You're different now, on the other side, allied with my enemies, sentries keeping me from sensing inner peace, happiness. Feel the inner beats, listen to the e's, feel me feeling me through a sea of unfamiliarity. There's clarity to be found in the sound that only the trained ear can hear, but you'd rather be deaf than pause for a breath to study the science behind the music of my existence, my insistance on marching in time to the rhythm in my mind.
You're stuck in a dead step not knowing which foot goes forward and which one stays back and you can't take the weight, metal plates on your shoulders. You're older and that's your excuse to justify the abuse you feed me, need me to know that I need you, need me to know that I am nothing without you, the gods that you think you are, far away from me and that's the way it'll stay.
Don't play with me, already failed me, impaled me upon words mailed to me, and it's great to see you defend your son that isn't me that might need to end me, bend me until I am the one who breaks myself and then you'll all say that my gay friends made me crazy, that they did this to me. Listen to me, blissfully aware of the love for me that lies outside of you, in spite of you, untied from you who lied, who cried, who never once tried to see the happy in me.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
A Little About Me
I remember seeing my chest the first time I put a binder on. I was in my old room at Bates, and Kelly was there. I was wearing this shirt--the same one I'm wearing now. You'd never know it was meant for a female body. It's white with a splash of purple that just seems to ooze down the front. I remember seeing my chest the first time and never wanting to see it another way again. She was looking at me. But I was too busy looking at me. I almost cried. It was like seeing myself for the first time--like I was a toddler fascinated with the image in front of me, slowly coming to the realization that this image is the physical manifestation of what I've always understood as the person up inside my head. I felt like I had a body. I was starting to feel that I could own this body. I started learning that the greatest thing in the world that you can possess is your own self, inside and out.
I tried putting this shirt on without the binder underneath. I couldn't stand looking at it. The shirt is too tight to hide anything, and the feeling of this particular cloth against my bare skin made me want to jump right out of that skin. If you haven't figured it out by now, I've got a pretty fucked up sensory system, though it can do some neat things too. Every shirt feels different on my skin. And each feeling can evoke something different within me.
My sense of touch is very heavily connected to my emotions. Certain kinds of touch will elicit negative emotional responses, while others can elicit very positive responses. And I'm not talking about anything sexual at this point. I like my clothes to fit tightly (generally) because loose clothing equates to light touch or grazing of the skin, and it makes me uncomfortable. But something about knowing that you can see the secret of my chest inside this and a few other shirts of mine really fucks with me, and so I use this binder for the security it gives me. It also gives me constant pressure, however slight, on my upper body. I love pressure. I love connecting with other people through pressure. Squeeze. I love the way I feel when I work out because I can feel the blood rushing to my muscles, creating that sense of pressure, and it calms me. It focuses me. It lets me feel in control.
I like motion. Sometimes I have to be in motion. This becomes very difficult when I am trying to sleep, but my mind and body are at war with one another. Sometimes it becomes physically painful not to move. Sometimes I can't control the writhing or the tossing and turning. Sometimes I just have to MOVE. I kind of feel that way now, but moving my hands across the keys and watching the words march right into their places almost feels like I'm moving somewhere. I'll be in a different place when I finish writing this, at least mentally.
I obsess. And I get stuck. I have trouble doing more than one thing at once, and I don't really get grey areas. I have trouble with vague directions. And, similarly, I am overwhelmed and confused by having to make choices when there are many, many options. I need a step-by-step. I need black and white. It's not that I can't comprehend the other ways of looking at things. It's just extremely difficult, and I may need to take a different path to get there. It might be much more convoluted than the conventional path, but that path might be the only one that can get me where I need to be.
I'm getting better at this, but I hate when my foods mix together and would prefer them not to touch. Mixed tastes overload me. And my body opposes certain tastes altogether. I will instinctively spit out anything that is too bitter, which includes coffee, or anything that has an odd texture. I have no control over this reaction. If I try to swallow, I have to try not to throw up. It is very painful. I am terrified of trying new foods because I don't want to have this reaction.
I am extremely sensitive to the temperature of water on my face. I twitch/writhe somewhat violently when it is too hot or too cold, and I have to prevent myself from screaming.
Some kinds of pain are extremely intense for me, whereas I can tolerate great amounts of other kinds of pain.
Sometimes I'm in a bubble. It's like I'm behind a screen watching the rest of the world watch me. Sometimes I can't see beyond that little screen that's in front of me. Sometimes it's like there is static on the screen. Sometimes some things seem like they are in 3D when everything else is flat--like they are in color when everything else is in black and white. Sometimes certain things will attract my attention like a siren and I won't be able to focus on anything else. These are the things that can help me tune out the rest of the world--that help me when my sensory system is on overdrive. MUSIC. I can lose everything else entirely. I won't even register that you have spoken. I won't notice things that I normally would. Music is that thing that everyone else has to shut up for because it's clearly the most important thing going on. It's my obsession. Everything is music. I started talking the other day, and I had to force myself to stop. We were in the car having a conversation about why certain songs are so popular. I think that, just as we have mapped out according to scales/pitch what the most pleasing frequencies/combinations of sounds are to the human ear, there must be higher levels of composition (song structure/chord progressions/rhythmic integrity/etc.) that the human ear prefers. It's a theory I want to develop more, and I probably would have kept blathering about it if I hadn't caught myself. I could talk about music forever. I always want to keep playing. Music is the way I connect with the rest of the world. It's how I feel closest to other human beings. It's my way of being social. I can understand other people better through music. And writing is music to me. There is a rhythm to everything I write, and that's how I find which words go where. Everyone writes with a different rhythm too. I love all the different genres of person that I can experience when I read things that different people have written. I'm doing it again. I'm getting lost in my own musings about random shit. Pardon me. I do it frequently. Sometimes I like to have people with whom to muse, though.
