These are the times I realize how alone I really am. You can say all you want about having close friends and people that care about you, etc. But most of you aren't in this position at all. Most of you are sleeping next to someone who cares about you more than anyone else in the world. What do I mean by times like these?
The times when I'm sick like this and just want someone to be with me through it all. The times when I can't sleep and just want to hold or be held and talk to someone. I know this must be getting old because even I have trouble not being able to get past feeling like this. I keep wondering if there's something genuinely wrong with me or if maybe I'm just supposed to feel like this.
My head really hurts. The pressure is so bad that my eyes keep watering. I'm sitting here in nothing but my gym shorts, but I'm dripping sweat all over and sticking to everything. My ears feel funny too, and I have to keep stopping because reading hurts.
I keep getting the feeling like I want to try something with someone soon (and no there is no particular person in mind), but it's almost impossible for me to feel that way about anyone else right now. I may get transient crushes or feel like I really have something in common with a certain person. But I always worry about fucking things up or just being too fucked up. And then there are times where I have completely normal reasons for not wanting to attempt relationships with people. But sometimes the reasons get a tad mixed up, and I always end up feeling like it's my fault.
I don't want to just get by anymore, but there's no way for me to fix that now. I keep wondering if I made a mistake.
For as confident as I have become in the last few years, I am still one of the most insecure people I've ever known. I feel like if people really knew who I am, they'd run away instead of try to chase after me.
People who are very obviously flirtatious make me really uncomfortable, and I have no idea how to respond appropriately. People say that I flirt with people all the time, but there are very few occasions when I consciously attempt such a thing. I just try to talk to people the way they want to be talked to. And if I am saying or doing something flirtatious, it's usually so extreme that I can't take it seriously, even if other people do.
No matter what I say at any other time, I will say it here again. I can't be with another person right now, no matter how much it hurts to be by myself. I'm worried that that won't change, but I also worry about rushing into something because I want so desperately to be out of this situation.
I'm getting dizzy. Time for more juice and sleep. Ugh.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
For the Book, Perhaps
I meant everything I said last night. I never really felt sexy until I got to be Dylan for the first time. I mean, I know that other people may have perceived me as such at various times in my life as a female, and I was aware of that. But I couldn't feel it. That was a very external kind of sexiness that didn't really belong to me, and it always felt like coming out from under water when it was finally time to take it off. I'm not the first person to say it, but drag was my gateway drug. It was when I realized that my drag persona felt more real to me than the person I was trying to be in real life that I knew something big was on the horizon. Drag wasn't so much about doing as it was being for me.
It wasn't an instantaneous realization. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant experience. Dylan had to be yanked out of me, and there was a time when I fought back with all I had just to keep him inside. I was terrified of losing everyone and everything. I was terrified of being a freak. So I slid myself into genderqueer, attempting to believe that I could fluctuate between man and woman as I saw fit, but each time I gravitated toward the masculine end of the spectrum, I was better able to see the emptiness of the person that existed on the other side. The thoughts kept coming back, and I would just cry as I watched video after video on YouTube and began to realize that this was REAL. I opened the book signed by Scott Turner Schofield, made out to a straight tomboy named Elise, and let the tears come crashing down onto the pages. I sat on my bed for a long time staring at the graffiti my girlfriend and I had painted on the wall, words uttered by an estranged drumline instructor named Will: "Nothing worth having is ever easy."
It would still be months before I could bring myself to say the words. But they were there. And I could feel them rising from deep down inside, rising into my throat and getting stuck there. When they and I (and he) finally came out, she told me that she knew this day would come. I think we all did.
It wasn't an instantaneous realization. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant experience. Dylan had to be yanked out of me, and there was a time when I fought back with all I had just to keep him inside. I was terrified of losing everyone and everything. I was terrified of being a freak. So I slid myself into genderqueer, attempting to believe that I could fluctuate between man and woman as I saw fit, but each time I gravitated toward the masculine end of the spectrum, I was better able to see the emptiness of the person that existed on the other side. The thoughts kept coming back, and I would just cry as I watched video after video on YouTube and began to realize that this was REAL. I opened the book signed by Scott Turner Schofield, made out to a straight tomboy named Elise, and let the tears come crashing down onto the pages. I sat on my bed for a long time staring at the graffiti my girlfriend and I had painted on the wall, words uttered by an estranged drumline instructor named Will: "Nothing worth having is ever easy."
