#brokenbeyondrepair

[vixxenswtchbtch]

Wish I could believe there's something worth loving in me

[thewistfulwordwitch]

New #review #BrokenBeyondRepair by @emilybanting I've always enjoyed Emily Banting's books, and this slow-burn, age gap romance I received as an ARC in exchange for an honest review was no different. This book had me laughing out loud in places, but also made me feel deeply for quite a few of the characters. This was a fun, easy weekend read. Beatrice is still a blond bombshell of an action movie star, despite her age, which is practically a death knell in Hollywood. But she's put out of commission for a bit due to an injury on set, which brings Sydney into her life, to work as her personal assistant. Sydney's the best of the best, and while she was hoping to take some time off to focus on her writing, fate and Gertie, her van, have other plans. Their chemistry starts out rough, as they're a bit like oil and water. Beatrice can be majorly overbearing, but it's all armor to keep from being hurt. Sydney's like her own personal Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, but she's got her own rocky past that she hasn't quite coped with. As the summer passes, Sydney starts to break down Beatrice's defences. But will Beatrice be brave enough to let Sydney all the way in? You'll have to read the book to find out! . . . . . #goodreads #Amazon #kindle #Bookbub #StoryGraph #LGBTQIA #iheartbooks #readingisfundamental #book #books #readallthebooks #booklover #bookworm #bookwrym #bookstagram #bookstagrammer #booksofinstagram #booksbooksbooks #read #reading #readersofinstagram #readmorebooks #readyourbooks #readabook #readallthebooks #authorsofinstagram #writersofinstagram #booksarelife https://www.instagram.com/p/CjOdj7kLuDK/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[dinidapimp]

Really fucked up this time! #BrokenBeyondRepair #FuckedUp #BOLLOX (at Dr Brainfrieze's Epic Lair of Doom) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3b6KwWnfHl/?igshid=zxzqrmcl44wb

[soupsandwichpizza]

Note to self…

…never let someone else’s optimism into your life, ever again.

Why do I say this, you ask? Simple. It’s called self-preservation. You see, when you’re optimistic, you get your hopes up. You can’t have optimism without hope. And hope is the problem here. Hope is what leads to dreams, hope buoys you to a higher level and helps ease you through dark times.

Until the moment when you realize that the darkness is unending for you.

When you come to understand that other people have hope because they aren’t forced to live in darkness, then the darkness you live in becomes that much blacker. It’s like living your whole life in a room with thick curtains completely covering all the light from the windows. And one day you manage to get a glimpse through a part in the fabric. You see sunlight, green meadows, flowers, and all manner of happy things. You reach for the curtain, only to have your hand slapped away and your jailer pushes you further into the room, further into the darkness.

You see, this is how I feel. This is how I see my world. Each time I attempt to have hope, to be optimistic, I’m forcibly shoved back into the dark. It’s not my actions, it’s not my wish, it’s not anything that I can control.

People keep trying to encourage me. But those same people aren’t in my situation, they don’t understand what I deal with. Transgender. Demisexual. Autistic. Complex PTSD. Depression. If I could completely eliminate one of these things, I may have a fighting chance. But three are out of my control, written into my DNA, one was given to me at such a young age that it’s part of me now, and the other is a symptom of all the others.

So, when you are tempted to give me a shot of some of your cheerful optimism, remember that all you’re doing is coaxing me closer to disaster.

THERE IS NOBODY OUT THERE FOR ME.

I destroyed my life because I wanted to be free to live as the person that I have always been inside. In doing so, I lost the one person that I could go to for comfort. I did this. I made this mess. It’s not as big of a mess as what I had before, but it’s still a mess. And the only difference is that now, I tell people about my mess instead of keeping it bottled up inside so that I become a rage machine.

Trust me. I’m better off without your optimism.

Without optimism I can put my hope into a box and bury it. Then, instead of bleeding my pain and anguish all over the internet, I can go outside and enjoy the beautiful weather outside my window.

While I pretend that I don’t need comfort.

While I pretend that I don’t need to experience what it’s like to be with a man.

While I pretend that I’m not abhorrently ugly.

While I pretend that nothing is wrong.

While I pretend that I’m drinking because it’s a family trait.

While I pretend that I’m not sad.

While I pretend that I’m not lonely.

While I pretend that everything is okay.

While I pretend that I’m happy to be alive.

While I put all of this back into the damn box I had it in before your FUCKING OPTIMISM cracked it back open!

Fake it ‘till you make it.