I'm impulsive. Sometimes these things are harmless. Sometimes I poke people. Sometimes I push buttons. I really like pushing buttons. I play with the buttons on my phone constantly (when I have a phone). At least I don't nipple-tweak people anymore...or write on their faces. I think it took me until late in high school to figure out that that wasn't an appropriate form of interaction with your friends.
I have ridiculous attachments to inanimate objects, especially my phone and keys. I feel like I have lost a person from my life when I lose these things. I illogically attribute human qualities or attach emotions to inanimate objects as if they could think and feel the love I harbor for them. I get very upset when I lose anything that I consider important. Everything I own means something to me and stirs up all sorts of feelings, so I never throw anything away.
My hands are the most real part of me. I do a lot with them. And I don't think I could live without them.
Sometimes I can't talk, physically. Sometimes I just can't break down the wall.
This is just a little bit about me. It all started with a shirt. This is another example of what I like to call the web effect. And just think of all the things that I couldn't get out because they happened too fast up there or were on a different ring of the web. It upsets me when I can't get those things out. That's why I have taken to typing things more lately than writing them by hand. I lose way too much when I write by hand.
So yeah. This my brain. It's screwy. But I love it. It lets me remember stupid things like Mark saying that we had to be up in the band room at 7:27 AM before one of the home games two years ago or read insanely quickly or think of connections that don't really make sense to anyone else. And I also love when I find people who actually do understand those connections of mine--the ones that I make and the ones in my head. I've found a lot of them recently, and even if they don't quite get it, they are interested enough to learn, and that makes me happy. I'm also really interested in the way other people's brains work. I love knowing how other people think. I love knowing why. I always want to know why. It sucks when there is no reason why. That also messes with me.
I like that I understand myself. It puts me in a better position to understand other people. I now have a point of comparison. I still suck at understanding people when they act in irrational ways. I feel like everyone should operate logically all the time. I expect this, and I know that I don't even do this 100 percent of the time. But it also disturbs me when I don't do it or when I am incapable of doing it. And then when I notice that happening, it freaks me out and I feel like I have no control, and it makes things even worse.
I had no idea this was going to be quite this long. I thought I would be done after the first paragraph. I might need to move. I might need to go for a walk and listen to music and fool the world into thinking I'm still a part of it as I'm doing this.
I suck at sleeping. I just can't shut off.
So yeah. Again. This is a bit about me. But what about you? I'm curious.
I tried putting this shirt on without the binder underneath. I couldn't stand looking at it. The shirt is too tight to hide anything, and the feeling of this particular cloth against my bare skin made me want to jump right out of that skin. If you haven't figured it out by now, I've got a pretty fucked up sensory system, though it can do some neat things too. Every shirt feels different on my skin. And each feeling can evoke something different within me.
My sense of touch is very heavily connected to my emotions. Certain kinds of touch will elicit negative emotional responses, while others can elicit very positive responses. And I'm not talking about anything sexual at this point. I like my clothes to fit tightly (generally) because loose clothing equates to light touch or grazing of the skin, and it makes me uncomfortable. But something about knowing that you can see the secret of my chest inside this and a few other shirts of mine really fucks with me, and so I use this binder for the security it gives me. It also gives me constant pressure, however slight, on my upper body. I love pressure. I love connecting with other people through pressure. Squeeze. I love the way I feel when I work out because I can feel the blood rushing to my muscles, creating that sense of pressure, and it calms me. It focuses me. It lets me feel in control.
I like motion. Sometimes I have to be in motion. This becomes very difficult when I am trying to sleep, but my mind and body are at war with one another. Sometimes it becomes physically painful not to move. Sometimes I can't control the writhing or the tossing and turning. Sometimes I just have to MOVE. I kind of feel that way now, but moving my hands across the keys and watching the words march right into their places almost feels like I'm moving somewhere. I'll be in a different place when I finish writing this, at least mentally.
I obsess. And I get stuck. I have trouble doing more than one thing at once, and I don't really get grey areas. I have trouble with vague directions. And, similarly, I am overwhelmed and confused by having to make choices when there are many, many options. I need a step-by-step. I need black and white. It's not that I can't comprehend the other ways of looking at things. It's just extremely difficult, and I may need to take a different path to get there. It might be much more convoluted than the conventional path, but that path might be the only one that can get me where I need to be.