It would still be months before I could bring myself to say the words. But they were there. And I could feel them rising from deep down inside, rising into my throat and getting stuck there. When they and I (and he) finally came out, she told me that she knew this day would come. I think we all did.
Mr. Pittsburgh Pride 2011
Mr. Pittsburgh is over, and while I didn't win, I pretty much did everything the way I wanted to do it, minus a few dance moves I wasn't exactly comfortable with. I mean, if the worst things you can say about me involve my underwear showing when I kick my legs over my head and that pink paint was peeling off my ghetto-ass spraypainted shoes, then I'd say I'm doing just fine. I just wish I were better at speaking. One judge seemed to think I was particularly terrible at it, but I knew that part was really going to get me, and I know what I need to fix for next year. I'm a bit sad that I won't get to do this outside like I wanted to, but I'm still really happy for Britton and Skyler. And that's about as far as I've processed things. The old me would have been quite upset about not winning and probably would have taken it personally. But I can tell that I have grown as a person and as a performer because of my reaction to all of this. Quite a few random people came up to me last night, saying things like, "You should have won." The only thing that I could respond with at the time was "I'm still happy, and things happened the way they needed to. And that's what I really wanted from tonight." I proved to myself that I don't need a crown to feel validated as a performer--that I can be confident, even when I'm absolutely terrified.
When I saw the look on his face after the contest, I knew I had done it right. He's helped me so much through all of this, and that includes dealing with my random bullshit moments of panic and trying to convince me not to quit when something wasn't going the way I planned. And I will let you know that he wasn't lying when he said he felt like he was going to cry. And when I looked in his eyes and saw how genuinely proud he was of me, I felt the tears coming too.
I paused to look at the pouring rain, and I am somehow at a loss for words. I guess that's another thing. Even though I think I could have done much better with the question (I did write my answer in JJ's apartment just hours before, after all), I couldn't have been happier with the way I handled it. I could tell it was going to be difficult because the crowd didn't seem very interested in serious things, especially that late into the evening. But I didn't stutter or stumble. And I really didn't even use that cheat sheet. I'm proud of myself for actually going through with this. Every time I step outside of my comfort zone, it gets easier and easier. I can't wait to see where I am at this point next year.
As much fun as the whole experience has been, I'm really glad the competition is over. It was intensely stressful, and whether I was actively preparing for it or not, it was the only thing on which I could focus, and that was definitely starting to get to me. I didn't enjoy feeling like I wasn't going to be prepared enough, like my costumes were going to be too ordinary in comparison to my friends', like I was just going to look like I didn't belong up there. But I think I proved myself wrong in a lot of ways, and I was approaching the point where I absolutely needed something to make me realize what I have to offer and why people enjoy watching me perform. I'm still wondering what comes next. Should I keep trying this competition thing? Part of me wants to say yes because I know it would motivate me to step it up even more, but this shit costs a lot of money that I don't have. (I'm kicking myself for not splurging on those damned pink shoes.) And as much fun as bragging rights are, I enjoy entertaining people more than I do winning. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates that, and I am starting to think that my energy would be much more beneficial to the community if directed toward creating a scene for younger performers. There's something about helping other people discover things they didn't know they had in them that's incredibly rewarding. And I know how great it feels to be on the receiving end of that.
When I saw the look on his face after the contest, I knew I had done it right. He's helped me so much through all of this, and that includes dealing with my random bullshit moments of panic and trying to convince me not to quit when something wasn't going the way I planned. And I will let you know that he wasn't lying when he said he felt like he was going to cry. And when I looked in his eyes and saw how genuinely proud he was of me, I felt the tears coming too.
I paused to look at the pouring rain, and I am somehow at a loss for words. I guess that's another thing. Even though I think I could have done much better with the question (I did write my answer in JJ's apartment just hours before, after all), I couldn't have been happier with the way I handled it. I could tell it was going to be difficult because the crowd didn't seem very interested in serious things, especially that late into the evening. But I didn't stutter or stumble. And I really didn't even use that cheat sheet. I'm proud of myself for actually going through with this. Every time I step outside of my comfort zone, it gets easier and easier. I can't wait to see where I am at this point next year.
