The Phobia

I am currently working on an extreme case of needle phobia, because I have the elixir of life, I have the needles, but I cannot bear them. What a horror.

I was thinking other people may have a similar issue. I won't let it hold me back, but I know if I just go ahead and do it I may spazz out and fuck it up - I need to be calm.

First, I went to get the needles. That was bad enough. There was a wall covered in them.

Then I laid them all out, with the rest of the kit, beside my bed. I see them when I wake up and when I go to sleep.

Today I have been carrying one (a syringe with a capped, protected needle, still in it's sterile baggie) around with me. This in itself is a big step as I am starting to feel less sick at it's presence. I've nicknamed it Sting, because at one point early in the morning I was looking at my video collection whilst trying not to freak out, and as I (geek,geek,geek) use the litany against fear already, my eyes rested on my Dune video, which has Sting on the spine as Feyd-Ruatha. :lol:

Anyhow. I am also looking at pictures of injections, reading (vivid, detailed, ewew) instructions, and have actually watched a video but it made me squirm so I'll leave that for tomorrow.

It.. Seems to be working.

I figured out, you see, that my needle fear started after the age of seven or eight.

You know what I remember from then?

I had my appendix out.

One day I woke up after the operation, came out of the fever or whatever, and needed the loo.

I remember swinging my legs off the bed, and standing up. Only I didn't stand up because I seemed to have forgotten how to walk or stand and I just sort of slid to the floor.

The drip and all tore out of my hand, and when they put it back in they couldn't get a vein at first.

They eventually put this plungery thing in, that they could put different things in without having to find the vein again. It was horrible, like a plastic tube stuck out of my hand with a needle going into my body.

Anyhow, I think that may be what put me off needles. Because I didn't care before.

Oh my laiiiiird

So yesterday was a harrowing day for me.

I have been feeling steadily more and more ill over this week - sickness and dizzy spells, weakness, diarrhoea, shivers, sore throat, stomach pains.. Bleugh.

Yesterday in particular I was tired as heck, felt like I hadn't slept for a few days, slightly dizzy, very floaty and weak feeling - though I was actually underestimating grip necessary to hold things, etc, and broke/ripped some stuff. Nausea, diarrhoea, and a headache. I got a letter from my GP saying if I want needles and such I must go to the exchange. So, they're open late on Thursdays and I got a lift from a mate at work.

I reminded him shortly after lunch, and he had forgotten and agreed to do overtime! So I had to work until 5:45pm instead of my usual 4:30pm.

We got there and he drove off, and I hung on the buzzer watching my breath blooming in the half-light by the intercom of the building. Finally got an answer and got in to a nice warm place. When did it get so cold so fast?

They asked my age a few times, obviously not believing that I'm 23... So eventually I gave up and explained that I'm not an addict, just an impatient trannie.

Then there was a bit more waiting.

I met a very nice man, and then there was a room. With a wall.

Covered in shelves.

Full of boxes.

Of needles.

Have I mentioned my needle phobia being pretty intense?

Anyhow they told me not to do steroids and gave me clean sterile needles and swabs and such so I don't get hepatitis or something.

I arrived at 6pm.

I left at 7:05pm.

I waited for the bus, which thankfully was five minutes early.

I got home about 8pm...

...and the hall lights weren't working.

Now, I hoped this was just the bulb but nope, when I finally fumbled my key into the lock, my lights weren't working either.

So I fumble around my flat looking (in the dark) for a candle ani a lighter and then trying to find my electric key and wallet.

I'm too short to tell how much electric I have, you see.. I can't see the numbers, even if I tiptoe.

Anyhow, I marched down one end of town to the cashpoint.

Then to the other end of town to the only open shop that serves my electric key.

Then fumble around getting the key in and nothing happened.

So I pushed the buttons madly and such and it worked.

Then I went back upstairs and oh yay my fridge was warm.

My fridge with my defrosted and now warm steak, ready for dinner, sitting in it. So I had to triple-bag it and stick it in the bin and just have steamed veg for dinner. Which is nice but I need some iron to get into my system.