I'm getting better at this, but I hate when my foods mix together and would prefer them not to touch. Mixed tastes overload me. And my body opposes certain tastes altogether. I will instinctively spit out anything that is too bitter, which includes coffee, or anything that has an odd texture. I have no control over this reaction. If I try to swallow, I have to try not to throw up. It is very painful. I am terrified of trying new foods because I don't want to have this reaction.
I am extremely sensitive to the temperature of water on my face. I twitch/writhe somewhat violently when it is too hot or too cold, and I have to prevent myself from screaming.
Some kinds of pain are extremely intense for me, whereas I can tolerate great amounts of other kinds of pain.
Sometimes I'm in a bubble. It's like I'm behind a screen watching the rest of the world watch me. Sometimes I can't see beyond that little screen that's in front of me. Sometimes it's like there is static on the screen. Sometimes some things seem like they are in 3D when everything else is flat--like they are in color when everything else is in black and white. Sometimes certain things will attract my attention like a siren and I won't be able to focus on anything else. These are the things that can help me tune out the rest of the world--that help me when my sensory system is on overdrive. MUSIC. I can lose everything else entirely. I won't even register that you have spoken. I won't notice things that I normally would. Music is that thing that everyone else has to shut up for because it's clearly the most important thing going on. It's my obsession. Everything is music. I started talking the other day, and I had to force myself to stop. We were in the car having a conversation about why certain songs are so popular. I think that, just as we have mapped out according to scales/pitch what the most pleasing frequencies/combinations of sounds are to the human ear, there must be higher levels of composition (song structure/chord progressions/rhythmic integrity/etc.) that the human ear prefers. It's a theory I want to develop more, and I probably would have kept blathering about it if I hadn't caught myself. I could talk about music forever. I always want to keep playing. Music is the way I connect with the rest of the world. It's how I feel closest to other human beings. It's my way of being social. I can understand other people better through music. And writing is music to me. There is a rhythm to everything I write, and that's how I find which words go where. Everyone writes with a different rhythm too. I love all the different genres of person that I can experience when I read things that different people have written. I'm doing it again. I'm getting lost in my own musings about random shit. Pardon me. I do it frequently. Sometimes I like to have people with whom to muse, though.
I'm impulsive. Sometimes these things are harmless. Sometimes I poke people. Sometimes I push buttons. I really like pushing buttons. I play with the buttons on my phone constantly (when I have a phone). At least I don't nipple-tweak people anymore...or write on their faces. I think it took me until late in high school to figure out that that wasn't an appropriate form of interaction with your friends.
I have ridiculous attachments to inanimate objects, especially my phone and keys. I feel like I have lost a person from my life when I lose these things. I illogically attribute human qualities or attach emotions to inanimate objects as if they could think and feel the love I harbor for them. I get very upset when I lose anything that I consider important. Everything I own means something to me and stirs up all sorts of feelings, so I never throw anything away.
My hands are the most real part of me. I do a lot with them. And I don't think I could live without them.
Sometimes I can't talk, physically. Sometimes I just can't break down the wall.
This is just a little bit about me. It all started with a shirt. This is another example of what I like to call the web effect. And just think of all the things that I couldn't get out because they happened too fast up there or were on a different ring of the web. It upsets me when I can't get those things out. That's why I have taken to typing things more lately than writing them by hand. I lose way too much when I write by hand.
So yeah. This my brain. It's screwy. But I love it. It lets me remember stupid things like Mark saying that we had to be up in the band room at 7:27 AM before one of the home games two years ago or read insanely quickly or think of connections that don't really make sense to anyone else. And I also love when I find people who actually do understand those connections of mine--the ones that I make and the ones in my head. I've found a lot of them recently, and even if they don't quite get it, they are interested enough to learn, and that makes me happy. I'm also really interested in the way other people's brains work. I love knowing how other people think. I love knowing why. I always want to know why. It sucks when there is no reason why. That also messes with me.
I like that I understand myself. It puts me in a better position to understand other people. I now have a point of comparison. I still suck at understanding people when they act in irrational ways. I feel like everyone should operate logically all the time. I expect this, and I know that I don't even do this 100 percent of the time. But it also disturbs me when I don't do it or when I am incapable of doing it. And then when I notice that happening, it freaks me out and I feel like I have no control, and it makes things even worse.
I had no idea this was going to be quite this long. I thought I would be done after the first paragraph. I might need to move. I might need to go for a walk and listen to music and fool the world into thinking I'm still a part of it as I'm doing this.
I suck at sleeping. I just can't shut off.
So yeah. Again. This is a bit about me. But what about you? I'm curious.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
from December 23, 2006
We are not unique in our experiences, but they are unique to us. Each of us lives and breathes these experiences as if we were the only kids to ever have their hearts broken, to ever have lewd lunch conversations, to ever sneak out to commit acts of dubious origin and questionable legality. We act as though these experiences are one-of-a-kind. And, though they are not, they are genuine. They are true experiences, and they evoke rather different responses in all of us. They fill us with hope. They fill us with sadness. They both urge us forward and pull us backward. These experiences and memories, as generic as they are, are the most important things we've got. Our lives are like cheesy romance novels. Most have the same basic plot and structure, but the differences lie in the decisions of the author. We are the authors of our lives. So what have we to do but write?