[soupsandwichpizza]

Big Dreams, Die Hard

There have been only a few dreams that I’ve wanted in my life. Because of who I am and how I was raised, some of those dreams were never within my grasp. Still, I tried to reach for those dreams several times in my life. Against all hope, against all rationale, I kept trying. The reality of those dreams was that some of them actually were impossible, I may have not known it then, but it was made plain to me in time. I had to make my peace with things that were medically impossible of course. That was a huge factor in my repression and denial for years. Only, I thought that it was medically impossible to change my body in significant enough ways that I would be seen as female. I had been proven wrong on one aspect of one of my dreams. Sure, I would never be able to carry a baby and to give birth, but I could be female for all intents and purposes otherwise.

Realizing that I could have part of one of my dreams has made me search out the other dreams that I’ve always had. Some of those other dreams are still within reach, and I still can make them happen. Ride my motorcycle all over the western parts of the states, totally possible. Swim in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans before I die, halfway there. Climb to the top of a really big mountain, I got over ten in view from my bedroom window, shouldn’t be a problem. Build my own chopper, I’m sure I can do it when my finances are straightened out.

There are a lot of things that continue to be outside of my grasp though. And it’s not only a fact of biology that dictates my inability to achieve those dreams. I will never be a good chess player, I know the rules, but I suck at strategy. I’ll probably never get to see China, Japan, England, or any other nation on the other side of an ocean. Even if I could get a passport sorted out from all the legal mess, I doubt that I’ll ever be able to afford it. I may be able to make my body look mostly female, but I’ll never be attractive, and I doubt that I’ll ever be with a man the way I should be. Why would a man want me when he’s got plenty of other women to pick from that don’t look like a hulking beast? Bottom surgery is for me, so that I can live with myself, I’ve given up hope that I’ll ever get a guy. But being a writer was another big one, a really big one. I’ve wanted to be a writer for over twenty-five years.

I’ve bought books on how to write. I’ve followed at least a dozen different methods for writing a successful book. I’ve written for nationally distributed magazines reviewing products, I’ve written for blogs, for my high school paper, and any random person I could talk into letting me put something together. Flyers, handouts, advertisements, class schedule descriptions, even a bio or two for friends which they never used. I was told that you get better at writing by doing more writing, so I’ve tried to write more than ever. This blog, another blog, poetry, articles, opinion pieces, novels. I’ve written so much that I find myself sitting at my computer, staring blankly at the screen with a blinking cursor because I forgot what I was supposed to be writing this time.

It doesn’t seem to be helping me though. Even when I think I’ve made some progress, somehow my strides forward are revealed to me as nothing more than walking in place. I’m on a treadmill, a hamster wheel. I’m in a nightmare where no matter how much forward progress you seem to make, you never go anywhere, and the specter of the world’s ridicule is always about to grab you. And yet, I’ve persevered, I’ve persisted. Because everyone told me that is how you do it. Because I’ve seen others do it and succeed. Because I’ve wanted to succeed at this more than I’ve wanted almost anything. I’ve given up before, and I still came back to this. I’ve walked away and said that I’d never try again, yet, I still came back. Even during my worst repression, denial, depression, PTSD, rage issues, and suicidal thoughts, I’ve written.

I’m about to give it up again.

Part of me thinks that I’m overreacting, part of me is saying that I should step away, clear my head. But part of me is saying that if it wasn’t true, shouldn’t I have something to show for my effort by now? Shouldn’t I have at least gotten paid for something I’ve written? When am I going to admit that I’m not good at this? When I pay to be published? When I pay for the paper to be printed on? When I pay for the advertising to try and get people to buy my work?

There are people out there who are truly shit at writing. Just like there are people out there who are truly shit at any number of things. I can recognize that I’m not very good at chess and I’m okay with that, but I keep slamming my head into the wall over writing? Maybe I’m just shit at this and I need to recognize that. But I don’t know what else I could do. Writing is what I have, besides my gender and sexuality issues, writing is the only thing I’ve honestly wanted in my life above everything else. I could happily give up all the rest, just to be a writer. And maybe I’m just a shitty writer.

Big dreams really do die hard.

[soupsandwichpizza]

Never Again

I’m through with dating sites. I’m through trying to date. I will die single, quite possibly alone, and almost certainly lonely. Men in my generation don’t have the capacity to understand. They don’t have the ability to rise above the views of others to make their own decisions. Attempting to date those who are so much younger than me has likewise, been a disaster. Not because they don’t understand, they do, but they’re also impossible for me to connect with. I couldn’t even tell you the names of the social media platforms they use. I couldn’t tell you what they are talking about when they speak of shows they used to watch or things they loved as a kid. And this is in addition to it feeling creepy as fuck!