Especially as, I discovered, my body is once more betraying me, meaning I can't wear my packer and have to feel sick and dizzy and tired and hurt like fucking hell and be depressed as fuck for the next week or more.

And there was a letter on my stairs. Addressed to MS (former name) and it really brought me down; haven't had anything like that for ages. It's an appointment, this time with an actual psychiatrist. Only... It's on the 22nd of November.

I waited two months for nothing and have been down ever since.

And then waiting for another month, for another appointment or whatever.

And now I have to wait another month? ANOTHER MONTH?

I. I don't know what to say or do. I suppose I should let them know just how fucking depressed I am from this, just how devastated I am every day that passes with no movement, how the only thing keeping me here is the tantalising possibility in my fridge, how my needle phobia even ruins that for me. How basically most of the time I want to stop. Just stop. End. No more waking up to this, to struggling into my binder, no more of people getting me wrong, no more, no more. Bah, but I made promises.. And I don't think I could do that to my family, not now.

I'm trying to make light of this.

For instance, my needle fear, yeah?

Well I'm using my body's betrayal as a kind of time limit. When it's over, I hope I can handle the needles without freaking out. And maybe take my first dose.

Now I just need to save up the money to get to London and arrange a private appointment with a doctor there, to get a private prescription and then convert it to NHS, because my doctor told me I'd have to wait about two years on the NHS to get prescribed... And frankly considering the absolute time waste it's been so far, I think if I didn't have three months of Sustanon250 in my fridge, I'd not be writing this.

So, a week to nine days, needle phobia gone? I hope so.

Also thinking of getting hair trimmed tomorrow..

WELLLLL

Most of the time I like being on my own. I don't have to worry that someone's going to interrupt a chain of thought, or talk to me, or get upset at me, or make me eat or go to sleep or whatever.

But sometimes I don't like being on my own.

I had a visitor over the weekend. She's fab. I saved up so I could take her out, because she treated me when I visited her in August.

Shocking how cold it is here, already. They say by the end of the week we'll be into single figures. That's living by the sea for you.

Anyhow. She makes me feel good. And also sometimes bad.

Like my hands, you know? Sometimes I look at my hands and they just don't look right; too soft and small. But other times I look at them and they look okay; a bit veiny, just enough to reassure me that they're not girly.

It's odd.

Tonight I'm feeling very alone, and it's stupid because I'm not really alone; I can call, text, webchat, and so on.. But I liked that I could reach out and cuddle someone this weekend. It was brilliant. And I love that I can hug her and lose myself in her colour.

But now, my flat's dark and quiet again and there's just me in my dressing gown and the sound of my keyboard and I want a hug.

When it's cold outside, and dark, and quiet.. I just want to hug someone I love, and have that quiet stillness-of-mind that I can't seem to get on days like this alone.

"You'll always be alone." and Dating...

"You'll always be alone."

Ever heard this? From someone you thought cared about you, from a cruel person, or just from the niggling little voices in the back of your mind?

I've heard it from all these places.

"You'll never be loved/always be alone/never be able to date.."

I think it's actually one of my biggest worries. Not because I believe other people will always be so narrow-minded, but because I myself can't hack the thought of my Bits. I mean, I go for personality, right - not genitals.

But with guys, I want to do stuff I clearly can't do, and well, most gay guys I know really don't like girly bits - and in general I don't like being screwed.

With girls, I again want to do stuff I can't do.

And I don't want to use a bit of bloody rubber.

It's not that I just want to do these things, it's that my body moves that way by default.

And to be quite honest a strap-on is fantastic but also horrendous.

I can't bear people seeing or touching my Bits..

But if I want to enjoy myself I have to - and yet if I do, I can't relax and enjoy myself because it freaks me out.

That's the strangest thing, you know? I want to enjoy myself but can't.

I want to meet people and share love and affection, and I can't.