Sunday, June 20, 2010
June 20th
Today (or yesterday now) was Father's Day. I didn't call. I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to talk to a man that hates me. He hasn't been the father that I needed him to be these last few weeks. For I short time, I thought he would be my ally in this. I thought I could convince him that I am not insane. I thought he would be able to understand the truth of my situation and the truths of this faultily gendered universe. He seemed receptive to new ideas. He seemed like he wanted to learn as much as he could. But now I feel like things are worse off with him than when we first talked about my identity as masculine. I don't know what to do.
I feel guilty. But I also feel like this might show him that I feel just as invisible and neglected when he doesn't call me by my name. I feel like there is no room for me. I feel like I am being squeezed out of existence. And the only thing I am doing is being true to myself.
How do I say these things without hurting them more? And when do I stop worrying about that and start taking care of myself? I am floundering in my financial situation right now, and I am afraid to ask for help because I don't want them to feel like they own me anymore. I need help. I am about to reach out to my grandmother. I hope that she will be the one. I don't want to lose her. I want to get in touch with others in my family. I want them to see me. Maybe they can help me reach my family. I don't want to feel this way. I want my blood to matter in some way. I want to know that I belong somewhere in my family.
I feel bad about not calling my father today because a very close friend of mine doesn't have the choice. His father is dead. And I am scared that this situation will reach the point where I will not feel anything when my father dies.
It was also my brother's birthday. He's 27 now.
Mom, I am proud of you for trying to lose weight. I am proud of you for realizing that you are worth it enough to take care of yourself. I am proud of you for being strong every day of your life. I am proud of you for not caring about what the world thinks of you. I am proud of you because you kick ass at what you do, and you know this, and you aren't afraid to admit it. I am proud of you for reaching outside of your comfort zone. I wish you could feel these same things for me.
Dad, I don't know how to reach you. I feel like you set yourself up on an island sometimes. Like father, like son, I suppose. I have found a way to leave my island. I am opening myself up to the world after years and years of being a castaway. Please don't turn me away. Please don't force me back into isolation. I am proud of you for trying, and the only thing I want is for you to keep trying. I feel like you are giving up on me when you stop listening to me. I love you.
Brother, I miss you. Happy Birthday.
I feel guilty. But I also feel like this might show him that I feel just as invisible and neglected when he doesn't call me by my name. I feel like there is no room for me. I feel like I am being squeezed out of existence. And the only thing I am doing is being true to myself.
How do I say these things without hurting them more? And when do I stop worrying about that and start taking care of myself? I am floundering in my financial situation right now, and I am afraid to ask for help because I don't want them to feel like they own me anymore. I need help. I am about to reach out to my grandmother. I hope that she will be the one. I don't want to lose her. I want to get in touch with others in my family. I want them to see me. Maybe they can help me reach my family. I don't want to feel this way. I want my blood to matter in some way. I want to know that I belong somewhere in my family.
I feel bad about not calling my father today because a very close friend of mine doesn't have the choice. His father is dead. And I am scared that this situation will reach the point where I will not feel anything when my father dies.
It was also my brother's birthday. He's 27 now.
Mom, I am proud of you for trying to lose weight. I am proud of you for realizing that you are worth it enough to take care of yourself. I am proud of you for being strong every day of your life. I am proud of you for not caring about what the world thinks of you. I am proud of you because you kick ass at what you do, and you know this, and you aren't afraid to admit it. I am proud of you for reaching outside of your comfort zone. I wish you could feel these same things for me.
Dad, I don't know how to reach you. I feel like you set yourself up on an island sometimes. Like father, like son, I suppose. I have found a way to leave my island. I am opening myself up to the world after years and years of being a castaway. Please don't turn me away. Please don't force me back into isolation. I am proud of you for trying, and the only thing I want is for you to keep trying. I feel like you are giving up on me when you stop listening to me. I love you.
Brother, I miss you. Happy Birthday.
Observations: Almost 15 weeks
I feel more in control of myself, both mind and body. Because of the way my brain works, this can't be the case all the time. I don't shut down as often, but when I do, the whole thing seems more intense. And maybe that means that part of me is becoming more real as well. If this is the case, then I should be better able to deal with it.
But I can feel the difference inside of me. I feel less like I am looking at the world from under the surface--less like I am grasping to break the tension above. Maybe that's not really true. I know these feelings are still there. Sometimes I am so disconnected from other people. I know there is nothing I can do about that. But I can choose to fight. And I'm getting stronger. I'm getting better at breaking my own shell. I am realizing that I do have the control that I've always desired. I just need to learn how to access it.
