I wore a super cute outfit today and only started freaking out once - before I got to school. It’s kinda a big deal for me because for like, a third of my life I’ve been attempting to present solely masculine. It does basically shit to alleviate my dysphoria, which was super bad two years ago, but it keeps it from getting worse.
I’m honestly happy right now. There’s no telling how long that will last, but it’s the truth. Now if only I could do something to stop everyone at school from assuming gender and pronouns.
Like, my mom puts up with me, even when I wouldn't put up with myself.
Under the cut’s a long post which is basically me listing how garbage I am. Happy mother’s day. You don’t have to read it, but I’d like it if someone did so they could see how amazing my mom is before I forget again. (and maybe shed some insight on wtf’s wrong with me)
Actually, there are a few more reasons why I’m such trash, but they’re not really relevant.
For my birthday she arranged for us o go to a really nice restaurant, cuz we usually eat in or eat fast-food; she had a coupon so we could afford it. The problem was, the restaurant was in a mall and I have an extreme phobia of heights. We took the elevators to the third floor, but 10 metres away from the restaurant I fall to the floor crying. Like most malls, this one had a huge gaping hole in the middle of the upper floors. Not only did I embarrass her in public, but we never got to eat the food she was looking forward to.
A spider comes into my room, so I interrupt her in the middle of her getting ready for work so she can come kill it, all the while being anal about her not wearing shoes in my room or using a dirty stool to reach it. I once called her home from work when I was freaking out over bugs being both in my room and the living room. She had to drive all the way home and then drive back avec moi. I was already a teenager by this point.
I absolutely refuse to spend time with her. I eat in my room and go directly there after school. When she asks me how my day went I respond with one word answers. Just being in the same room with anyone, including her makes me massively uncomfortable.
I never say I love you.
I yell and scream when I feel she has slighted me. I throw tantrums and objects and literally can’t control myself.
I've only begun to remember her birthday since last year, and that’s largely because that’s the date I use to look at the games with a lot of violence.
I never make compromises. Well, that’s not entirely true. Music really bothers me. I love it, but I can’t stand hearing it when I don’t specifically try to listen to a song. Mom loves having it in the car. When I’m there, the volume can be no louder than a seven (I’d prefer an even number or multiple of five, but we both refuse to budge so I endure/ignore/pointedly don’t think about it).
When I’m home she can’t listen to her music either. She used to clean every week with that music in the background but now she never does and it’s probably my fault. I yell at her to turn the TV down every night because I cannot sleep with voices in the background. (Sometimes I do this when the TV isn't even on. Luckily, she’s usually sleeping then)
She has zero recent photos of me besides pictures from picture day (it’s mandatory for a student ID). I refuse to talk to her despite the fact that I’m constantly breaking down, and I still blame her for plenty of things.
She buys me games and books and comics even though we can barely afford it, but I still harp on about her dept to ME. I don’t let her hug me or kiss me. Every time she sings along to a song I tell her to stop because she’s so off pitch (out of tune things hurt).
I never tell her why I’m upset. It doesn't matter if I’m upset at her or if something at school upset me. I can’t cook for myself. I've never washed the dishes. I love vacuuming, or at least, I’m pretty sure I do. The thing is, I haven’t done a lick of cleaning in years.
I’m pretty sure that I've outright stated that I love her less than other relatives in the past, and I've certainly said that I hate her. I can’t hold a conversation with her without ending up frustrated or cutting it short.
I guess a good trait I have is that I never ask to go out after dark and all I need is food, clothes, and a place to call my own. No affection or attention or worrying about who I hang out with. But I’m a picky eater and a picky dresser and I yell when she enters my room without knocking and waiting for a response (which is often). I depend on her for everything and cut off all social interaction when the school season ends. I’m quiet too, unless I want something.
She’s not perfect. She invalidates my experiences, tells others what she THINKS I’m thinking, talks about me when I’m not there (even though I continue to ask her to not), and doesn't respect my gender or sexuality as much as she could (tells everyone I’m her daughter and uses she/her pronouns and says I’ll grow out of my lack of attraction). The thing is that she tries and I never meet her half-way on anything.
I’m complete garbage but she doesn't see that. She keeps calling me nice things, the problem is, I HATE IT WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT. Don’t say I’m nice or smart please, it hurts. She’s super supportive of what I wanna do but I have no idea what I wanna do. I’m a piece of shit who isn't even human enough to have job-related interests.
She’s a cool mom to. She talks about black oppression (used to be a big deal in the Caribbean Canadian community before I was born). She doesn't care about body image or my gender/sexuality (though not treating me any differently IS the problem here). She listens whenever I tell her about the struggles of other oppressed groups or even if it’s just fandom shit. She understood me when I joked with her about the “Down With Cis Bus”. She LIKES it when I talk. (Plus she’s good at correcting problematic behaviour when I point it out)
We do talk, sometimes. It’s just, I’m always the one to end the conversation. I’ll say something and we’ll go back and forth for a while until social interaction drains me too much and I tell her it’s over. She’s the only person I think actually likes the sound of my voice. I don’t even like the sound of my voice (except sometimes when singing). Teachers tell me I ask too many questions and people who I thought were my friends tell me to shut up or laugh at my message. That’s off topic, though.
I bug her for being unreliable when I know it’s not her fault. (TBH, I've only known for about a week). I’m passive aggressive towards everyone and everything. I’m forgetful. I’m rude and I see no reason to apologize, but I do anyway because she taught me to anyway. I apologize all the time, even for stuff that’s not my fault.