The options for surgery aren't good enough. I wouldn't be satisfied with a metoidioplasty and phalloplasty is just wrong (for me).

So it's not that people will hate on me.

It's that I hate on myself.

And yes, I worry that I'll never get it sorted and be whole and 'able' and get to enjoy that level of connection with someone. I know I'll meet plenty of people for whom it won't be a problem - I'm not the only person in the world who goes for the mind. But it will always be a problem for me.

I hate being that person, in the bedroom, who has to just, step back and say, I can't take this any more, I can't do it, I'm freaking out, leave me alone. It pushes the other person away. It is hurtful to everyone involved.

This leads me on to thinking about dating.

When would I tell someone?

I can't decide. I believe it would depend on the person. Some people feel good, and you feel you could trust them with your inner heart, but some people are closed in ways that you can't quite understand and it takes time to build up a trust. Then you have some people who are open on sexuality and such. Some aren't.

In general I believe I'd only mention it if myself and other person got to the ah, deep kissing stage.. Because that in itself takes trust, for me at least.

How would I say it though?

I don't need to worry about it now, because I don't present very well - not if you know my age and the lighting is good. I'm too soft, too soft spoken, too cleanshaven, my sideburns aren't thick and bushy.. Too slim in the wrists and shoulders for a guy my height; I look between sixteen and eighteen - I asked some people. So when you find out that I am in fact, twenty-three... You start to second-guess the soft lips and skin, the lack of stubble..

But I still think about it. I don't honestly know.

I honestly can't think how you'd say something like that.

"Sorry love, but just so you know, my lower regions are girlshaped."

I mean. What?

Gods and little fishes.. So many questions and problems.. And for some I still don't know the answers - will I ever?

Someday, some time

Sometimes, I feel like this is all a dream.

Sometimes, I feel like it's a nightmare.

Sometimes I think it's too much hassle and I just want to go to bed and not get back up.

Sometimes I just want to say fuck it and do it without the health checks.

Sometimes I feel like it's taking over my life.

Sometimes I feel like it's the only thing giving me life.

Sometimes it amuses me when I can't find my packer.

Sometimes the thought of going to bed makes me want to never sleep again.

Sometimes I enjoy the pain of wearing my binder for too long.

Sometimes, I never want to bathe again.

Sometimes my own shape makes me sick.

Someday I'll get my first dose.

Someday I'll never get another letter in my birth name.

Someday my voice won't out me.

Someday I won't need a binder any more.

Someday I might look at myself in a full length mirror.

Someday I might not feel so alone and trapped.

Someday.

I want to be there now.

And it feels like someday is forever away.

Quick Update

I got some T from a friend, free.
The appointment I've waited two months for had been completely incorrectly arranged, was with the wrong person in the wrong place with the wrong job and they couldn't help at all, because my new doctor is a fucking idiot. I'm pretty down (and angry) about it, and if I hadn't of picked up the T that day.. Bah.

I just need to get some bloods done and BP checked and then I'll get me some nice nurse to inject my arse. And then the NHS taking their sweet time will no longer be a big fucking black cloud hanging over my life.
I am still worried about it though, to be honest.

Bah?

So, I'm normally a pretty happy, relaxed person. Well not relaxed - I get excited a lot, bounce around, you know the jazz - what I mean is, I don't get angry. Almost never am I angry or snappy.

Something special is now on it's way in the post.

Something that will change my life.

I am excited, in the explosive, I want to jump up and down and such, way.

Yet I am also very, very snappy all of a sudden. My patience has just evaporated. And yeah, I'm angry as well as excited. And I don't even know why. I'm just angry.

Maybe it's because I'm at work and can't bounce. Maybe it's because my body is currently tearing itself apart and it fucking hurts and it means I can't pack and I have to use the ladies toilets and it feels like fucking defeat. Maybe it's because my psych appointment is on Wednesday and I'm worried because I fucking hate shrinks and the buggering around my local services are giving me. It's been since Easter! Maybe it's because I figured I'd have one last unhealthy treat before worrying about my arteries and it was gonna be crackling and I burned it. Maybe it's just because one or two of the few people I've told are so worried that I'm just gonna dose myself up without checking stuff out. I'm not stupid. I'm really fucking tempted to, but, I don't want to die now that I have a possible future.

