

Part of me is worried that the experience will be compromised if I continue my medication. I don't really have the option to stop, but the thought is unpleasing. Even in writing this, as I begin to tap back into my emotional observation I see the lows ebbing back in like the tide. Which makes me wonder just how strong of a sea wall the medication is. I want to smash the remnants of whatever puny settlement has erected walls in defiance of my Neptunian emotional waves. I hate feeling so limited, but I know it's incredibly unsafe for me to be unmedicated.

When I wake in the morning is a good indication of this. In the twenty or so minutes between waking, and getting myself out of bed, I'm filled with remarkably strong ruminating thoughts of self harm, death, and suicide. I get incredibly low and angry at the fact that I even woke up to begin with, and am stuck facing another day of this life. These usually subside as I wake and eat, and distract as the day requires of me. The medication can typically push these out of mind as well. It also seems to be helping with the derealization problems also, though those periods are likely to reignite the moment my intense lows return. Even in writing this, and observing where my emotional state is when I sit down to analyze it, the overwhelming capacity of the depression is astonishing. I can almost feel it drain the energy from me in real time.

Writing this in a way feels like stretching all those old depressive muscles, it's relaxing in a way, but also calming in a strange way. It's reassuringly familiar in its sadness. It's been far too long since I've cried.

Still, this week has been nice, and staying with old friends again is helpful, and this holiday should hopefully be a nice one with much celebration with my chosen family.

Warning signs are all I have left

I've grown into a weird comfort level with being on edge. Before I get too in depth, the current plan is to start some form of medication for my depression, it just depends first on meeting with the right people and appointments and what not. There is no current timeframe.

Regressing, I'm being slowly trained on how to dance on knife edge. People ask how I'm doing, and I write out long truths about how I debate what songs to ruin for people by requesting them at my memorial, before erasing it and saying "not so great".

It isn't, that this is an idea I actively court, it's more like a stalker that never leaves my window, and more and more seems like the only viable option I have left. I have, nothing else really in my life. There, is no real light there. The plan is just to suffer through it until I see a psychiatrist, sooner rather than later.

I write, and try to form some sort of narrative, as that is kind of the only thing keeping me alive at this point. I find it incredibly hard to get out of bed, to stop crying, or to write here. Writing here forces me to face the realities of my situation, and that is incredibly painful to relive.

I know there are other options if I begin to lose control. The question though, is can I opt into those in that brief span where I lose control but don't do succumb to my temptations towards violence.

I feel like I've lost the last three months of my life to this. So much time just wasted, lost to this vacuum. As it goes on, I'm starting to feel like I won't be able to climb back out again this time. How many times can I tell people that I want to die before they just stop asking all together.

Still ticking

Oh. Hi. Given all that has transpired, it seems odd that I haven't written. The last two weeks of September were, interesting.

I'd been dealing with some bad depression, and instead of turning to my normal vice of cutting for relief, I tried to smoke. Now, Marijuana has a psychosis effect than can trigger within depressive people, and people with psychotic tendencies. I had the unfortunate luck to trigger one.

What happened, in my bad trip, was that all of my internal monologue of suicide, depression, worthless and hopelessness, became voiced from a third party. I then became the victim of my own emotional abuse, and spiraled out of control. I ended up calling on some friends for help. In the meantime, cutting to pull myself into a state of lucidity, where I could communicate well enough to let people know I needed help. I ended up with ninety plus cuts down my leg. I don't remember doing them all.

I relayed this to my therapist, and she gave me the option of staying with friends, or going to the hospital, since at this point I was still under some heavy duress. I went to stay with some friends. It's been easier there, than staying at home.  Having people to watch over me has been nice.

A few days later, I ran into another heavy depressive episode. fits of crying and hopelessness returned, and the suicidal ideation returned. I watched myself get up, walk to my bag, fetch my razors in secret, and walk to the bathroom. I wasn't alone. But I'd not told anyone what I brought. I sat in the bathroom, playing with the container of my razors, slipping one out, and being unable to put it back in. I began to cut lines down my wrist. Lightly at first, and then harder as I got used it. I drew blood. The cuts weren't serious enough, so I dug harder at where I could find veins with the edge. These were deeper, and got more blood flowing.

At this point, I'd been in the restroom for maybe thirty minutes, maybe longer, I lost track of time between fits of crying and depression. I was, lost. I felt hopeless, in my life, in my situation. The endorphines from the cutting had elevated my mood to the point where I wasn't depressed enough to finish the job, and the sadness had turned to anger. Incredible anger. Eventually I cleaned up all the blood, and my arm, and returned outside.

I wasn't left alone for long after that. I was told I'd have to give up my razors (reasonable), and that if it got any worse I'd have to go to the hospital (also reasonable).

I spent another few days at my friends place before returning home for another therapy session. I spend a few days at home, that felt okay, until they didn't. I woke up late, again, and felt my depression suck the life, and will, out of me. I didn't want to wake up, I didn't want to get up, and face another day of meaningless nothing. I spent the entire day distracting myself, and making arrangements to spend more time away from home.

Which, brings you up to speed.

The last few days have been okay, and, feel like I can swim again. But, it's, not self sustained. I'm leaning on people to support me, and I fear that being alone is a recipe for my depression to start draining my life away.

When things are okay, I feel fine, I feel, not great, but I recognize myself.

When the lows come, I ..can't function. I lose the ability to see any reason to continue existing, and I question my sanity, I question if I'm losing my mind, if my normal rational mind is somehow losing its battle to keep my emotions in check, or perhaps I'm just developing into schizophrenia. It feels like someone opens up a drain beneath me and all the heat, and passion and love and will just slowly seeps out of my pores.

That, isn't the bad part. It's bad, but ..it's not the scary part at least.

What, worries me, is that years ago, even when I was suicidal, I couldn't bring myself to cut my wrists. I'm getting practiced at it now. Each time it gets this bad, my fear gets slightly less, my anger at failing grows, my fear and willingness to fight decreases, and more and more it just seems like the only real solution. It's not, sad, it's not bad, it just is, and that realization becomes very peaceful.

That peace, is truely, fucking, terrifying.

At times, it feels very much like I'm being kidnapped, taken over by some monstrosity, that forces my hand, and kills me. I can ward it off, and keep it at bay, but it's always just sitting behind my shoulder, just out of eyesight. Waiting, just...waiting for me to slip up.