As much fun as the whole experience has been, I'm really glad the competition is over. It was intensely stressful, and whether I was actively preparing for it or not, it was the only thing on which I could focus, and that was definitely starting to get to me. I didn't enjoy feeling like I wasn't going to be prepared enough, like my costumes were going to be too ordinary in comparison to my friends', like I was just going to look like I didn't belong up there. But I think I proved myself wrong in a lot of ways, and I was approaching the point where I absolutely needed something to make me realize what I have to offer and why people enjoy watching me perform. I'm still wondering what comes next. Should I keep trying this competition thing? Part of me wants to say yes because I know it would motivate me to step it up even more, but this shit costs a lot of money that I don't have. (I'm kicking myself for not splurging on those damned pink shoes.) And as much fun as bragging rights are, I enjoy entertaining people more than I do winning. I know I'm not the only one who appreciates that, and I am starting to think that my energy would be much more beneficial to the community if directed toward creating a scene for younger performers. There's something about helping other people discover things they didn't know they had in them that's incredibly rewarding. And I know how great it feels to be on the receiving end of that.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Today
I need to make a list of things to do today in order to get it all done without wanting to punch walls. I mean, that was yesterday.
I need to shower and shave, more than just my face.
I need to remove extraneous glue from clothing and seal some beads.
I need to find my green tie.
I need to work out a little.
I need to make yet another set of lists of all the items I need for tonight.
I need to pack my drag suitcase.
I need to try to get this song on my iPod.
I need to go tanning and get a haircut.
I need to eat one last time before the pretty pretty princess diet begins (P3, for short).
I need to find a quiet place and write something out.
I need to mail these two fucking letters that I've been trying to get rid of for two weeks now.
I need to meet JJ at Cattivo.
"It's just drag. Life goes on."
I need to shower and shave, more than just my face.
I need to remove extraneous glue from clothing and seal some beads.
I need to find my green tie.
I need to work out a little.
I need to make yet another set of lists of all the items I need for tonight.
I need to pack my drag suitcase.
I need to try to get this song on my iPod.
I need to go tanning and get a haircut.
I need to eat one last time before the pretty pretty princess diet begins (P3, for short).
I need to find a quiet place and write something out.
I need to mail these two fucking letters that I've been trying to get rid of for two weeks now.
I need to meet JJ at Cattivo.
"It's just drag. Life goes on."
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Call the Zoo
At some point, I told myself that I would start writing here more frequently again.
But I might have been drunk.
I don't think I've ever actually written anything while intoxicated, though I managed to pump out a good chunk of a nine-page letter before succumbing to the effects of a massive dose of some serious cough syrup. EPIC cough syrup.
I didn't intend to get drunk last night. It just sort of happened, and I know I did some really stupid shit on facebook and private messaged several people. Then I ate some toast, and the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with all of my clothes on, drenched in sweat and smelling like a gay bar. What a lovely start to my day, don't you think?
I don't know why I felt off today. Little things just bother me more when I get this way. For example, people getting sidetracked often upsets me when there is clearly something that needs to be done. I tend to get anxious and easily frustrated.
Mr. Pittsburgh is next weekend, and I'm extremely worried about it. I don't really enjoy competing against my friends, for one thing, and that has more to do with the fact that I'm actually ridiculously competitive, and I can be a monumental douchebag. More than anything, I am discovering how limited my resources are and what that means for me. No matter how talented I am, I'm definitely not going to look the best. Things aren't going to be extravagant and over-the-top. I'm just going to do what I know how to do. And I'm starting to doubt myself and worry that that just won't be enough. I keep trying to answer the question of why I deserve this just as much or more than anyone else, and it's getting really difficult. I'm generally a pompous asshole, but I get in these annoying little ruts where I lack any self-confidence. I remember having this same sort of crisis right before helping out a friend with her own pageant. When I was facing the prospect of competing against one of my best friends earlier this year, I started feeling the same way. I know that I do. I know that I don't need expensive shit or fancy props to win. I know that I can carry myself to a victory even if I'm butt-ass naked, which I'm sure would make some people happy, at least. But there's that weird space of difference between knowing something and feeling it in which I'm finding myself. I feel stuck. I've felt stuck--in so many aspects of my life--for several months now, and I want to believe that the nice weather will turn things around for me.
