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@queerqoncept-archive
I have no idea what to expect with tonight's release, but here we go ...in the meantime, I hope you can enjoy this. Maybe you will or maybe you'll get a laugh out of it. Either way, have a good night.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3040McWIOyCfyhTC1Adwc7?si=u2kY5ZncR2uK9K9GR4BnJg&utm_source=copy-link
Happy Birthday.
This is set to post on your birthday, but by then it'll have been an entire month since I last used this gxdforsaken app/hellsite. I hope your summer semester has been well & law school goes as good as you'd like it to be. I'll probably text you a happy birthday text, even if you don't get it.
If it wasn’t for such selfish reasons, I’d try and get Rachel to message you and apologize for lying to you & using you to hurt me on her birthday; how she cheated on me & the time she threw my phone across the room because my alarm was going off & how she got jealous when we were already broken up & isolated me from my friends & etc; but I digress.
I know I'll never get the apologies I'd like to receive, but that's alright. We both know you've had trouble properly apologizing in the past; I don't think I could ever hold that against you -- I don't know if there's anything I could hold against you -- although it's something I'd be more than happy to work through if you'd be willing to give it time. All that said, I’d much rather start a new conversation than rehash water under the bridge.
I'd love for you to text me when the next Taylor Swift album drops, and we can see where we stand now that we're completely different people than who we were when we knew each other. Like I said in the tags of my last post on my side blog: there is no more Ryan, I killed him long ago; I don't know if it's the same, but just as you're Liv now, I'm Ry'n now.
I only blame myself for holding myself back when it came to hormones; I don't blame your mother and I especially don't blame you for me stalling HRT. That was on me 1000%. I'm sorry for all my behavior that was toxic & everything that could qualify as abusive that came out of the pain I was in because I had the wrong hormones in my body. You never deserved any of it; I wish my memory was better because then I'd give a thorough apology to every misstep. I’d probably make an entirely separate blog for it if it wasn’t a “waste” of time; a lockbox of letters if you will. Not because either one of us needs it, but because I know what it's like to have people you trust hurt you & brush it off instead of apologizing [my parents still haven't apologized for all the stuff they've done] to us.
I wish you the best as you Keep Moving Forward.
- Ry
It's beaten out of you in elementary school.
Mine was beaten out of me in middle school as a psychiatrist reached across the room and flicked me in the ear every time I so much as fidgeted while telling my parents it wasn't child abuse if the marks they left on me didn't last 24 hours and told me how worthless I was and belittled me every time I had a mental breakdown hahaha. (Unsurprisingly he didn't believe autism was real so it was my ADHD they were trying to "fix")
"Some things you can't forget. But you can fight to make them better."
Just because you might've had "the zoomies" beaten out of you doesn't make you any less deserving of love; no matter how broken you may feel during the darkest of nights.
There are still times where I have to step back to try and put the pieces back together.
Often it's when we're on the birth of a new chapter in life.
And so I breathe.
And so I breathe.
And so I breathe.
But it takes a toll finding your scattered puzzle pieces.
All the while my inner voice is a cacophony of howls clawing at each corner of our mind.
I'm not broken.
I'm not broken.
I'm not broken.
Physically, I find the rot that's deluged my mind as disgusting, and so I've pruned and purged myself over and over.
Mentally, there's a near-constant flame burning that could singe a phoenix's tail, begging over and over to hatch again.
Borne anew.
Borne anew.
Borne anew.
But that's the thing: I'm weak and I'm constantly failing, aren't I? Except we are the successes on all our baddest days. We are the failures we've lived through & grown from. We are the epicenter of our dissolutions, those worst thoughts & memories, and yet we trudge through the depths of our miseries.
Pick yourself up, kiddo, those demons are paper tigers itching to be burnt to ashes. And if you don't, just know this: silver tongues die on a golden platter.
You've been fighting to make a life you truly want, and you may come back to read this at your lowest point yet, or hell, you might already be around the bend from another breakdown. But we're not dead yet, and we're not pulling teeth (yet) either, so we're done pulling punches: get the fuck back up and dust yourself off.
You've worked through the trauma of being molested in your own home; sexually used and abused by friends. You've worked through the guilt over the possibility & likelihood of carrying & burdening that pain unto another who means the world to you. You've worked through the shame of your self-harm; confessed it to others & how you're regretful for it hurting them; even if their responses felt cold and retaliatory, what's done is done.
So demand to give Life's manager a combustible lemon to the face; because it's just like that sometimes, and I'm done putting my pain through a poetic prose, the rhetoric is ridiculous if not entirely realistic. But you know what is real? I'm really fucking glad kids are slowly getting queer representation; I got caught up with Owl House and all the wholesome ways Luz and Amity are just *together* means so much to me; as much as it means seeing Raine be effortlessly referred to correctly, no slip ups on their pronouns, even when they were a kid ...their relationship with Eda made me smile so much. I just want people to have what I never got; I want kids to feel safe and know they're wanted; they aren't a freak who feels forced to hide away in their room & sexualize themself as a way to cope, and as such don't end up hurting themself & others when all they want is a single fucking friend they can be around without worrying about the fear of judgment.
