State of life and being. Emotional and ranty. Kinda depressing. Be warned.
There is an increasing level of extrapolation that is annihilating me as a person. Amongst so many other things; I have not let myself live. I don’t want to let myself live. It’s terrifying. I’m terrified.
I moved out. Its been almost a month. It’s so amazing to be out of my parents house. Outside that environment. But I no longer know what to do with myself. How to act. How to situate myself. I woke up to hear people yelling, or maybe talking super loud and threw up because I thought it was my parents.
I know healing is tough. But life is beyond kicking my ass. My apartment has a smell of previous tenants, weed, and pest spray. The water is less drastic on my skin, I can scrub it off now without feeling like I have a layer of something on my skin. My living is largely untouched other than a few pieces.
I know that I have to give myself time and space. I know. I know. I know. I know. But I ache with inactivity. I ache with the knowledge of so much. I’m not naive enough to say I recognize everything in myself and the situation I have myself in, but I also am so incredibly aware of everything. I have been for the majority of my teen and now adult life. An awareness, a consciousness. The type of feeling when a therapist or an older adult calls you mature or self aware.
Bad habits build. I lose myself to the thralls of want. To the idea of need. The thought, not the action. I crave change but am frozen by my innaptitude to act upon my fears.
Time. Effort. I have to give myself that. I try new small actions. Small steps to propel myself. One foot on a step, the other foot on the same step. Hand on the rail. Slow slow progress.
I’m not out. I wish to be. I can’t bring myself to. For the sake of me. I can’t explain to people over and over again who I am. Defend my personhood. Defend my existence.
I love being trans. I love working towards a me I can look in the mirror and smile at. Only a few know. Being called a man, being wrongly labeled and the wrong pronouns, being perceived as a man has chipped away so thoroughly that the remains are barely holding together.
I’ve all but lost the want to explain how I feel. Its also exhausting. Everything is exhausting. I can’t explain. I have to deal with it. I have help. Hands to accept, help me stand and walk.
I can’t bring myself to continue to grab because the effort I put into myself is less than theirs. How can someone help you when you can’t help yourself.
Easy answer they can’t. But they can help you reach a point of being able to help yourself with the acceptance of their help.
Too tired. Crying myself to sleep because the exhaustion of it all.
I should get another therapist. The one I had previous had health issues and isn’t able to continue her practice. Sharing myself again that deeply is a must if I want help professionally like that again. Alas.
More. There is always more.
I haven’t had romantic relationships ever. I feel it. In my body. In my soul. In my everything. The lack of connection in that specific way. I can’t bring myself to date when I can hardly look at myself in the mirror. But thats besides the point. I want to find love but I don’t search for it in that form. I know it also doesn’t work in any specific way. I have freinds who I love dearly but its not the same.
Another “problem” that I don’t solve.
I’m lonely. I have so many people to talk to. Sk many that I forget to message. That I don’t have the energy to mesage back. I dislike how i treat them. A lack of effort less on a want but on a lack of energy to participate in conversation. To have the back and forth.
I miss physical touch. Even more desperatly. I long for a relationship but I’ve not had one. Anything substantial. But oh have I had physical touch. The closeness of lounging over your friends. A hug, a playful push, the brush of a hand, the feel of a laugh and voice on your skin. The closeness. That it brings. I beyond crave it. I lack it so much that I can’t help but cuddle my stuffed animals to bed every night. A warm hoodie, big thick heavy blanket, anything to try to simulate it.
My irl friends are all in relationships that have spanded periods of years. They stopped touch unless I ask or initiate it. And thats even still just a hug. Im not asking for anything crazy. I miss closeness like that.
I get asked for relationship advice as if I’m a advisor who is getting paid for such services. I don’t mind it usually. I love helping. I love feeling useful. A horrid thing Ive assigned myself. Gotta provide something. Ive been working on that. Pretty tough. Its been slow going but something I’ve noticed change upon.
There is more of course. Always more. Enough to fill a lake. But the feelings are in rein now. Controlled again. The outburst, the feeling relegated to itself spot until next.