I'm going on an unintentional diet for the next few weeks. It's reminiscent of the poor-kid diet I went through in October. I'm still a little freaked out by those pictures. Anyway, I had to spend at least a little bit trying to get things for this contest, and that tanked my already meager bank account. I have $1.16 to my name right now, and I don't have much food left in the house, and I feel like a jerk eating other people's stuff, so I eat my packets of tuna and have some cheerios. And I drink water. It's not like I'm terribly unhappy with it. I'm eating healthy things, but I never feel like I'm satisfied. I am always wanting more, but I know there is none. And that's depressing. I'm getting paranoid about not finding a job. I think that will be my biggest project tomorrow, other than heading to the bank to see how they will deal with a check that's made out to Dylan and not to Elise.
I got a letter from my brother today. I didn't really know how to respond to it. It's not an angry letter. He took his time with this one and really thought about what he wanted to say. I can understand exactly why he feels the way he does and the processes he used to rationalize his beliefs. But it just made me...sad. How can he expect to ever be close to me again? As much as I do cherish my past and everything in it, clinging to it in the way that he envisions would annihilate the possibility of ever becoming close to the person that I am now and will be in the future. I do not exist apart from my past. I have in no way attempted to erase the person I had been for 21 years. I still can look at those pictures and say, "This is me."
I want to be able to explain that those memories are not invalid, though my experience of them was much different. Being a little girl wasn't fun for me. It wasn't cute. It wasn't something I cherished or wanted. It was something that I wanted to ignore at the time. It was something that was there just as a word and nothing more. The word was nothing to me until it became a prison, until I couldn't ignore it any longer. Until I had to fight to be seen for who I am. When I look at those pictures, I don't see a little girl. I see me. Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize that I really have always been a boy, not because of what I was wearing or what sports I was playing, but because of how I felt inside and how I related to other people growing up. I always wanted to be in that role and be treated like the others, and I would kick and scream about how I wasn't, and I had NO IDEA why. I just don't think I'll be able to convince him that he's always had a little brother, really.
He's having a problem because these words aren't just words to him. They represent enormous constructs around which his entire life was based growing up. Changing them, in his mind, would mean having to alter the past--alter what he sees as the absolute truth of the universe. The past cannot be changed, and attempting to change it is living a lie. I can understand this logic perfectly, and perhaps this is why it is not a problem at all when people say she/Elise when referring to the version of me that existed prior to my transition. But there is more than the past. The present is NOT the same, and the future won't be either. But that's not going to negate what has already existed. He has attached our relationship directly to the words used to describe the relationship. Can I blame him? How many people today can really even begin to separate language from thought? In order for him to understand and accept the person that I am now, he's going to have to detach all of these aspects of our relationship from those words and transfer them to new ones, and I wonder what that will take for him.
I can't separate the pain from those words. So I guess I can understand a little bit of what he's feeling. I am not okay with being disrespected by people whom I've told why it's so important to me, and I don't think that I should have to be as a compromise. This isn't a compromise about terms used. It's a compromise of myself, if I choose to make it.
So I was feeling kind of shitty and off today, and maybe that's a little bit about why. I thought I would have stopped feeling overwhelmed after graduation. The fact that I have not has contributed to my overall state of unhappiness because it makes me believe that I will never stop feeling this way. I'll never be a calm person. I'll never just be content and easy-going. And that sucks. Again and again, I say it. We can't be anything more than what we are.
Transition made it possible for me to start dealing with all of the other shit that's been buried inside of me for the past 22 years. Everything else was being masked by the fact that I absolutely needed to do this in order to move forward in my life. It was do or die for me, really. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. But now I'm starting to actually face some of the shit that I should have confronted a long time ago. I'm not in a good place with it right now. I feel like that mountain of shit is just too much for me. I can't see to the other side. I feel like I may never be able to get past some of these things now that they are in the open. And I wish I could talk to my family about it. I wish I could talk to them about so many of the things that I am going through right now, but I am so afraid that they will think that the transition has caused these problems. I know it hasn't. I know it hasn't because these problems have always been there. I can't hide from them anymore because of my transition. And while that does suck for me in some ways, it's probably a good thing. I wish I could FEEL like it is.