She’s my champion. In middle-school I was bullied a lot; teachers did nothing. Once, when It got physical on the way home instead of on the playground, I told her. She got me an audience with the principal. Nothing came of it, but I appreciate the sentiment. She got my class laptops since the teacher was often away and could put the lessons online. She’s willing to argue for the inclusion of a class with only eight people if I want it as part of my academic career.
I rely on her too much but don’t even show her any affection for it. I asked her permission before I started swearing. I don’t leave the house or have friends over. I forget to do things like eat and drink liquids until I’m sick. I’m stubborn and will lie to keep from being perceived as wrong. I need constant reassurance, yet I loath being reassured.
I tell her how much I hate stuff that she adores (soap operas, zombies, etc). I’m angry when she miss-represents something I’m fond of (not even getting friends names wrong, but getting Deadpool’s name wrong). I sing and use the excuse that it doesn't bother her, but her singing bother’s me (I’d stop if she’d said it does). Yet I refuse to play my instruments in front of her when not performing and I hide most of my drawings.
I steal her clothes and keep the ones bought for both of us (Doctor Who shirt) to myself. Her hat and vest and shirt are how mine. To be fair though, we both dress from the same pool of old baggy t-shirts when we’re going casual.
I wait to tell her until the last moment about health problems, and then I shrug them off. I've never explained dysphoria to her or any of the things I think may be wrong with my mental health. I lie constantly because I’m afraid of her seeing me failing. Even though I’m pretty sure everyone’s just putting up with me because we’re friends and that’s rule #1, I can’t say that for her, or the rest of my family. I’m pretty sure that’s love. I never openly return it, though.
Why does telling her this shit make me want to crawl out of my skin? Why does human contact make me queasy? Why can’t I hold proper conversations unless they’re about fandom or social justice shit?
I've always imagined being a cool parent that was protective but not strict and let their kid get away with a lot of things as long as they were within reason. I’d educate them on gender and sj stuff and let them become their own person through trial and error. I’d find a fun way to teach math and language and history that would begin basically from the cradle. I've always thought that, but I really don’t imagine myself ever pulling myself together enough to look after another lifeform. I don’t know how she does it.
How the fuck do single parents do it?
I can’t even make her a decent Mother’s Day breakfast.
I haven’t even gotten her a gift.
My last one was some shit drawing.
I always forget.
I’m garbage. Seriously, that is the only part of my identity I’m 100% aware of (besides sexuality). I’m not going to say she’d be happier if I’d never been born. I like to think I brighten up the place a little with my existence. It’s just that I can’t stand me. She can stand me; she loves me. WTF. I want a good job so I can buy her things, but things aren't what she needs.
If I could straighten myself out into a semi-decent person, I would in a heartbeat. Becoming independent, and les strung up seem impossible, though.
Fuck
I’m trash.
Ugh. If I keep writing I’ll probably only be those two words.
Sorry about this, and thanks for reading this far. You didn't have to, and it means a lot to me. I don’t really feel like a smiley face right now, but you deserve it :D.
Fuck, I’m being weird again, aren't I? That doesn't even work. Sorry.
I mean, there’s a lot of stuff like this hidden on my blog, and when I read it on a good day I can’t make heads or tales of it. I should delete this.
No ones going to read it anyway though.
Fuck. Now this is just filler while I stall deciding.
Post about how my day went. You can read it if you want; it’s not very interesting. It’s my personal post so I’d like if it stayed on my personal blog. Don’ttouch
Sometimes I can’t believe me.
Not in the literal sense, though that’s true as well a good portion of the time. No, I can’t believe my fucking emotions.
Since the month began I've been moody and stressed out and hopeless. Today’s when everything finally came crashing down. I’d spent the night before trying not to break into tears without even knowing the reason.
During the day, everything was pushed back to make room for doing actual school work. The thing is, when school ended, I felt great. Happy, for the first time since April 2nd. I joked and laughed with my friends while actually meaning it. Everything seemed like it would work itself out. I even laughed off being called a woman and got up the courage to select other on some paperwork.
Then I came on here, because I felt as if things could only get better. I looked at my blog and how little I’d actually done. How all my posts are queued and re-blogged from other people, and my mood shot straight back down. Why? Tumblr isn't important; it shouldn't be important to me. Yet now, I can barely muster anything past indifference or lukewarm rage.
Nothing will go right. I won’t be able to find a job. I’ll get an unsatisfactory mark on the test I just took. My grades will be sub-par. Why the hell am I thinking this? The rest of today was supposed to be good. I should’ve been able to feel carefree.
Fuck
I want to scratch the paint off my walls and throw every piece of furniture in the house. I don’t care if they break, but I know I’ll care after. Why is it so hard?
I’m so useless. I feel like a board game that doesn't have any pieces. I fell like the pair of socks a kid gets for Christmas when they wanted an action figure. I don’t know how I feel.
Why does everything suck?
Why do I suck?
I know this mood won’t be improving for a while.
I feel as if I need to iterate this once more. Fuck
Quand y'a pas de limites, je sais pas où aller, je suis perdue. Alors je vais nulle part. Et je vais partout. Je vais dans la lumière. Et je vais dans les ténèbres. Pour te retrouver. Pour ne pas t'oublier.