Speaking of sex, I think I'm borderline repulsed; don't get me wrong, in the right moments I absolutely could theoretically enjoy myself. It's just that I can't even imagine scenarios nowadays -- no matter how wholesome or horrendous -- without it being painful. Because there's only one grounding factor I'd find comforting, that'd truly soothe my mind, regardless of the actual fantasy(s) that would then play out. But wanting something when you're not wanted can perpetually burn your joy to ashes as it overrides every other thought regardless of my *actual* intent & desire.
So I guess the only thing I can do is continue telling myself to get the fuck over it; something I've done a hundred times, yet given the chance, my mind still jumps at the ready like a pet that needs a tighter collar & leash; whether I think it's the best choice of action or not seems to not matter. Anyways, Aurora Borealises are gorgeous beyond compare; even when they're painful to think about, I'd see it in a heartbeat just to say I finally did it.
And speaking of jumping, I'm tired of the fact that I still jump at sudden loud noises; it doesn't even have to be a door being slammed, it could just be a cabinet being shut too loud. And the fact that it does makes me feel like an embarrassment.
I'm tired of wanting to finally be told I was wrong; you didn't think I was a constant embarrassment. But it doesn't really matter what you think, does it?
I shouldn't highly value the opinion of someone who seemingly only wants to hurt me, right? And yet I do. I shouldn't be so willing to give you countless chances to prove otherwise, right? And yet I do. Maybe that's what you felt like you had to do? Well I refuse to let myself be convinced it was intentional, that you meant the mean -- oft outrageous -- things you'd say to me. Maybe you felt it was the best course of action; I'd like to believe that you'd take the opportunity to actually apologize for once. Maybe not for telling me you knew I'd downgraded simply because I was talking with and trying to rekindle my friendship with Bree after you'd made me afraid to talk to her while we were "together"; maybe not for how while we were on the way to the beach to sunbathe -- because I know how much you enjoy it & I just wanted to spend time with you -- you talked about how you were thinking of getting high and fucking what's his name like we'd talked about doing together; maybe not for how you didn't want your friends seeing you spend time with me when we were just getting coffee & studying; hell maybe not even for any of the other things that still claw at my mind like talons, razors sharpened to dig into my skull about how unwanted I was.
But maybe eventually you'll find something that actually needs & is deserving of an apology; just don't go wasting your time crawling through your brain picking apart every viable memory you can, endlessly obsessing over how each of those actions were misguided -- becoming utterly revolted by your own actions possibly to the point that you have trouble looking at yourself in the mirror in the process -- and likely could've possible hurt me, trying to find the appropriate apology while also trying to balance the risky chance of not triggering any additional unwanted pain bringing up said memory. Because I know from first hand experience that it's a fucking waste of time that rots away your brain, eating you out from the inside, and the best thing to do is tell me what's done is done, and if I want an apology I can ask for it specifically without beating around the bush.
I spent years making that mistake all for it to culminate in you coldly asking if I thought I took advantage of you & if I cheated on you. That answers the former, but for the latter? I kept myself from making friends out of fear you'd think I was cheating on you; just to move back and have you tell me I needed other friends. It wasn't healthy, and it's a mistake I've learned from, but a part of me doesn't regret it.
But what takes the cake of my mistakes I do regret? Me holding off on hormones -- the BEST thing that would've helped to save our friendship -- because I was afraid for your safety is all on me, and I'm sorry for that; especially my fear of bringing it up making you angry because I was convinced you'd think I was insulting your mother when that was the farthest from what I ever wanted.
Again, that's on me; but the shit you'd say of your own volition? That's always been on you. Hell I wouldn't want you to try apologizing for that shit right off the bat (it would eventually be nice to hear though), because like you said: What's done is done. Fuck, I wouldn't even mind if you continued to act in that manner if you showed you had been/are working on your skills apologizing. You could tell me to fuck off and then apologize to me in the same sentence and I'd want you to tell me what I did wrong so I could help fix it; yes,even if it actually had nothing to do with me. If we were actually friends -- still or again -- this is where I'd say "I want to help; how can we fix this together?"
And that's because you're better than all of that shit in the past. Because I know you. And sure I could say I'm pissed that I still want to know you, but I'm even more pissed that I don't understand you. All of that is to say that regardless of my mood, it doesn't change the fact that I'll always want to know & understand you. I've wanted the past to stay in the past, but that doesn't fucking mean I ever wanted to lose my best friend. I just didn't want to hear about how you gave some random tinder dude "the best blowjob of his life" when I'd visit you at work; was that the one you drove home too? At least not while you were also sending me a fucking gravure photo rubbing it in my face what I've lost; yes, it was a stunningly gorgeous photo but all it did was remind me how much of a fuckup I was.
