transsexual milf girlblog

23, adult feline female of many interests, dumps words and thoughts with reckless abandon. minors kindly go away

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“It’s okay, it’s all in the plan. There’s a script, I just know it. It’ll be alright.”

I know it’s bullshit, but there’s no other rational reason for me to continue getting in my own way despite my better judgment and me fucking knowing better. Everything was going so smoothly. WHY am I self-sabotaging yet again? Is this some part of fucked up plan by a higher power?! I don’t even believe in that shit, why do I think it’s going to benefit me?

Or it’s my fault. It usually is, after all. Why am I allergic to learning from the consequences of my actions and healing? Why do I doom myself to repeat the same behavioral cycles that hurt me over and over again?

Agh.

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If I close my eyes, is it real?

What I would not give for the familiar feeling of comfort once more.

For however well I may intellectualize the realities of the world I share,

I fail to internalize.

I become a simple-minded, scared animal, crying for her mother.

I desire to flee. I feel trapped within these four walls.

I oscillate rapidly between rationalization and sheer dread.

I become broken down. My zone is flooded.

Their strategy is working.

How eagerly I sacrificed my privilege to live as myself just four short years ago.

And yet, I yearn for comfort. I just want to feel safe again. I can’t fight, within a community or independently.

I wish to flee.

What good is delaying the inevitable?

For however well I have embraced my personality and quirks,

I must admit I have failed.

I have succumbed to the virus of self-absorption.

I scramble to find anything to blame,

my parents! my teachers! my friends! society!

All to soften the blow of reality.

I am but a pawn, molded by naught but privilege and propaganda.

Something is wrong with me. I am not serviceable or worthwhile to maintain anymore. I will summarily be deactivated at their soonest convenience.

Should I just do it myself?

Anything for master’s convenience.

I was neither good enough, nor a meaningful detriment. My value is rendered purgatory.

I realize this, and in keeping with my survival instincts, I exist and aim to please. I take up no space. I do not take community in others, lest I commit the offense of disruption.

All I do is simply breathe in, breathe out. In doing so, I struggle to keep going.

Something’s got to give.

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a hypothetical recurring plan that my friend group has been trying to organize got postponed yet again, as it has been for the past four weeks. cue me, in the middle of midterms, having a whole bpd moment over them probably just having a separate group chat where they arrange to go without me after they give me their excuse. because it can’t be a coincidence that some excuse pops up that they have to cancel for four weeks straight. AND I’m about to be unavailable for the next two weeks! besides, they’re all closer to each other anyway right?

ooohhh, I want to be wrong so bad. I want this to just be a stupid spiral. but fuck I haven’t been fun to be around lately. I’ve oscillated violently between making Eeyore seem like the life of the party and being a blabbermouthed roulette wheel of stale go-to jokes. I’ve had full on dissociative breakdowns over needing to practice basic hygiene. I’ve forgotten my meds a lot which makes me look mannish. I can’t even be bothered to eat more often than I drink alcohol. hell, the last time I posted a selfie in the last two months I had to force myself to do it! I wouldn’t want to be around me, what makes me think they do?

Fuck my stupid catgirl life.

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Vent post. // tw mention of sexual assault and suicidal ideation

Over the past many months, I’ve come to realize I have a debilitating fear of intimacy that has severely hindered my efforts to not just find love, but build community with my fellow comrades. And, well, given it was just Valentine’s Day, it’s been on my mind a lot. Related, I drank from 10 am to 9 pm today, and I have to be up in four hours. God save me. I will attempt to be coherent here but bear with me.

Since a nasty breakup I had in August after having my consent and physical boundaries actively violated by a man who saw me as more of a giver than an actual equal partner, I’ve backslid a lot mentally. I’m still getting a degree and certificate in May hopefully, but I’ve been nearly asocial outside of that. Hell, I can’t even try to find partners right now. I’m not ready to be vulnerable, and that’s not fair to me or the hypothetical partner(s). What really sucks, though, is I’ve been through this before. And I did the necessary work on myself and put myself back out there, only to get hurt again.

What I realized from this breakup is that if I want any of my relationships to work, whether platonic or romantic, I have to display vulnerability. That sucks! I hate that! But I tried the opposite, and it led to people using me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve had multiple thoughts that I’d rather just die alone, preferably sooner rather than later. But I suppose the only way out is through.

In addition, romantically, it really does not help that I actively despise certain gestures of intimacy. For one, I detest being submissive in the bedroom. Given my history, the idea of being not in control and at another person’s disposal is a dreadful prospect. And for a while, I enjoyed being the proper femdom, in control and having pathetic little bitches clamoring for a drop of my attention. But now that the world is closing in on me, I realize I don’t have the composure and skills to put up that façade anymore, especially as I struggle to be a basic adult. But in my mind, to be cared for is to accept defeat, and that is revolting. I refuse to do that. Additionally, I hate holding hands. Not only does the feeling of sweaty palm against palm not play nicely with my autistic sensory issues, but I don’t like not being able to walk at my own pace and get away quickly if there is danger, unimpeded. It’s constantly on my mind, and I’m panicking while my partner is happily hand in hand with me, unaware of my anguish. Which seems to be a common refrain in my relationships. And it took me until I got sexually assaulted, again, to realize I was no longer cool with that.

What the hell do I do now? The sheer anguish and profound woe with which this has burdened me has permeated to all facets of my life, and this has been exacerbated by the fact that the person with whom I have the most complicated romantic and interpersonal history ever and who I did not leave on good terms with JUST MOVED TO MY CITY. Given I have real life friends who may find or see this blog, well, the less said about that the better. At the end of the day, nothing has plunged me into a depressive and suicidal spiral as quickly and deeply as this. Fuck, I have a note I wrote in my notes app. I’m not at risk right now, but it isn’t deleted. Fuck. I hate this so much. Why can’t I just be normal? Fuck this stupid day.