I was playing drums today. My hands are better at doing what I want them to do. And I see something different when I watch myself playing in the mirror, and I happy. Like said, I feel more real. My body and brain are feeling less like separate entities. Now the struggle is connecting the whole of myself with the world out there. People sometimes fail to realize the paradox of becoming closed-off/shutting down/having a meltdown/whatever. I guess I just can't deal with the world on its terms. I can't take all of the shit that keeps coming at me. It really is just too much to process. But I don't choose this, at least most of the time. I want to be out there with everyone else. I don't want to be locked in. But I still need to figure out how to handle myself when those things happen. And I do feel like I'm getting better. I feel like I have one fewer disconnect on my plate. And now I can start to focus on the other big one. Maybe improvement in one has bolstered my ability to deal with the other. It's exciting to know that I am gaining control--that it is possible to gain control.
I feel at home in this skin of mine, for the most part. I don't feel like I am hidden behind my eyes. The rest of my face is starting to tell the story. My smile is genuine. I am a real person. I feel real. How can anyone say that I am doing the wrong thing?
But I can feel the difference inside of me. I feel less like I am looking at the world from under the surface--less like I am grasping to break the tension above. Maybe that's not really true. I know these feelings are still there. Sometimes I am so disconnected from other people. I know there is nothing I can do about that. But I can choose to fight. And I'm getting stronger. I'm getting better at breaking my own shell. I am realizing that I do have the control that I've always desired. I just need to learn how to access it.
I was playing drums today. My hands are better at doing what I want them to do. And I see something different when I watch myself playing in the mirror, and I happy. Like said, I feel more real. My body and brain are feeling less like separate entities. Now the struggle is connecting the whole of myself with the world out there. People sometimes fail to realize the paradox of becoming closed-off/shutting down/having a meltdown/whatever. I guess I just can't deal with the world on its terms. I can't take all of the shit that keeps coming at me. It really is just too much to process. But I don't choose this, at least most of the time. I want to be out there with everyone else. I don't want to be locked in. But I still need to figure out how to handle myself when those things happen. And I do feel like I'm getting better. I feel like I have one fewer disconnect on my plate. And now I can start to focus on the other big one. Maybe improvement in one has bolstered my ability to deal with the other. It's exciting to know that I am gaining control--that it is possible to gain control.
I feel at home in this skin of mine, for the most part. I don't feel like I am hidden behind my eyes. The rest of my face is starting to tell the story. My smile is genuine. I am a real person. I feel real. How can anyone say that I am doing the wrong thing?
Friday, May 28, 2010
29
Yeah, it's been quite a long time since I've written something here. And it's because I've been so afraid of what other people will find out. I've been afraid to say anything because it might get back to my parents or to people who have some ridiculously unwarranted power over my life. But I don't care. I can't care after tonight. I am quite sick of people trying to make me believe that I suck at things or am useless. I can think of four people within the blink of an eye. I'm sure there are many more, but right now I can't think very well. The web effect has taken hold of my brain, and I am not even aware of my surroundings now. It's as if I am alone here in my head and the rest of the world doesn't exist. My body is just doing things. It walked itself home somehow and managed to have a conversation with someone for part of the way, though I don't remember most of the walk and I definitely don't remember the conversation. My brain has been elsewhere. I had to leave that place tonight. I just couldn't stand being put in that situation again when I thought I had moved past that sort of juvenile behavior. I didn't think that someone so respected in this community would treat me like this, and I will come right out and say that this person has not earned my respect. That's the way it works with me. You cannot demand it from me: You must show me that you deserve it. And so far, this one hasn't come close. It's frustrating. It sucks when other people try to make themselves look better by trying to make everyone else look worse. But I still don't understand why I left. Why didn't I say this in front of everyone? Why didn't I call them out? Is it because I want this all to go well? Maybe if I had said something I would have fucked everything up. But maybe if I had said something, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. And why did that have to be the one thing that made me topple over and lose control tonight? I guess I didn't really lose control, but you know what I mean. At least, I hope you do by now. I should have expected it when I got a funny feeling earlier in the day. I didn't know what it was about. I was worried about something, but I couldn't place it. I guess I'd been worried about tonight too. And maybe I'm also worried about the fact that my best friend is moving to another state, and I may never see him again. I don't know how I can possibly afford to visit Connecticut. I would love to go up there all the time. I really don't want to lose touch. And I don't know how to handle this.
I'm tired of being worried about things. I don't want to be afraid of being myself. But maybe that's not what tonight was. Maybe I was being diplomatic. Maybe I really was sacrificing myself for the greater good of this project. But if that is true, does that mean that as soon as I am done with this, I can let it all out there? Is that the right thing to do? Or is the right thing to do to keep playing along with it and hope it benefits me somehow in the long run? I just don't know anymore. I keep trying to play these fucking games with people, and I know I can win, but winning takes a lot of energy because the whole mess of it is bullshit. It'd be so much easier if people would just deal with each other honestly for 10 fucking minutes rather than dance around each other for months or years.