All of this is to say I'm better at not letting your words get to me like they have. Sure, out of everything you've ever said to me, it still fucks with me what you said at the end of Deadpool 2 when Negasonic & Yuki showed up to fight. (Do you even remember what you said?) But I bring that example up because that's in the past; what's done is done; so what do you want from me now?
As for me? I want you to stop stonewalling; and arguably more important to me: let's start with what I can do to help stop it from happening.
Honestly don't remember how I was gonna start this post, but I often think about how I wish I had started HRT sooner; in tandem, I wish I had gotten a better grasp of my nonbinary trans identity sooner. In Chicago, or ideally even sooner in life.
I need to dump some cold water on my mental head and move on.
However, one thing I keep coming back to lately -- especially with all the anti Trans shit and claiming we're groomers & pedophiles -- is the fear my brain latched onto involving Her mother finding out. I never told Her this (because how do you even bring it up???), but I had a (gxd I hope it was irrational) fear of Her mother finding out I was Trans, and not only thinking even WORSE of me (I still remember -- more often than I should & just as much as the time she got upset at me because I told her I saw a cute ginger but the whole reason why I even told her that was because it made me think of her -- the time where I was told how my possible-future-mother-in-law-at-the-time thought even less of me than her cheating asshole ex-husband; that was a super fun thing to have constantly rattling around in my head) because I was Trans, but especially over the fear of her possibly thinking I was a pedophilic groomer ...and at my lowest moments, I legitimately believed there was a possible risk of someone in their family causing me bodily harm for being trans. (And yet I still stand by my desire to have gotten the chance to win them over, but that's neither here nor there; what's done is done.)
Anyways, gonna go shove these pills up my ass (as I do three times a day 🙃) and go get some sleep. I'm glad I only have to stab myself in the ass once a week haha.
shoutout to people who find mother’s day hard to deal with whether your mom left, your mom died, your mom is abusive, your mom is hard to connect with, you don’t get to see her, etc. get through today as best you can. love you.
I worry I might have an abcessed tooth.
I think I might start a Butch-Blog; I'd say an 18+ one, but let's be real: k!nk should very likely be 21+ (I'm a proponent of the sharing of information, especially for the pro-active safety of others ...just not actively involving those who shouldn't be engaging in any of these "activities"; for whatever reason that may be.)
Maybe have it be a play on this blog's name.?
Qinkcept!?
Anyways, the better question is: do I have it as a side blog to this one.
Or do I finally "move on" ? It's always hard, but each time I get better: at it, doing it, CONTROLLING it.
Learning how to Begin Again.
On my terms; as things used to be; as they should've always continued growing.
How long has it been now since I've been myself?
It's getting there. I'm getting there. We're getting there.
Stoicly; until the joy returns alongside the satisfaction.
Things might not get better, but you will be; sooner than you think.
It just might not be the you, well, you'd recognize; if you can even remember them.
And if not; maybe that's for the best.
Until WE can make a better you.
Because I know you will do it.
While I do it for me too!
Again, and again, and.
Again until it... it just.
Just works; after all.
All these attempts.
Finally; they work.
We know it will...
It'll pay off soon.
Like it does.
As we do:
We
Keep
Moving
Forward!
I can't be getting bad again ...I just can't be. It's a possibility, and one I've flirted with far too often over the years, but every time I'm on some kind of up, it feels like more and more of a disservice to even entertain the thought of allowing myself to get worse ...I continue to find the healthier and realistic coping mechanisms, and I pray that the habits take hold.
I feel the cracking of my jaw, the subtle breaking of my teeth, and I do the only thing I'm capable of: directing the energy so that the healing is productive. I'll likely need to get another round of teeth pulled, but that's the sad truth: amputation is sometimes the healthiest route.
I just wish we could regrow.
I wish I'd gotten to have a smile I wanted to see. And maybe I'll have some thing some day soon. Until then?
Keep Moving Forward.
I'm tired, but no matter how much I may feel broken, I remind myself I'm not a freak. AKA: Happy Birthday Ry'n, you've survived another year; please try KEEP DOING your best to make it to the next, you Beautiful Bastærd!
I... I never know how to feel about myself. It's 3:33 am central (at least it was when I started writing this), because my roommate has a family that she wants to interact with, so we're back in town for the weekend; I often wonder what that's like. Sure, my mother is decent, but between my German immigrant grandmother who support(s/ed) tr*mp and my father who within the same conversation of defending k*le r*tt*nh**se told me "so long as you have a penis, you'll always be my son," (And asked me "What're you, retarded?" When I accidentally woke him up trying to get food in the middle of the night) I really have minimal interest of interacting with my birth family.
I'd try interacting with my "found family," but I've been isolated from them for so long that it hurts even reaching out to them. It's been 2 years & 2 days since I was made to feel like absolute shit; intentionally hurt and made to feel unlovable and disliked by my friends. It's not my fault my "wife" (it hurts to type that, let alone say it out loud, as it still feels like cheating on a stranger that wants nothing to do with me ...gxd, yes I know I'm fucked up, but I digress) decided to hurt me in that regard; after all, it was her abusive piece of shit ex that really fucked her up. I do care about her, and every day I try my best to be there for her, but... it hurts living with someone who has hurt you to the point of wanting to k*ll yourself; at least she's repeatedly admitted to the fact that she wanted to intentionally hurt me when she reached out to those people on her birthday; she's to this day working to rectify that ...I just wish she could've given me the birthday present I wanted this year: apologizing to the person she used to hurt me; in the way she know would hurt me most.