People tell me to be patient, that it will happen. The problem is, I haven’t had one, NOT ONE decent guy stick around to even find out if we’re compatible. I never get a second date. Hell, I barely get the first one! In the meantime, I watch my cis friends find and reject people repeatedly. I don’t mean that they are finding the kinds of dregs of society I usually attract. I mean that they are finding quality people with at least a little of a connection. And they are rejecting them for other reasons. Reasons that I personally can’t understand in most cases. Minor issues like chewing with their mouth open. A physical body problem. Talking too much. Talking too little. Being too frugal. Not 420 friendly or smoking too much weed.

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is for someone like me?

Because I’m Demisexual, I go through life NOT being attracted to ANYBODY.

Let that sink in for a moment.

That hot younger guy with the muscles and shoulders? Nada.

That older gentleman with the salt and pepper hair who obviously takes care of himself? Nope.

Vin Diesel? No.

Jason Momoa? I got nothing.

Sean Connery? Just another dude.

Do you see why it’s taken me so long to figure out my sexuality in the first place? I see men and women the same way. They are ALL equally uninteresting to me in that way. I’m good at playing along with people, but this is the truth here okay? And the truth is, I got nothing.

Each time I meet someone, I don’t know if I’m attracted to them or not. That feature doesn’t come with my software, I never got the upgrade.

But I do feel attraction based on emotional connection. For others, this is usually when things get serious. They were attracted enough to want to get to know the person and then felt a deeper attraction that meant that they’re falling in love.

I guess you could say that I almost need to fall in love before I feel attraction. It’s backwards and stupid.

So what does it mean? It means that I go through life without making any connections with anyone because NOBODY CATCHES MY ATTENTION. You can literally be the hottest thing on two legs and I won’t feel anything, it DOES NOT REGISTER.

How do I find dates? Dating sites. I read the profiles, all of it. Then I decide if I could be interested in that person enough to be friends. If I think there’s potential for friendship, then I go for it, if not, I don’t.

That’s how I find them. Now, next level, how do I date them?

If we connect and talk a little bit, I try to ask questions. I try to see if we have anything in common or if we seem to be getting along. If I think there’s still potential to be friends, I go for the meeting. But ONLY AFTER I tell them that I’m Transgender.

That’s usually the end of it right there, but occasionally…

And that’s only the beginning, next I get to know this person before I can even know if I find them attractive. It’s already happened twice that it turned out I wasn’t attracted to them. Thankfully, they turned out to be assholes in the end, so it saved me the trouble.

But do you know what damn near everyone in the world does on the first date? Kiss. Hold hands. MORE??

I want you to imagine kissing someone that you don’t feel attracted to. That’s me. So, each time I go on a date, I get to do that. If I refuse? Goodbye! If I hang in there and go with the flow? It’s like they sense something is off and it’s goodbye! Or they want more from me than just kissing and when I won’t do that it’s goodbye!

Do you see how extremely time consuming and difficult this is?

So, I’m done. It isn’t worth the effort.

It isn’t worth dealing with the guys who practically dog slobber all over me or how they use my face as a fucking chew toy because THEY are into the make out session.

It isn’t worth the pressure from guys who are interested in me only because I have the one body part that has turned me into a fetish in their eyes and all they can think about is fucking me in the ass. Or even worse, the ones who want me to fuck them in the ass!! *Convulsions, vomiting, and panic!*

It isn’t worth someone making up excuses for why they can’t be with me as I watch all my hard work and the potential relationship go swirly because they can’t deal with the thought that SOMEBODY SOMEWHERE may think they are GAY! (God forbid you join us in the gutter you repressed, bigoted, transphobic, piece of shit!!)

I refuse to let myself be rejected again knowing that it’s because of how I was born. And I know that’s the case, because I have my cis women friends as examples for what it’s SUPPOSED to look like.

And I’m tired of being the pitiful laughing stock of the world. I’m not going to give them more ammunition.

And I’m not going to repeat this same situation over and over again like I have been.

NEVER AGAIN.

[vixxenswtchbtch]

So unattractive and fat. No wonder no one wants to be around me.

[nasgoth]

Having a spectacularly fucked up weekend. And sadly, after a couple hours with my brother and my nephew on Saturday, I can't bring myself to interact, actually interact, work any humans. Can't talk, can't text, can't voice chat, can't even engage face to face. Damn... I'm so broken it's absurd #nasgoth #brokenbeyondrepair #roughweekend