And I don't know but the rest of me is slowly coming back, and I'm remembering the pain in my legs. It's not only in my shins now. My knees hurt now because of these stupid shoes that don't fit, insoles that are too old and I can't afford to replace, the miles that I've walked, and the stupid fucked up feet I was born with. And now I'm in physical therapy for my fucked up shins. I'm supposed to do this massage thing and ice them down tonight, but at this point I'm just getting the bodily awareness back. I don't know how long it will be before I can physically move myself from this spot. I don't even know if I can speak right now. This might be all that I can do. I'm terrified, yet my mind is still doing that thing where it thinks about a thousand things at once, one of which is how and why this goes on inside my head. How can my brain create such a state of experience? I think people take drugs to feel this way. And I guess if you are in control of it and can decide when this is going to happen to you, it might be kind of fun. But this. This just takes you over. I don't know how long I've been in this state or how long it has been since I left, but it feels like no more than 30 minutes could have passed. And that seems like a long time. But it's probably been almost 2 hours. I have no idea. I don't know where everyone is or what to do to get back to them or even back to the version of me that can deal with what is happening right now.
I do remember something. And I think it's the something that made me start writing this. Three times tonight, my life was threatened, and in two of those situations, I knew there was a reason to be afraid. I could feel it. The immediate danger. The willingness to kill surrounding the one group of people. I don't know if I ran away. I can't remember. I don't know if I was just walking quickly or full out running away. I can take one or two or even three people but not 7 or 8. "I'm just going to kill that fucking faggot." And even if it was just this one kid, I know how easy it would be for me in this state to just keep going no matter what. I would do something awful. I'd let myself get killed or seriously hurt someone else because it would have been instinct. And the other time, I should have stopped. Maybe. I should have said something. I thought this. I thought I should have turned around and done something to prove myself. I thought at least once in the night I should have stood up for myself. For everyone who gets threatened like this. I was going to do something. I don't know what could have happened but maybe it would have mattered. I just don't know. This is fucking bullshit.
Bullshit.
Why do I have to be afraid to walk down the street in my own fucking neighborhood? Who teaches my peers to be this way? What if I could have taught someone not to fuck with random people on the street? Just one time, someone shouldn't get away with it. I don't know if I will be able to stop myself next time. This isn't right.
I can't get out of this bubble. I can move and do what I am supposed to do but I can't take in the whole picture. I'm so focused on a single point that the single point is inside my head. It's a black hole. There's so much packed into this one tiny space that the rest of the universe is incomprehensible to me. I can only deal with this little bit right now. It's like my circuits have been fried, and I need time to repair them. I don't know how to make this happen any faster, and something this bad hasn't happened in a while, and I know this is because so many different things have been combining to grind me down. I just can't resist that much shit. And the icing on the cake came at the bar this evening. That threw me over the edge, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fix it. So I tried. I tried but I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn't stop myself. I moved. I just kept in motion because repetitive motion--like walking in time when you don't even realize you are doing it--is something that can usually calm me down. But it wasn't helping. I couldn't even notice it. And then I was alone. And then I wasn't. And both were awful. I think I was more afraid of what I was going to do to somebody who fucked with me than what he was going to do to me. I don't care about getting the shit kicked out of me. I care about hurting someone else or just getting in that kind of trouble where I'd spend the rest of my life in jail. I AM NOT MY FUCKING BROTHER. THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN TO ME. I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN TO ME, AND I DON'T CARE IF EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING WORLD THINKS THAT I'M A PILE OF SHIT THAT DESERVES WHAT'S COMING TO HIM.
In all of this stupid fucking shit, I am incapable of hating another person. And that is my greatest fault. And there's nothing that I can do about it. I am the one who gives infinite chances to people. I'm the one that's always going to be there, even when you continue to fuck me over. I've always got your back, even though you step on mine day after day, week after week. Yeah, I take shit. And I've always taken shit and gotten through seemingly unscathed. But recent times have made me realize that I don't deserve to take this shit and that I am actually worth enough to make that point and have people listen to it. But it's really hard to get out of the habit of trusting people. I somehow trust everyone and no one at the same time. Or at least I trust very few people. Please someone stop me, and get me out of this chair. My leg hurts so much.
I don't know what I am even writing. I'm scared to move, but I want to. And I can't. This is fucking annoying. I haven't had something like this happen in a bit. How do I get out of this? Maybe she will be able to bring me out of this? Am I writing what I feel inside or just what seems like it should be said? Or are these two things just naturally the same for me. Is what I see as logic just my own opinion? I know I'm not this blind. But maybe I am right now. Who knows how I really function in this state? Maybe this is a clue. Maybe if I get everything out here or as much of it as I can before it slips away and the web keeps clouding everything with all these strands going in more directions than I can count, I can figure out where I need to go to get out of it in the future. I know my sentences go on forever. I know there is no pattern. I just keep going. And I can't really control where my mind is headed, and my mind can't control what's happening to my body, and I need a way to get everything to line up again. I need to gain control again. That's it. I don't know what to do when I am not in control of a situation. That's not that true. I can deal with these things quite well, but I have to be in control of at least something or know that something that I did caused me to be in control of something. I don't know. That doesn't make sense. I have to be given some background reason or something to know that I have control over things. I need to have that going in. It's not confidence. It's knowledge. That's what I need. It's security that I can't quite label. And I guess little things eat at my daily allowance of security, and by the end of the day, I may be just fine. But some days I just run out. Some things just take too much out of me.
I feel disgusting right now.