And the worst part is that I still wish I could interact with that person; is it pathetic that one of the few things I really, truly want for my birthday is to be invited to graduation? Humility is humbling after all, so maybe "saying it out loud" is a cathartic thing in itself. I don't know. I'm working a job now that'd allow me to actually go, so hypothetically I could go with 100% certainty if any remote sign of consent (ideally enthusiastically) were given.
I often wonder how things would have ended up had I actually gone through with staying at that university. I wonder if I would've been more comfortable going had you not told me you were uncomfortable with us being on the same campus; even with being a few semesters behind, I could've busted my ass and graduated "early" so as to have accomplished it at the same time.
Your education has always been one of the most important things to me, after all.
Anyways, I'll ideally be starting school (again-again-again) soon; I'm thinking a sociology degree with a minor in business psychology sounds like fun. The more I look into it, being an archivist does sounds right up my alley ...and who knows, I might still look into law school once I'm in my 30s; if the world's still around at that point, it'll increase my ability to help people. (Yes, one of my goals -- as conceited as it's ever been -- still is to be that hot af professor/librarian that all the T[&]As come to, whom I help yet reject their attempts to make a move on me; there's a sense of sadistic pleasure I get in denying other people's advances on me ...sue me, but I do love denial after all.)
My head is fucked up from all the childhood head trauma (having that brick thrown at my head really makes it a steep uphill battle to concentrate & live up to my full potential) I've endured, but gxddamn do I plan to continue to set the groundwork for the life I want & deserve (even if I often hesitate on allowing myself to acknowledge just how good of a life I truly deserve) ...you may think I may come across as full of myself (no, not that way; wishful thinking, much?) but with all the anti-trans and anti-gay shit that's been going on lately, I need to be as "cocky" as ever if I intend to weather this storm and make a difference in the world. And so I ask:
So what if I come across as a narcissist?
So what if I come across as a sociopath?
So what if I come across as a lot worse?
The world is a cold, harsh place, and we need to bring our best selves as we work to raise up those around us and continue to build it better than ever before. No matter how much those with malicious intent attempt to raze us to the ground.
After I moved back to Florida, after everything had fallen apart because I was so heavily triggered (I think I started getting brain damage when I first moved back??? My parents promised me my bedroom, which I then didn't get for the first week or so living there & on top of that, they made my old room even more of a mess than it used to be), I ran into a friend's mom, and she told me that she could tell "there's a hole in you"; I'll probably never forget that. (And how she tried to get me to go to church with her, which was the last thing my borderline-converting-to-judaism ass needed, but that's not the point!)
I've been trying my best for four years now (honestly five, considering in 2017 she at first told me she was falling out of love with me, and then later admitted it was a lie, and she was instead forcing herself out of love with me; or as I've always interpreted it: cutting her chest open and forcefully ripping me out of her heart; but honestly, she had every right to do that, and although I wish she hadn't -- because I know what it can do to you to have to do that to someone you love -- she had to do what she had to do: What's Done Is Done, right?), and I've been working on slowly closing it; healing it; mending it. Specifically so that I can be my best self; FOR MYSELF, GXDDAMMIT!
Anyways, you can't just shove your rational thoughts aside and throw everything into it that you can; it's not a hole that can be filled, but a hole that needs to be made whole. Yeah, sure, drugs and alcohol might help a little bit, but Band-aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes; fuck (ironic wording), I can't remember the last time I had sex (that was fulfilling; I've fucked ... a few times in recent memory, but it just keeps getting more and more emotionally painful) that was intimate in the way I need it. (Actually, that might be a lie, I slept with a friend at the end of Feb'20 that lead to me actually being able to move on; maybe not with that friend, but in general ....if things hadn't gone to shit, that is.)
Regardless, it's all a waste of time in the grand scheme, right? In some ways, I worry that I'm back to square one. No, I don't "just" think everything is chemical reactions, but I'm back to being hung (strung?) up over on an ex with whom all I ever wanted was a friendship, as I'm... well, that's really no one else's businesses, no matter how much I wish I had my best friend to talk it all through.
I think back to ... fuck I lost my train of thought. What does it even matter? There's no such thing as privacy, is there? I think I might've started developing Schizophrenia (or more likely: I suffer from Schizoaffective Dissorder) at some point from everything that's happened over the past 5ish years WHICH IS ON ME, AND IS MY RESPONSIBILITY TO TAKE CARE OF!!! (Of course we can't just will ourselves to be better or do it solely on our own; I'm constantly telling myself -- hoping one day I'll convince myself -- that we NEED to allow others to help us to help ourselves!)