It's hard to even remember what it felt like to be in "another body". This is my body, and it feels like it's always been this way. I don't feel like my face has changed. I think I've always seen myself this way, regardless of what other people saw. That's why it is so easy to accept the physical changes as they come. That is why it is exciting. You'll have moments of seeing yourself as being different now and you realize that you really are physically becoming what you have always known yourself to be internally. I'm trying to think about what I used to look like. I'm thinking about my legs and how I looked at them with disgust. I thought they looked fat and gross, and I never wanted anyone to see them. I would look at my chest in the mirror and look at my hips, seeing this fat that didn't belong there, and no matter what I did, it was never going to go away. I would smile, and it would just seem awkward. I couldn't look at myself and be confident. I'd have my good days, of course. But I wouldn't be able to take my shirt off in bed. Sometimes I wouldn't take any of my clothes off, and when I did, I always had to put them right back on. I couldn't stand being in that body. I couldn't stand someone else touching that body. I wanted to hide it, even from myself. And my voice...I couldn't even stand listening to it when people played it back for me. When I spoke, I would hear a much deeper and smoother voice, but whenever I found myself listening to a recording, I wanted to cry. I couldn't believe that that squeaky-ass nasal sound came out of me.
My train of thought just crashed. I think it hit another train. And now there are dying thought children. And they are on fire...Sometimes, I worry about myself...
I don't know if I would like it to stay this quiet or for it to get really loud right about now. I'm getting uncomfortable. My stomach is starting to bother me. I wonder if someone is here.
"The further you go, the less you know."
But I might have been drunk.
I don't think I've ever actually written anything while intoxicated, though I managed to pump out a good chunk of a nine-page letter before succumbing to the effects of a massive dose of some serious cough syrup. EPIC cough syrup.
I didn't intend to get drunk last night. It just sort of happened, and I know I did some really stupid shit on facebook and private messaged several people. Then I ate some toast, and the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed with all of my clothes on, drenched in sweat and smelling like a gay bar. What a lovely start to my day, don't you think?
I don't know why I felt off today. Little things just bother me more when I get this way. For example, people getting sidetracked often upsets me when there is clearly something that needs to be done. I tend to get anxious and easily frustrated.
Mr. Pittsburgh is next weekend, and I'm extremely worried about it. I don't really enjoy competing against my friends, for one thing, and that has more to do with the fact that I'm actually ridiculously competitive, and I can be a monumental douchebag. More than anything, I am discovering how limited my resources are and what that means for me. No matter how talented I am, I'm definitely not going to look the best. Things aren't going to be extravagant and over-the-top. I'm just going to do what I know how to do. And I'm starting to doubt myself and worry that that just won't be enough. I keep trying to answer the question of why I deserve this just as much or more than anyone else, and it's getting really difficult. I'm generally a pompous asshole, but I get in these annoying little ruts where I lack any self-confidence. I remember having this same sort of crisis right before helping out a friend with her own pageant. When I was facing the prospect of competing against one of my best friends earlier this year, I started feeling the same way. I know that I do. I know that I don't need expensive shit or fancy props to win. I know that I can carry myself to a victory even if I'm butt-ass naked, which I'm sure would make some people happy, at least. But there's that weird space of difference between knowing something and feeling it in which I'm finding myself. I feel stuck. I've felt stuck--in so many aspects of my life--for several months now, and I want to believe that the nice weather will turn things around for me.
I'm going on an unintentional diet for the next few weeks. It's reminiscent of the poor-kid diet I went through in October. I'm still a little freaked out by those pictures. Anyway, I had to spend at least a little bit trying to get things for this contest, and that tanked my already meager bank account. I have $1.16 to my name right now, and I don't have much food left in the house, and I feel like a jerk eating other people's stuff, so I eat my packets of tuna and have some cheerios. And I drink water. It's not like I'm terribly unhappy with it. I'm eating healthy things, but I never feel like I'm satisfied. I am always wanting more, but I know there is none. And that's depressing. I'm getting paranoid about not finding a job. I think that will be my biggest project tomorrow, other than heading to the bank to see how they will deal with a check that's made out to Dylan and not to Elise.