It hurts. I am tired. I am starting to feel my body yet again. But this has only been cycling between nothing and a little bit of something. I haven't been able to get any further. I just want to get up and change my clothes before anyone gets here because I want to cover as much of myself as possible. I guess that means I want to keep hiding. I don't know if I can trust myself with anyone else right now. I don't know if I can trust myself at all. So I guess that must mean I need someone else to help me out right now. But I just don't see how that makes sense. Maybe I do. I am totally confused by my own head right now and know I am not making any sense.
How can people call me normal? She says I'm one of the most normal people she knows? Isn't that funny? Most people might tell you I'm the most screwed up person in the world. At least that's what I've been told to think for most of my life. And my parents I think are still trying to convince me of that. My fingers are twitching and being all weird but somehow they know exactly what to type. I don't know how it's coming out. But it is. I am somehow typing way faster than I ever could and I am definitely not looking at the keys as much. I know more than I think I do and maybe I second-guess myself all the time. I don't have to look. But I do. I worry about it and I don't even realize that I do it, but when I am on auto-pilot my muscle memory takes over and I am fine. What the hell? Why can't this work all the time? I know it can. I just need to get myself in the right place to be able to make it happen. And I know this doesn't make any sense to people, but I know how to do it if given a little bit of time. And the time depends on the situation. I can fix some things pretty quickly. I don't even know right now. I lost it completely.
I might be stopping soon, but I don't know why. Maybe I said what I needed to say without realizing it. I must have. I really don' t know anything of what I said. I feel like I ruined everything tonight. I didn't do this on purpose. I'm sorry. I wish I weren't like this sometimes. I wish I didn't fuck up everyone's plans and spoil shit. I shouldn't be allowed to be around people sometimes. But I don't know when to make that choice. How am I going to be in charge of another human life? How am I so much better at fixing other people's shit than my own?
What the hell? I don't know. I need to stop. I will stop.
I'm tired of being worried about things. I don't want to be afraid of being myself. But maybe that's not what tonight was. Maybe I was being diplomatic. Maybe I really was sacrificing myself for the greater good of this project. But if that is true, does that mean that as soon as I am done with this, I can let it all out there? Is that the right thing to do? Or is the right thing to do to keep playing along with it and hope it benefits me somehow in the long run? I just don't know anymore. I keep trying to play these fucking games with people, and I know I can win, but winning takes a lot of energy because the whole mess of it is bullshit. It'd be so much easier if people would just deal with each other honestly for 10 fucking minutes rather than dance around each other for months or years.
And I don't know but the rest of me is slowly coming back, and I'm remembering the pain in my legs. It's not only in my shins now. My knees hurt now because of these stupid shoes that don't fit, insoles that are too old and I can't afford to replace, the miles that I've walked, and the stupid fucked up feet I was born with. And now I'm in physical therapy for my fucked up shins. I'm supposed to do this massage thing and ice them down tonight, but at this point I'm just getting the bodily awareness back. I don't know how long it will be before I can physically move myself from this spot. I don't even know if I can speak right now. This might be all that I can do. I'm terrified, yet my mind is still doing that thing where it thinks about a thousand things at once, one of which is how and why this goes on inside my head. How can my brain create such a state of experience? I think people take drugs to feel this way. And I guess if you are in control of it and can decide when this is going to happen to you, it might be kind of fun. But this. This just takes you over. I don't know how long I've been in this state or how long it has been since I left, but it feels like no more than 30 minutes could have passed. And that seems like a long time. But it's probably been almost 2 hours. I have no idea. I don't know where everyone is or what to do to get back to them or even back to the version of me that can deal with what is happening right now.
I do remember something. And I think it's the something that made me start writing this. Three times tonight, my life was threatened, and in two of those situations, I knew there was a reason to be afraid. I could feel it. The immediate danger. The willingness to kill surrounding the one group of people. I don't know if I ran away. I can't remember. I don't know if I was just walking quickly or full out running away. I can take one or two or even three people but not 7 or 8. "I'm just going to kill that fucking faggot." And even if it was just this one kid, I know how easy it would be for me in this state to just keep going no matter what. I would do something awful. I'd let myself get killed or seriously hurt someone else because it would have been instinct. And the other time, I should have stopped. Maybe. I should have said something. I thought this. I thought I should have turned around and done something to prove myself. I thought at least once in the night I should have stood up for myself. For everyone who gets threatened like this. I was going to do something. I don't know what could have happened but maybe it would have mattered. I just don't know. This is fucking bullshit.
Bullshit.
Why do I have to be afraid to walk down the street in my own fucking neighborhood? Who teaches my peers to be this way? What if I could have taught someone not to fuck with random people on the street? Just one time, someone shouldn't get away with it. I don't know if I will be able to stop myself next time. This isn't right.