If you’re reading this, I love you, thanks for letting me scream into the void. I’ll be fine tomorrow, I think.

[catgirlinterrupted]

in the face of (gestures vaguely at the horrors), there’s something to be said about the odd sense of security I feel in the “bad neighborhood.” it was the middle of the night and I was on a bus through an oft vilified part of the city I love so much.

I was near out of commission, I was so drained. my mental health has been in a tailspin due to vitamin D deficiency and how awful things are becoming. the three other passengers on the bus were clearly mentally ill and/or on drugs. one sporadically yelling and smacking the window, one staring and scratching his arm, one breathing heavily and talking under his breath.

yet I felt safer than I did at a boujee college campus filled with frat bros or a white suburb with a lot of people who’d probably kill me for the sake of their egg prices. I felt a bizarre sense of community in that. like you’re visibly mentally ill? hell yeah, brother, cheers! and I’m newly extremely marginalized? they’re poor black men in a blighted part of the city, they’ve lived this their whole life. I just find it interesting is all.

additionally, shoutout to the guy who got on the bus and outright admitted to the driver to being a drug dealer, and the driver didn’t do shit. snitches get stitches in these parts. I love this city, even and especially if I’m the only white one sometimes

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Anyone who knows me knows I’m absolutely obsessed with public transit and urbanism, and take great pride in my city to the point of being annoying about it. Sure, I love the infrastructure and the geography, and have oh so many hardly-informed opinions. But damn, do I also love the convoluted sense of community. I’m on my way to a concert, makeup poorly rushed on and dressed hyper-feminine. I get on an express bus, delayed over 10 minutes and packed to the gills. For the rest of the ride, the bus is a manifestation of everyone gathered together in a common pursuit of just not being too late to whatever function, sitting in dead silence as the bus fights for its life along a congested stretch of highway. Just nobody talking to each other yet sharing in the space and experience all the same. Then getting off and going separate ways, hardly even thinking about that except for a gripe. But I don’t know, I think it’s pretty neat.

God I need to write again

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get yourself a relationship so happy and fulfilling that “i love you” becomes a vocal stim

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how the fuck do people try and say that it’s normal to spout awful shit while drunk and “unfiltered”? like when I got drunk tonight all I did was not hold back on the advice I gave to my friend to dump her toxic self-centered girlfriend. the protective maternal instincts kick in even harder when I’m drunk!! in vino veritas, I suppose

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okay so this miiiiight turn into a writing blog. that’s cool. anyway I’m starting to draft up this psychological horror book, not to publish it or anything but just bc I want to put fingers to keyboard and develop a story. in all likelihood nobody will ever read it but me, in part because I hate showing my work off to people because I never think it’s good enough and in part because of the extremely disturbing themes thereof. my dad asked me if I’d been writing recently and I said something brief about it and he mentioned he wanted to read it. I gave a quick reassurance that if he was up for disturbing content then sure, but I don’t think I’ll let him specifically because a lot of it is a vent piece for problems he doesn’t know I have 😭 what to dooooo

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i spent so much time tonight going down a rabbit hole into character creation theory in the context of creative writing, because i have an itch of wanting to get back into it. i specifically looked heavily into adaptations of the classic four-temperament ensemble (melancholic, choleric, sanguine, and phlegmatic). i delved deep into how this applied to media i had watched/read and loved, and took note of which characters i related to and sympathized with the most. i was so fascinated that all the characters fit the melancholic and phlegmatic types to at least a certain degree. i spent HOURS looking into this.

it is now 5:30 am and the only takeaway from this is that i am an introvert. wow. groundbreaking and novel revelation. totally worth only getting 3 hours of sleep generously.

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“are you okay? talk to me” “your behavior recently has been alarming” “I think you might have bpd” “I can tell you’ve been going through a lot lately”

fuck you im just a girl

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has anyone ever considered that I hate myself not bc I’m mentally ill or have a disorder but bc I’m just an objectively bad person

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is it just me or is everyone who says teleportation wouldn’t be the best superpower able bodied? like cmon be fr imagine how convenient it would be if you’re disabled. teleportation wouldn’t fuck up your joints 😤

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am I the only one who doesn’t find shower/bath sex even slightly appealing? like beyond being naked in the same tight confines I don’t see the aphrodisiac there at all. water/soap is a godawful lubricant, it’s wayyyy too slippery for the deed, and water pelting your back while you’re giving backshots just doesn’t sound fun to me. idk maybe I’m too focused on my hair care in the shower lol

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ok idk if this is a hot or cold take anymore but I rly cannot stand how normalized bad hygiene and general filth is in the transfem community especially. like if your room is just messy/cluttered or you find it difficult to gather the spoons to do personal hygiene that’s one thing but. please attempt to keep yourself clean. please brush your teeth. please take out your trash more than once a month. I promise you, you’ll feel better for it. like seriously this post isn’t to shame people who struggle for any reason, I ain’t about that. I just want to comment on how it’s honestly kind of glorified in some of my circles to do this stuff (“loser gf”/“girlrotter” aesthetic), when long periods of no self-care/preservation tend to only leave you much more depressed. it’s almost a circlejerk at this point. I promise, glamour is not the enemy! it’s rewarding mentally and you’ll feel so much better about yourself (especially from a gender euphoria perspective) and life.

(Ima be honest if anything this is a self callout post, just so I can look back and remind myself of this when the depressive thoughts have hands. don’t be like me!)

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you ever just think about how brainwormed puppygirls would grow a lovely coat of fur and then call themselves gorillamoders