I got a letter from my brother today. I didn't really know how to respond to it. It's not an angry letter. He took his time with this one and really thought about what he wanted to say. I can understand exactly why he feels the way he does and the processes he used to rationalize his beliefs. But it just made me...sad. How can he expect to ever be close to me again? As much as I do cherish my past and everything in it, clinging to it in the way that he envisions would annihilate the possibility of ever becoming close to the person that I am now and will be in the future. I do not exist apart from my past. I have in no way attempted to erase the person I had been for 21 years. I still can look at those pictures and say, "This is me."
I want to be able to explain that those memories are not invalid, though my experience of them was much different. Being a little girl wasn't fun for me. It wasn't cute. It wasn't something I cherished or wanted. It was something that I wanted to ignore at the time. It was something that was there just as a word and nothing more. The word was nothing to me until it became a prison, until I couldn't ignore it any longer. Until I had to fight to be seen for who I am. When I look at those pictures, I don't see a little girl. I see me. Looking back, it's easy for me to recognize that I really have always been a boy, not because of what I was wearing or what sports I was playing, but because of how I felt inside and how I related to other people growing up. I always wanted to be in that role and be treated like the others, and I would kick and scream about how I wasn't, and I had NO IDEA why. I just don't think I'll be able to convince him that he's always had a little brother, really.
He's having a problem because these words aren't just words to him. They represent enormous constructs around which his entire life was based growing up. Changing them, in his mind, would mean having to alter the past--alter what he sees as the absolute truth of the universe. The past cannot be changed, and attempting to change it is living a lie. I can understand this logic perfectly, and perhaps this is why it is not a problem at all when people say she/Elise when referring to the version of me that existed prior to my transition. But there is more than the past. The present is NOT the same, and the future won't be either. But that's not going to negate what has already existed. He has attached our relationship directly to the words used to describe the relationship. Can I blame him? How many people today can really even begin to separate language from thought? In order for him to understand and accept the person that I am now, he's going to have to detach all of these aspects of our relationship from those words and transfer them to new ones, and I wonder what that will take for him.
I can't separate the pain from those words. So I guess I can understand a little bit of what he's feeling. I am not okay with being disrespected by people whom I've told why it's so important to me, and I don't think that I should have to be as a compromise. This isn't a compromise about terms used. It's a compromise of myself, if I choose to make it.
So I was feeling kind of shitty and off today, and maybe that's a little bit about why. I thought I would have stopped feeling overwhelmed after graduation. The fact that I have not has contributed to my overall state of unhappiness because it makes me believe that I will never stop feeling this way. I'll never be a calm person. I'll never just be content and easy-going. And that sucks. Again and again, I say it. We can't be anything more than what we are.
Transition made it possible for me to start dealing with all of the other shit that's been buried inside of me for the past 22 years. Everything else was being masked by the fact that I absolutely needed to do this in order to move forward in my life. It was do or die for me, really. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. But now I'm starting to actually face some of the shit that I should have confronted a long time ago. I'm not in a good place with it right now. I feel like that mountain of shit is just too much for me. I can't see to the other side. I feel like I may never be able to get past some of these things now that they are in the open. And I wish I could talk to my family about it. I wish I could talk to them about so many of the things that I am going through right now, but I am so afraid that they will think that the transition has caused these problems. I know it hasn't. I know it hasn't because these problems have always been there. I can't hide from them anymore because of my transition. And while that does suck for me in some ways, it's probably a good thing. I wish I could FEEL like it is.