I don't know where I'm going with this ...just... maybe it's that despite my fucked up, complicated thoughts & feelings in regards to the person I hurt; no matter how much they may hate, despise, or just flat out be apathetic towards me, I'll always want the best for them, and will always be rooting for them. They wouldn't allow me, or rather I lost the right, to cheer them on as a partner; or even as a friend. But even if they decide I never deserve to be part of their life again, I'll always be one of their biggest cheerleaders.
My brain cannot accept that able bodied people don’t have a base pain level. Like? You’re not in pain?? At all??? Even a little bit??? You don’t have a constant background radiation of pain???
Sounds fake but ok
"The normal amount of pain is zero"
Sure it is
i love when tragedies are like “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”
Still bothered by the US cultural idea that men can only be non-romantically intimate with one another in war-like or competitive circumstances.
I’m pretty quiet about the fact I’m a transman usually, but holy shit I need to tell you about the culture shock I’m going through because it’s blindsiding me.
There’s a huge sense of social isolation that comes with being perceived as male, because now people are subconsciously treating me as a potential predator. All strangers, no matter their gender, keep their guard up around me.
It made me realize that there is no inherent camaraderie in male socialization as there is in female socialization—unless, of course, it’s in very specific environments. And the fact I don’t amnbiently experience this mutual kinship in basic exchanges anymore is an insanely lonely feeling.
You know how badly this would have fucked my mind up if I had grown up with this?
It is 4:30am and I’m mourning the loss of a privilege I didn’t even know I had.
Anyway, I’m going to figure out how to navigate this. Don’t know how yet, but I’m gonna.
Absolutely, because it’s an extremely sticky issue.
Frankly, this is something I would’ve never understood without living the experience.
It’s now blatantly clear to me that most cis men probably experience chronic emotional malnutrition. They’re deprived of social connection just enough for it to seriously fuck with their psyches, but not enough for them to realize that it’s happening and what’s causing it.
It’s like they’re starving, but don’t know this because they’ve always been served 3 meals…except those meals have never been big enough.
This deprivation comes from all sides of aisle, by the way.
In the case of women: When I’m out in public and interact with women, all of them come off as incredibly aloof, cold, and mirthless. I have never experienced this before even though I know exactly what this composure is—the armor that keeps away creepy-ass men.
As someone who used to wear it myself, I know this armor is 100% impersonal. Nobody likes wearing it, and I can say with absolute certainty that women would dump the armor in favor of unconditional companionship with men if doing this didn’t run the risk of actual assault. (Trust me when I say women aren’t just being needlessly guarded.)
But I only have a complete understanding of this context because I’ve experienced female socialization. If I hadn’t, I would’ve thought this coldness was a conspiracy against me devised by roughly half of the human population. Even now, with all that I know about navigating the world as a woman, I’m failing to convince my monkey-brain that this armor isn’t social rejection.
And as for male socialization? Again, it seems taboo for a man to be platonically intimate with men for reasons I have yet to fully understand, but I think it boils down to a) the fact society teaches boys that it’s not okay to be soft with each other, and b) garden-variety homophobia. Our media only shows men being intimate with one another when they’re teamed up against a dire situation, and I’d bet real money it’s a huge reason why men gravitate toward activities that simulate being teamed up against an opposing force.
But men are not machines of war. Yes, testosterone absolutely gives you Dumb Bastard Brain, but that just makes you want to skateboard a wagon down a hill or duct-tape your friend to the wall, not kill someone.
The human species looks so much colder standing from this side.
I can see how men might convince themselves that their feelings of emotional desperation is personal weakness as opposed to a symptom they’re all experiencing from White Imperialism. Because this human connection, this frith, is as essential for our wellbeing as water is.
So sick. How sick. I want to destroy this garbage.
As an Autistic Trans Woman (nonbinary-butch-y flavored), it killed me growing up. Literally multiple times throughout my life! (High school was so cold and lonely when I -- unknowingly -- just wanted to be one of "the girls." All while I was trapped in a constantly changing body that made me feel like more and more of an unlovable freak!) Between the depression, anxiety, and so much more, it causes brain damage in a way that we normalize as "just how men are" when men in fact are S U F F E R I N G in a way that is often ignored, diminished, or even laughed at. Self-gaslighting is a horrible thing, and when you let others convince you you're a monster, and ESPECIALLY when you don't have a support system to remind you you're not, you internalize it and can become one of the most toxic pieces of shit you'd NEVER want to know, let alone BE! (This is me speaking from experience; constantly worrying about how much of an immoral beast I've been in the past. It's hard to remember when dissociative amnesia has been such a big part of my life.)
I remember once being told by a girl I wanted to be JUST platonic friends with (in high school, where I was incredibly lonely and didn't know what I'd done wrong to deserve to be so alone) told me she thought I'd shoot up the school ...at most, I'd ONLY have un-alive'd myself; I just wanted to not feel alone. (Why would I ever intentionally harm someone??? I know what it's like to live in pain, and I hate the idea of anyone else feeling anything remotely close!)