At least my family don't get on that track - they know me well enough regarding that kind of thing that they didn't even mention it, just gave me advice on injections and needles and possibly getting people who are trained to do it (Boots, for instance, used to perform such a service, according to my step-mother).

So my current plan is to get to the doctors, get some tests, and get a nice nurse to jab me in the arse once I'm sure it's safe.

Damnation

When I'm down, I look at places on the internet that'll sell me Testogel. It's only £120 for a month's supply. I could afford that.

But I shouldn't, and I'll wait, but it's horrible. Long grinding days, they just don't pass by, they drag slowly like a cat licking velcro.

I can't bear the waiting! Not knowing what's gonna happen. Will it even be this year? For fucks sake it's been so long alreadddyyyy... My life is swirling away down a drain whilst I sit here pretending I can hold a river with my hands.

It's a really fucking bad day.
The kind of day when I chainsmoke because I'm not allowed to cut myself.
The kind of day when I get close to breaking that promise.
I just want to cut them off and stop thinking even if it means deafeningly loud music or bashing my head off a wall.

Fuck, why is it taking so long to get this sorted?!

Mope mope mope

Okay I just can't cheer up.

Partially, I know it's that I'm missing Lee.

I don't think it's just a clingy thing, though. I'm not really a clingy person.

I think it's that, during this holiday, I've had almost constant social interaction. There have been only a few moments of quiet and introversion - I have been forced to engage and chat and be sociable in general. It doesn't come very naturally to me, after a lifetime of hiding at the fringes because people thought I was 'weird' when I did try to engage. I watched people. I grew up as an introverted, calm, silent person. I didn't talk unless necessary. I have never learned the point in small talk. I don't believe in flattery unless a compliment is honest or true. I don't believe in lying, even if someone may not like the truth.

Anyway, yes, two weeks of constant people. Trying to be true to myself, trying not to get upset at old mates messing my name and gender pronouns up. Trying not to go crazy.

And now I'm back in my empty flat.

It's got nothing in it but bad memories and a few good memories only the good ones make me feel even emptier.

I'm all alone.

This has never been a problem before.

I seem to actually be lonely.

This has never happened before.

And I can't let myself think, because then I get more depressed. I keep drifting onto topics that hurt - everything here links back to a memory of this flat when there are other people in it.

And lately I've been having a lot more trouble with myself.

My body is betraying me, and it hurts, and I can't wear my binder without it hurting, and I can't wear my packer, and.. I just generally feel shit. My body is laughing at me. And I wake up and it's all still the same and my appointment to see a psychologist isn't until the 29th of September. And.. I don't know if I will be able to get it moved up.

I need this to be sorted. This is taking so, so long.

I feel like I'll never be free of this.. This.. I dunnoh. It's not that I want to be free of my body - I don't mind it as a whole. It works, I'm not too fat, could do with being more guy-shaped and fuzzy, but the base body is fine with me. But then there are the parts that aren't right.

And right now, they're taunting me.

And I hate it.

I hate them.

I hate myself.

Gotta carry on though, right?

If I could get served around here, I'd buy some beer so that I could drink enough to fall asleep. But no-one will serve me as I don't have ID.

I wish there was another way to force my brain to shut the fuck up.

One that doesn't kill too many braincells.

...I might suck it up and get my hair cut tomorrow...

...If I feel a bit better. Which probably won't happen, but I can hope.

Waves?

Sometimes I feel great, like, I'm finally on my way to having a life, to being confidant and happy and secure. I hate my binder but I love it - I can walk around outside in (admittedly layered) fitting clothing and be myself. I get called GAY or QUEER sometimes if the pissheads are out. As insulting as they intend to be it makes my fucking day. And I carefully lock my doors when I return home.