It's hard to even remember what it felt like to be in "another body". This is my body, and it feels like it's always been this way. I don't feel like my face has changed. I think I've always seen myself this way, regardless of what other people saw. That's why it is so easy to accept the physical changes as they come. That is why it is exciting. You'll have moments of seeing yourself as being different now and you realize that you really are physically becoming what you have always known yourself to be internally. I'm trying to think about what I used to look like. I'm thinking about my legs and how I looked at them with disgust. I thought they looked fat and gross, and I never wanted anyone to see them. I would look at my chest in the mirror and look at my hips, seeing this fat that didn't belong there, and no matter what I did, it was never going to go away. I would smile, and it would just seem awkward. I couldn't look at myself and be confident. I'd have my good days, of course. But I wouldn't be able to take my shirt off in bed. Sometimes I wouldn't take any of my clothes off, and when I did, I always had to put them right back on. I couldn't stand being in that body. I couldn't stand someone else touching that body. I wanted to hide it, even from myself. And my voice...I couldn't even stand listening to it when people played it back for me. When I spoke, I would hear a much deeper and smoother voice, but whenever I found myself listening to a recording, I wanted to cry. I couldn't believe that that squeaky-ass nasal sound came out of me.
My train of thought just crashed. I think it hit another train. And now there are dying thought children. And they are on fire...Sometimes, I worry about myself...
I don't know if I would like it to stay this quiet or for it to get really loud right about now. I'm getting uncomfortable. My stomach is starting to bother me. I wonder if someone is here.
"The further you go, the less you know."
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Love and Graduation
I actually couldn't wait until I could sit at a computer with a proper space bar, but I'm getting quite used to pressing this little circle when I need to separate my words. It's funny what we can get used to, what we let ourselves get used to. For the past several months, I let myself fall into trap after trap in both the beginnings and endings of relationships. I've said it before, and it's not going to surprise anyone that I've had difficulty being single because I haven't been alone for this long since I was fourteen. And things were very different then.
I don't miss going out on dates. I have plenty of people that want to go places and do things with me, and I mean, I've also got plenty of people who want to fuck me. But that's not what I want or need from someone at this point. Maybe this is what the older folks refer to as wanting to "settle down", but what I miss most is having someone with whom I can be absolutely...ordinary.
I miss the warmth of the body that hits the snooze button just to spend five more minutes wrapped in my arms, the piles of clothes here and there that remind me that this space is not yours or mine but ours, the other toothbrush, going to the grocery store, sitting on the couch in my shorts and being content to never move again because everything I need is just right there with this other person.
I miss being loved more than everyone else. I miss being able to give that to someone else too. I miss the secrets. I miss the games. I miss being able to come home to something. I miss having that someone waiting.
And I worry now that I am too broken for anything to ever work again. Time after time, I've had thoughts that I'm just not cut out to be in a relationship. It seems silly when you look at all of the asshats that end up falling in love, getting married, and spawning more little asshats. But maybe my understanding of love is different from theirs. Perhaps it's a really strange understanding. Statistically, I should be able to find another person who shares that understanding. But what if I don't even LIKE them?
What I'm doing now isn't working. I need to know where I stand with him. I don't think we feel the same way. And that's fine. I just need to know what this even IS. I don't do well with my feelings if I can't categorize them in some way. In order to respond appropriately, I need to know exactly what my relationship to this person is. It's formulaic, yes. But this is pretty much the only way I can function.
Maybe I'm stupid for even getting myself into this. For someone who has struggled with his body his entire life (you can't be surprised by this, really) to enter into a sexual relationship with someone who has a physical aversion to even touching certain parts of him, he must be a fucking desperate idiot, right? But I like him. And I thought that would be enough. But seeing that look on his face makes me want to cry. It makes me want to stop everything and forget I even wanted something for myself. It makes me so aware of what I am and what I am not. Of what I can and will never be.
I feel shame and need to cover myself. I need to hide.
Things are different now. Before, we learned how to handle this together. It was new for both of us. Now I'll be forever teaching my partners what it means to make love to this body and this person. But how many of them will really be able to do that? I keep having horrible thoughts about it. Maybe I've created something that no one can ever love. Maybe I've always been unlovable anyway.
And that's the loneliness I'm feeling. I said the other day that I was never sure I was really okay for any considerable length of time. I'm still trying to get over the most recent bought of being brought out of being okay. I was more than okay. And being able to start this transition made me truly happy. But that didn't change how I would react to having my heart broken over and over again in the months to follow. And I haven't fully recovered. You can't weather this kind of storm. I should have learned my lesson from the first time I had pneumonia.