I can't get out of this bubble. I can move and do what I am supposed to do but I can't take in the whole picture. I'm so focused on a single point that the single point is inside my head. It's a black hole. There's so much packed into this one tiny space that the rest of the universe is incomprehensible to me. I can only deal with this little bit right now. It's like my circuits have been fried, and I need time to repair them. I don't know how to make this happen any faster, and something this bad hasn't happened in a while, and I know this is because so many different things have been combining to grind me down. I just can't resist that much shit. And the icing on the cake came at the bar this evening. That threw me over the edge, and I knew I wouldn't be able to fix it. So I tried. I tried but I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn't stop myself. I moved. I just kept in motion because repetitive motion--like walking in time when you don't even realize you are doing it--is something that can usually calm me down. But it wasn't helping. I couldn't even notice it. And then I was alone. And then I wasn't. And both were awful. I think I was more afraid of what I was going to do to somebody who fucked with me than what he was going to do to me. I don't care about getting the shit kicked out of me. I care about hurting someone else or just getting in that kind of trouble where I'd spend the rest of my life in jail. I AM NOT MY FUCKING BROTHER. THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN TO ME. I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN TO ME, AND I DON'T CARE IF EVERYONE IN THE FUCKING WORLD THINKS THAT I'M A PILE OF SHIT THAT DESERVES WHAT'S COMING TO HIM.
In all of this stupid fucking shit, I am incapable of hating another person. And that is my greatest fault. And there's nothing that I can do about it. I am the one who gives infinite chances to people. I'm the one that's always going to be there, even when you continue to fuck me over. I've always got your back, even though you step on mine day after day, week after week. Yeah, I take shit. And I've always taken shit and gotten through seemingly unscathed. But recent times have made me realize that I don't deserve to take this shit and that I am actually worth enough to make that point and have people listen to it. But it's really hard to get out of the habit of trusting people. I somehow trust everyone and no one at the same time. Or at least I trust very few people. Please someone stop me, and get me out of this chair. My leg hurts so much.
I don't know what I am even writing. I'm scared to move, but I want to. And I can't. This is fucking annoying. I haven't had something like this happen in a bit. How do I get out of this? Maybe she will be able to bring me out of this? Am I writing what I feel inside or just what seems like it should be said? Or are these two things just naturally the same for me. Is what I see as logic just my own opinion? I know I'm not this blind. But maybe I am right now. Who knows how I really function in this state? Maybe this is a clue. Maybe if I get everything out here or as much of it as I can before it slips away and the web keeps clouding everything with all these strands going in more directions than I can count, I can figure out where I need to go to get out of it in the future. I know my sentences go on forever. I know there is no pattern. I just keep going. And I can't really control where my mind is headed, and my mind can't control what's happening to my body, and I need a way to get everything to line up again. I need to gain control again. That's it. I don't know what to do when I am not in control of a situation. That's not that true. I can deal with these things quite well, but I have to be in control of at least something or know that something that I did caused me to be in control of something. I don't know. That doesn't make sense. I have to be given some background reason or something to know that I have control over things. I need to have that going in. It's not confidence. It's knowledge. That's what I need. It's security that I can't quite label. And I guess little things eat at my daily allowance of security, and by the end of the day, I may be just fine. But some days I just run out. Some things just take too much out of me.
I feel disgusting right now.
It hurts. I am tired. I am starting to feel my body yet again. But this has only been cycling between nothing and a little bit of something. I haven't been able to get any further. I just want to get up and change my clothes before anyone gets here because I want to cover as much of myself as possible. I guess that means I want to keep hiding. I don't know if I can trust myself with anyone else right now. I don't know if I can trust myself at all. So I guess that must mean I need someone else to help me out right now. But I just don't see how that makes sense. Maybe I do. I am totally confused by my own head right now and know I am not making any sense.
How can people call me normal? She says I'm one of the most normal people she knows? Isn't that funny? Most people might tell you I'm the most screwed up person in the world. At least that's what I've been told to think for most of my life. And my parents I think are still trying to convince me of that. My fingers are twitching and being all weird but somehow they know exactly what to type. I don't know how it's coming out. But it is. I am somehow typing way faster than I ever could and I am definitely not looking at the keys as much. I know more than I think I do and maybe I second-guess myself all the time. I don't have to look. But I do. I worry about it and I don't even realize that I do it, but when I am on auto-pilot my muscle memory takes over and I am fine. What the hell? Why can't this work all the time? I know it can. I just need to get myself in the right place to be able to make it happen. And I know this doesn't make any sense to people, but I know how to do it if given a little bit of time. And the time depends on the situation. I can fix some things pretty quickly. I don't even know right now. I lost it completely.
I might be stopping soon, but I don't know why. Maybe I said what I needed to say without realizing it. I must have. I really don' t know anything of what I said. I feel like I ruined everything tonight. I didn't do this on purpose. I'm sorry. I wish I weren't like this sometimes. I wish I didn't fuck up everyone's plans and spoil shit. I shouldn't be allowed to be around people sometimes. But I don't know when to make that choice. How am I going to be in charge of another human life? How am I so much better at fixing other people's shit than my own?
What the hell? I don't know. I need to stop. I will stop.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Something
I am full-fledged masculinity
with just enough--
a splash of femininity.
faggot.
words are my weapons
too.
bigot.
with just enough--
a splash of femininity.
faggot.
words are my weapons
too.
bigot.
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