“Hey Mom, It’s Rob.”

“I’m gonna get REAL depressed with it.” Tumblr diary? || Yelling into the void? He/Him 🏳️‍⚧️| 21 | Kickin’ it

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

STATUS:

Feeling…

Like whining into the void.

Deal.

[klaart]

Leon you seeing this?-- oh wait here 🫴👓

[caribooed]

xoxo (kisses, hugs)

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Daaaaaaaaamn, the body does keep the score.

I forgot it’s the anniversary of one of the worst nights of my life but my body sure remembered.

Sobriety is king, kids.

Reach out for help if you even feel an inkling of passive suicidal ideation.

And don’t be friends with someone who you feel is dragging you down, even if you want to stick around and fix them anyway because they make you feel bad for wanting to leave them.

LEAVE THEM!

LIVEEE!!!

[evsmystery]

A trans son is better than a dead daughter btw

[meoweenk]

the most masculine man you know used to have the fattest tits and the juiciest ass known to man

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Love my momma.

I do, I love her.

The amount of “when you’re a mother one day” I get from her… IS gonna send me into orbit.

I love kids! They’re great! I’d love to have some one day! I don’t imagine they’ll be from my loins but hey, who knows!

(I mean, not straight from there. Pregnancy scares the fuck out of me, beyond the logical)

All I know is I WON’T BE A MOM!

I’m a STIFF. STRONG.PURE BEEF MAN!

Keep me away from all that shit, please. For fucks sake

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Being predated upon by the openly ICE forward guy at my job is, wild.

He is so gay it’s absolutely insane. And I think my boyish charm is getting to his head. And so now he seeks me out like a shark and will nudge and playfully bully me on the clock—.

I am 21 years old, sir. Get thee away.

(He is late 30’s)

He isn’t openly gay btw. He just says he famously doesn’t get girls, cannot stand them sometimes, but I’m one of the good ones(not a girl)

Help. 🧍‍♂️

I’m not even like, a fit girl. I’ve got ass in crack places, my friend. I’m like chubby-maxing in the clerb, it just doesn’t look that way because it’s all in ASS.

I like to eat, what can I say. (And I overeat when I’m stressed and tits stress me out—AYOO!!)

So I don’t even get what this guy sees in me. Is my terrible performance of a chick just that good? Or is he really that homophobic yet gay that my personality is what attracts him?

Also this is the, let me count it, FIFTH asshat to accost me as a coworker? Three out of five of these guys have been in their 30’s.

What the fuck is so victim pilled about me?

One of those guys went so far as to stalk me too, so I don’t even *know*.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Being trans is cruel.

You see two men slow dancing, just loving that they’re alive and they have each other.

And I can’t have that.

I can’t—I can’t ever have that.

Not that, not with someone.

I have to be my own boyfriend, my own lover, my own husband and kids to take care of. I have to be the future I want wrapped up in some human wad of gum.

Why do I have to do that?

Why do I have to?

Why can’t I just, be. Why can’t I walk wherever I want and feel good. Why can’t I get out of my own damn bed and want to stand up straight?

Why is the only reprieve in my fucking day, when I squish those two lumps against my chest and pretend they’re gold star pecs and I’m on to the man-Olympics?

WHY!

WHY DOES IT GOTTA BE ME?

HAVENT I SUFFERED ENOUGH ALREADY!?? But NO! I haven’t! Because when you write it all down in a notebook, you don’t see much more than a set of words describing, “Something bad happened to me, and now I gotta prove to myself it happened. Over and over again. I can’t stop redoing that day, those sets of days, that one time something happened and all the other lousy sets of moments in-between.”

All because of just one wish, to be a boy, from before I could even read. And the subsequent billion times the world and my father told me I’m full of shit.

And I love my sisters, I love my brothers. I love my whole trans community.

And I still can’t help but scream and rage because I will never be what I want.

Because there are two options I was given from the moment I was born:

Be loved and die young

Or

Live a life of scrutiny and die old, fat, and happy.

And I so badly want to be loved.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

So I look in the mirror, yea? Do a little pre-shower makeup. I look HOT, yeah? I look—and here’s where my narcissus-ism comes in, and I say “I could literally be a model if I tried.”