School is over. I'm done. I am officially a college graduate. Now what the hell do I do? I'm most likely going to be getting a full-time job in the next few weeks. That's the start of "real life" for me, I guess. I'm excited. But there's another part of me that thinks things aren't going to change enough for me to be happy. But I know I can't run away or anything like that because that's too much change. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this graduation thing in the weeks to come since I can't appreciate it at this point. Everything still feels the same. It still feels like a summer vacation about to start. But there are things that will never be ever again. And that terrifies me too. I hate losing things. Maybe that's why I hate things to change when I don't want them to. If I want them to, it's like giving something away, not losing it. You still have to prepare for it, but it is much less painful.
I can only be what I am. I've said this a lot recently. It is both liberating and depressing. And that's how I feel these days. Liberated. And depressed.
Words are still coming. But they will have to come out differently soon.
I don't miss going out on dates. I have plenty of people that want to go places and do things with me, and I mean, I've also got plenty of people who want to fuck me. But that's not what I want or need from someone at this point. Maybe this is what the older folks refer to as wanting to "settle down", but what I miss most is having someone with whom I can be absolutely...ordinary.
I miss the warmth of the body that hits the snooze button just to spend five more minutes wrapped in my arms, the piles of clothes here and there that remind me that this space is not yours or mine but ours, the other toothbrush, going to the grocery store, sitting on the couch in my shorts and being content to never move again because everything I need is just right there with this other person.
I miss being loved more than everyone else. I miss being able to give that to someone else too. I miss the secrets. I miss the games. I miss being able to come home to something. I miss having that someone waiting.
And I worry now that I am too broken for anything to ever work again. Time after time, I've had thoughts that I'm just not cut out to be in a relationship. It seems silly when you look at all of the asshats that end up falling in love, getting married, and spawning more little asshats. But maybe my understanding of love is different from theirs. Perhaps it's a really strange understanding. Statistically, I should be able to find another person who shares that understanding. But what if I don't even LIKE them?
What I'm doing now isn't working. I need to know where I stand with him. I don't think we feel the same way. And that's fine. I just need to know what this even IS. I don't do well with my feelings if I can't categorize them in some way. In order to respond appropriately, I need to know exactly what my relationship to this person is. It's formulaic, yes. But this is pretty much the only way I can function.
Maybe I'm stupid for even getting myself into this. For someone who has struggled with his body his entire life (you can't be surprised by this, really) to enter into a sexual relationship with someone who has a physical aversion to even touching certain parts of him, he must be a fucking desperate idiot, right? But I like him. And I thought that would be enough. But seeing that look on his face makes me want to cry. It makes me want to stop everything and forget I even wanted something for myself. It makes me so aware of what I am and what I am not. Of what I can and will never be.
I feel shame and need to cover myself. I need to hide.
Things are different now. Before, we learned how to handle this together. It was new for both of us. Now I'll be forever teaching my partners what it means to make love to this body and this person. But how many of them will really be able to do that? I keep having horrible thoughts about it. Maybe I've created something that no one can ever love. Maybe I've always been unlovable anyway.
And that's the loneliness I'm feeling. I said the other day that I was never sure I was really okay for any considerable length of time. I'm still trying to get over the most recent bought of being brought out of being okay. I was more than okay. And being able to start this transition made me truly happy. But that didn't change how I would react to having my heart broken over and over again in the months to follow. And I haven't fully recovered. You can't weather this kind of storm. I should have learned my lesson from the first time I had pneumonia.
School is over. I'm done. I am officially a college graduate. Now what the hell do I do? I'm most likely going to be getting a full-time job in the next few weeks. That's the start of "real life" for me, I guess. I'm excited. But there's another part of me that thinks things aren't going to change enough for me to be happy. But I know I can't run away or anything like that because that's too much change. I'm sure I'll have more to say about this graduation thing in the weeks to come since I can't appreciate it at this point. Everything still feels the same. It still feels like a summer vacation about to start. But there are things that will never be ever again. And that terrifies me too. I hate losing things. Maybe that's why I hate things to change when I don't want them to. If I want them to, it's like giving something away, not losing it. You still have to prepare for it, but it is much less painful.
I can only be what I am. I've said this a lot recently. It is both liberating and depressing. And that's how I feel these days. Liberated. And depressed.
Words are still coming. But they will have to come out differently soon.
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