Felt like shit yesterday morning (but I got better!) for a number of reasons.
Valentine’s Day is always difficult, but especially this year; I’ve felt like a fuck-up for a good chunk of my life, but especially in recent years in regards to my constant ‘fucking up’ my interactions with my best friend. No, it doesn’t help that before this most recent interaction/fuck-up, the last thing she “said” to me (because it was an indirect message which I knew would be used the way it ended up being used) was that she was apathetic towards me & would rather not have any contact with me for the rest of her life. So yeah, not the best note to have left off on before getting the random whiplash of her saying she was sorry & feeling nostalgic. Anyways, that in turn doesn’t help with my “general” anxiety about being an unlovable freak; a recurring intrusive thought I’m able to silence most of the time, but has been rearing its ugly head a LOT lately. Obviously I know neither one of those things are true; I’m incredibly lovable, and I’m not a “freak” in any sense of the word (especially physically). I even went out over the weekend, and made some new friends in the process! (Try as I might, it’s incredibly difficult to not wish she was able to join us.) There’s probably more that could be said, but it’s insignificant in the grand scheme. What helped get me out of the morning-funk I was in was getting the email from our soon-to-be landlord saying he was looking forward to renting to us & had attached the lease for us to sign. I haven’t had stable “housing” since I moved back to Florida (I wish that was what my best friend had emphasized when I moved back, instead of jumping straight to making other friends, but what’s done is done; the important part is learning), and so this’ll be the first time in just-under 4 years that I’ll have a place I can call my own, or more specifically: I’m working towards having somewhere that feels as close to home as is possible. (It’s difficult to have any place feel like home, when home is the person you keep fucking things up with; despite no matter how many times you try and move on from, still feels like home regardless.) I have a complicated relationship with my roommate. I don’t think anyone has ever hurt me as badly as she has (after all, she’s the one that used said comment from best friend against me, after atrociously lying to best friend, to hurt me); but I’m slowly getting my revenge in the best way possible: by holding her accountable, making space for her, and helping her heal from the past trauma she’s been through (>99% of which was experienced before ever meeting me, but also owning up & taking responsibility for the <1% of the things that happened between us) that’s caused her to behave the way she has. It’s often hard for me to know what I want (that’s what happens when your needs have been trivialized your entire life); I think I’m finally starting to understand it all though. High up on that list: I want to be understood; want you to want to understand me; want to know what you need from me.
I want her in my life -- for her to want to be in my life -- but I want to deserve to have her in my life; I want to believe that growing, healing, and being my best self makes me more deserving, but that doesn't neccesarily mean it'll ever happen. In fact, the gaps in time continue to grow bigger, and I fear that one day will have been the last goodbye; and I won't have realized it until after it's happened. I'll have misused the short time -- not really talking, rather -- info-dumping as a pleading beg for interaction. But recognizing a fear, and its root causes, allows me to overcome it. All of that is important, and at the same time, I deserve to have boundaries established. We both do; but I'm focusing on me and what I need. The gap in time since our last "discussion" threw me off. But even more so, the sheer whiplash of being told she was completely apathetic towards me -- that she'd rather have no interaction with me for the rest of her life -- definitely destabilized me when she told me she was feeling nostalgic. How do you respond stably to that? I don't think you can; but I tried. But I didn't lay down the boundaries immediately, and that's what messed me up most; that, and her asking me if I believed the intrusive thought that's haunted me most ever since the beginning of everything. I don't know what I believe anymore; I do know that ultimately what matters is how everything has effected her. Like she said, "What's done is done." But I "needed" to respond, at least to finally tell myself that it was never my intention -- not that intentions matter, because ultimately our actions are what define us; I hope I had enough positive actions for her to still think somewhat fondly of me -- and also tell her that my truest intention was to be a positive influence in her life. That isn't a lie; even when we'd banter and squabble, our arguments were never meant to last long, and in an ideal situation, we'd come out stronger from each one. My communication skills definitely atrophied with my psuedo-quarantine-semi-cabin-fever; I'm not proud of how much I've lost -- the worst part is not fully knowing how much I lost from quarantine -- but at least I'm somewhat aware of my loss of skills. Call it a loss of mobility, social mobility that is. I used to be a great conversationalist -- and the pieces are waiting there, for me to use them in a kintsugi kinda way -- one that came with a sarcastic smile you couldn't wait to listen to. Or at least I tell myself that's how its used to be. I don't fully know. I guess a big part of wanting her in my life -- other than the foremost being simply getting to interact with her -- is hoping that just by interscting with her, I'll have a little extra help in remembering the best parts of me. If the harm I did to myself -- and unfortunately ended up hurting her because of my lack of self-care/support network -- hasn't taken up too much of her mental image of me. It wasn't me, but that doesn't mean I didn't do it; I can say I wasn't in control of myself -- and I'd argue I'm only just now starting to be -- but that doesn't mean the trauma will just vanish. I think the worst part is not knowing what has -- what I did to -- hurt her the most/ lingered the longest. I don't know if I'll ever know; but there will always be a desire to make things right -- even if we end up not being a part of each other's lives -- at the back of my mind, always ready to jump into action at any given moment. I meant what I said my apology letter. Yes, the one I spent months writing, then hand wrote it, and put it in a red envelope just for her to throw it away -- my anxiety tries to use that as reinforcement of how she threw me away without even realizing she was doing it -- and then told her friends about it in a way that made them think if it as a "creepy letter," despite that being the farthest from what I was intending. Circling back from this tanget, I still meant what I said: I hope one day we can get to know each other as a more truer, authentic, grown version of ourselves. If she was able to
think of me as a best friend months after I'd stopped thinking of her as such -- the way she acted, how one sided things had devolved to, wasn't how you treat a best friend -- then maybe she can think of me as a friend again one day. It would be nice to have a friend like her again. And you can't beat the original; maybe that's also why she tries to interact with me on those rare occassions where the stars have aligned. I'm not waiting for an eclipse though, I've got a life I need to live; it'd just be nice to see how we can fit into one another's. And that takes communicating; until then, I'm just talking to myself, hoping that at least these walls have enjoyed my monologue-ing.