And then the hours of taking photos, trying to get the aesthetics right between Shalom Harlow and Adriana Lima.

Suffering over the fact the camera flips the photo, throwing the composition completely off and making me realize my eyes are on different planes of existence YET again!—but also I don’t even *like* when it *does* come out. So I end up at my wits end.

And I load TikTok to doom scroll, and bam. There it is. I see an edit of Leon fucking Kennedy and I don’t get a pang of “he’s hot,” it’s “I want to be him so bad it kills me.”

HOW DO I KEEP FORGETTING I’M TRANS IF IT’S SO INGRAINED IN MY PSYCHE?

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Getting drunk with a hurt/comfort fic where the Mc is also drunk is so cathartic.

Like, yeah man. We’re fucking up, but it’s together.

Y’know?

And yeah, he doesn’t have to be up early as shit for work, and he didn’t make the horrible decision to assemble a table, drunk, at midnight.

But for a moment, or however long it takes me to read it, I forget that I’m just me. And that me’s an idiot who drank a well known depressant two nights in a row and am somehow shocked my fragile mental state has declined.

:p

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

I’m a man.

Believe me.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Being born on March 31st and being trans is the greatest damn gift to me.

Because, I get to see all the lights in folks’ eyes and see all that hope. And it’s like seeing a thousand, million, billion water ready ships floating into harbor for a massive parade.

And it’s so special, because it’s my birthday.

And it’s everyone’s day too.

I was a lonely kid, and it was sad only knowing one semi-celebrity born on my day AND Sebastian Bach. I also never had many friends that *could* come to my birthday because all my friends were gay and my house wasn’t safe. So I felt I had to protect them from, my home essentially.

And now, at 21, everyone is gay at my birthday party. And everyone is free to be gay. And everyone is so happy to be alive.

My birthday became hope, to me.

And it had always been a beacon of hope for everyone like me.

Happy belated Trans Day of Visibility, everybody.

I see you, I love you, I smile because of you.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

I may be an effeminate gay trans man, gentleman.

That’s it, that’s the post.

You would catch me dead before dressing like a girl, but I was RAISED in the hot Cheeto coalition. I will remain within my rights as a sworn defender of the downtrodden AND STILL get basic facts wrong, thank yewww.

I wear nails(on occasion) to show off how fucking bomb I am at life, that none of them have popped off. And I wear them in men’s colors. I call that a testament of strength.

I’m also a bitch on my mom’s side and a man on my dad’s, how are YOU doin’.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

D’you ever be trans and then a video comes out where you look like shit and a girl. (because you were at WORK) And it was made in good fun…

But now I feel like this,(EMO) and a chud:

And it was tagged with your fixation so now not only could it go viral but it could go viral in your fandom.

This is such a first world problem but I think I’m gonna purchase a birthday drink, man.

Happy birthday to meeee…

Fuuuuuuuck.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Imagine, it’s trans day of visibility AND your birthday…

And your father plays the one episode of this one show all your family likes—INCLUDING YOU! And the episode is literally the one that makes you cry like a bitch because it reminds you that you hate him. And you hate him so much that it fuels you to be better—but one day it’s not gonna be enough.

And then the very guy asks you, “have you ever felt stuck in life before?” Like he was born yesterday and isn’t the cause of every fuckin problem in my life ever.

I.

I deeply relate to Jaimie Tartt.

Except my dad isn’t an alcoholic he’s just a dick, I’m the drunk.

[rob-robert-orrobbie]

Honestly.

Ok context- me and my sister were talking about guys and it gets to dicks for some reason and she said “I wonder if they’re soft.” To which I said “eh? It’s skin bro. Honestly, more sweaty.”

And she said “how do YOU know?”

And then I thought about it, and for a morbid second I really was like: technically I don’t? I really blacked out, so idk if like that was a real feeling or whatever.

I didn’t SAY that, I ended up brushing her off.

But man, trauma is wicked. Technically experiences happened, I know they did. But recollection? Shit, I could’ve made half the shit up and I’d be NONE the wiser.

Wiiiiiiild