I hate how it's taken me so long to feel comfortable in my skin; just shy of 3 years on (and unfortunately off a few times) hormones, and I'm genuinely starting to see myself in the mirror & love the hottie looking back at me. I'll admit it's a lot easier after a few shots and/or hits (strawberry jello and sativa leaning hybrids are my preferences for those taking notes), but gxddamn am I glad to finally feel comfortable in my skin. I talk a lot about Olivia, but not much about Krys; that's for a reason: among other things, I let my gender dysphoria and other issues get so out of hand that I was pushed out of my own head (and the rest of my body too) and screwed up my chances of having Krys in my life. Maybe that's why I've held out so long on hoping that Olivia somehow still wanted me in her life (or rather: it amplified the already existing reasons; I'd want Olivia in my life, to whatever degree that might look like, regardless of the compounded trauma & "amplifiers"). Don't get me wrong, I think highly of Olivia and care deeply about her; but at the end of the day, moving "on" from her has always required me to unpack my mishandling of my feelings for Krys, and I've been so ...so ...so hostile to myself in response to my own attempts to forgive myself, that it's continually created an unconscious feedback loop that I wasn't tuning into properly until recently. ...Picking this topic/piece back up, I just "celebrated" 3 years on hormones about a week ago. Some pizza, a movie, and donated to Krys's Go Fund Me (and of course, please donate if you can spare some change). I wanted to donate more, but wasn't able to because of bills (although I intend to still donate the full amount intended over time when I can) ...plus, I was convinced by my roommate that donating a large sum of money would be "manipulative" because they would "feel guilted into having to contact me"; and whereas yes I would love to be able to apologize directly, and possibly start talking again, that's the last thing I want. No, what I've always wanted was them to be okay & better off than they used to be ...that's a big part of why/how I lost them when I started dissociating & depersonalizing: I felt like I was a burden & was holding them back, but didn't know how to verbalize my fears to them, and so I clung onto my methods of self-harm at the time & unfortunately drove them away. I don't know what all I'd say to them, but here's the message I'd intended to attach to my donation in a 'read more':
Happy Halloween, or more specifically: today's the 3 year anniversary of me starting hormones, and so it felt like the most appropriate time to donate. Not a week has passed by where I haven't thought of how I wanted to apologize for failing you when you needed me. But nothing has felt worthy enough and so I've continued to freeze and shutdown like I did back then. None of that makes up for allowing myself to become someone/thing that I'm not & hurting you in the process. I could write a hundred apology letters, but I figured I should put my money where my mouth is; I've been saving up for a while, and thought a hundred dollars for each year since we last talked was a fitting start to my apology. If you'd rather continue not hearing from me, please just take the money, disregard the message, and we'll continue living our lives as separately as possible. I have no idea what feelings hearing from me might invoke, and if this is in any way triggering, again, please disregard this. I genuinely hope you're doing well, and whatever found family you've garnered know how lucky they are to have you in their life. I'm sorry, truly and absolutely, and hope life is treating you as well as possible during these tumultuous times. [I had intended to send a longer message to their "lost" tumblr alongside the $500 donation in case they were any bit interested in knowing the things I've learned since we last talked, but ended up just donating the first quarter of that money as anonymously as possibly ...albeit while using my 'Alternative Name.']
Thinking back to (what I can remember of) the middle of the last decade, I used to be fairly good at compartmentalizing. In fact, I think I was "too good" at it. Because I think that's (a big part of) what got me into a lot of the messes that've hurt me, and those I care about, most; that, and my self-harm bleeding out and hurting others. Diving deeper to understand myself, the unfortunate nature of whatever cocktail of neurodivergency I have/am is one that has been overwhelmingly black & white in the past; black in the receded darkness of my mind, and white in the blinding obsessiveness that only becomes manageable when medicated. -- (I could, and will, say that I'm better at managing it all than I was in the past, because it's true, but it's due to the combination of meds & mental skills I continue to foster; I would say I wish I could exist without needing to be medicated, and to an extent that is extremely true, but that just perpetuates negative stigmas surrounding taking meds; I truly am my most authentic self when *PROPERLY* medicated ...and eating healthy, and drinking water, and practicing proper sleep hygiene, and excercising my mind & body, and blah blah blah etc. 😅) -- There are a lot of things that've fallen into the murky abyss of my mind; I've recovered a lot over time, but there are still a lot of things I'm sure I wish I could remember. And if I was a less "experienced" person, I fear I'd get caught up in the fact that I "allowed" myself to repress/supress things. I think of how I allowed myself to forget forced myself to hide/bury so many great memories I'd made with Krys (our first kiss, dancing alone in the closed cafe, pouring your heart out in the pouring rain on the stairs to the science building, etc) because I was in so much pain. So much so that when we tried talking (I'm not going to go into detail about the actual & ideal evolution of our relationship, I've long felt like I lost the right to talk about it) again, I'd allowed myself in the interim to become someone, someTHING, completely different from whom they fell in love with; and unfortunately, the ways in which I was a different person were vastly negative compared to the kind of person I used to be/the kind of person I want to be. As a segue into the blinding white obsessions, I think about the different forms of self-harm I've engaged with in over the years; the searing-white-hot self-harm I've used to distract myself from the inky, sinking depths of the blackened-brain-rot. From inordinate drug usage to reckless sexual interests & interactions, it's been a bumpy ride to say the least. But I've steadily grown in many ways, one of which is manipulating myself into "healthier" actions/habits/tendencies; as a side point: healthy/positive manipulation in & of itself is an interesting topic, one that I should write more about, because I've loooooooong since recognized my manipulative tendencies & have for years now tried to channel it into a positive force with the ethos of "I don't know what's best for someone else, only they can know; I can just help them work through it/understand what they need, and help them go from there." -- (At some of my seemingly lowest points, I've fallen into a self-loathing hole of sexual "tastes"; relapsing into drowning myself in anti-trans/detransition, among other muck, "porn" that fed off of my dysphoria & social-anxieties and created a negative feedback loop of genuinely wondering if "detransitioning"/going back into the closet would be better for me ...thinking of the one coworker @ Starbucks I really wanted to be friends with telling me I couldn't expect people to use my pronouns unless I "passed" ...or the time my father told me "So long as you have a penis, you'll always be my son" ...yeah. Anyways, going from engaging in self-destructive sexual "tastes" to engaging in/consuming healthy & confirming "tastes" such as trans-positive sapphic content; especially seeing femmes, both cis & trans alike, healthily yearning & lusting for mascs/butches like me ...fuck, the thought of having enbies &
femmes (and enby femmes! 😻) thirst after being bred & knotted by butches is just... 🥵🥵🥵 ...yeS PLEASE!!! And apparently I'm not the only one with a "Butch Patriarchy" kink; which tbh is 100 times healthier & sexier than your run of the mill, cis-het-male-gaze "Anti-Feminist/Patriarchy" porn could ever be. Maybe this is me getting too [Butch]Cocky, but it's in a "productive" manner, so fuck it: I may have "given up" being male, but as a boss-ass-butch, I make a better/healthier/sexier man than almost any cis AMAB could strive to be. 😈) -- I started writing this as a segue tool to talk specifically about how my mind is overly-obsessive; it's been one of the biggest sources of anguish in my life. Having a high sense of pattern-recognition, I've had a nasty history of seeing possible things and letting it/them overwhelm me. Especially given correlations, synchronicity, or whatever you want to label things as. I often feel like the conspiracy meme from It's Always Sunny, but I digress. Just like this isn't a comprehensive list of relapses/types of self harm I've ever engaged in (that just reminded me of the time I snorted crushed up benadryl with a like, brand new friend, but it didn't have much of an effect cause I didn't have any adderall ...and the other time I did donuts in my mini-van while fingering that same friend, telling them how they needed to be more assertive ...or the couple of times we snuck onto the community college campus and fucked on the lawn of the amphitheater at like 1 in the morning, in like ...2014, I think???), this isn't a comprehensive list of obsessive observations (that said, similar writing styles & timing of postings & overlapping taggings are pretty sus; just sayin, hun); I used to spend hours, if not days, letting myself get sucked into hyperfixated whirlpools, and I hated myself for not pulling myself out sooner. Nowadays, I absolutely enjoy a little mystery & falling down rabbit holes (and making the occasional Return to Oz), but I've gotten a lot better at keeping my head on (albeit not straight, of course). My biggest thing is that you can't play a game without knowing the rules; without knowing them, you're just being held hostage in one way or another. And I've been trapped inside my head far too many times to be a fan of anything unconsensual (except for consensual-non-consensual, of course 😏). At the end of the day, We all want to be needed & need to be wanted; I just don't know where I fit into your story(s).