But every now and then, I get these waves of blackness in my head.

I just sit here and wonder.

Am I EVER going to get this sorted? How much longer do I have to.. To do this, this life that's not quite mine.

I'm sick of being called a 'good girl' at work.

It hurts. It's like a fucking little knife in my chest and they say it, so, often.

I generally try and pass it off, shrug it away like so much in my life - I was bullied at school; I've never really cared what other people say to me or about me, it was only being touched I couldn't stand back then.

But these days.

There is something that words can break into, and it hurts and it makes me wonder how long, and that makes it seem like I'll never ever get there. Like I'll be in limbo the rest of my life (however short it will end up) always waiting for a letter or a phone call.

I hate this feeling.

I hate my stupid chromosomes.

I don't wish I wasn't me. I just wish I could LOOK and be TAKEN as me NOW. Not be me, with parts that shouldn't. Fucking. Be. There.

I wish I had known this years ago, when it would have been so much better to transition. College or something, the end of school, late teens. Give me a chance, I keep thinking, let me go back and leave myself a note so that in one time-line at least, I get to be happy from the start of this supposed age of freedom..

Please, universe, can't you just shiver a bit, speed up, get me there now, send me back, anything?

The butcher calls me Sir.

My friends call me Ethan (or Sol).

My niece calls me Ethan.

My parents are getting a heck of a lot better at calling me Ethan thanks to my niece.

But I want it done, sorted, or at least I wast some, reassurance that it WILL happen, not this waiting and agonising and being out everywhere except work.

It's so horrible that I'm seriously beginning to think I have to tell the remaining family because if THEY call me by that name, today, I will be so, fucking, down, and it's just... Not right.

I don't DO extremes of emotion. But lately I do. And it's strange.

I'm worried that, being a calm, slow, controlled person, and I hear all this stuff about T making guys less emotional.. What'll happen to me?

Please let there be some good news soon, please, please, please?

Things and Dysphoria?

So. So much has happened.

I finally kicked my boyfriend out. I couldn't take it any more.

It went okay.

I feel really good lately, with all my friends calling me Ethan and my niece too. My family are even slowly picking it up from her. My niece is a difficult problem.. Well not a problem, but a bit of a conundrum. I'm not going to talk about it all again, it's in my August YouTube video.

I'm getting really.. Attached to my friend. And I don't want to.. But I do.. But... Gosh.

That's a story for another time.

But last night I had what I have to say is my worst ever dysphoric moment that didn't involve genitals. I was on Skype, mooostly topless. Whilst I want them gone, my chest isn't as much of a big deal for me - it's my lower parts that are the worst problem. Anyhow, I just, looked at my wrist, because it itched. And I don't know why but for the last month or two, the veins in my wrist and the back of my hand have been pretty prominent - it pleases me so much. And in the last few weeks, my wrists have thickened out a little due to the extra exercise I've been doing on my arms. And I dunnoh, I looked and thought hey, look at that, it's me. But, then, I had tits, and I'm Ethan and he and boy and.. I got.. I dunnoh I felt really down and disconnected for a long while and had to cover myself up (wrists included).

But that disconnection feeling hasn't happened to me for months.. And it's horrid. And it makes me wonder just how much worse this is going to get before I get T and it kicks in and starts making a difference.

Blah

So.. Manymanythings.

I feel kind of sick and shy and cringy and in pain - I'm sick of people calling me by my birth name, or referring to me as She. I know it's not their fault - I'm not out to the people doing it - but it does make me feel terrible.

Additionally I'm tired of this boyfriend who doesn't really care about me.

"You're just ruining our relationship."

"You just don't care about me, do you?"

"You were happy before, you just need to go back to being my girlfriend and you won't even care."

Yes, thank you dearest, because you've lived inside my head how long? And last time I cried or allowed my sad emotions to show and how you just got angry with me and called me stupid really helped us bond, honest. Fuck you.

Fuck you and your calling me stupid, fuck you and your moods, fuck you and your paranoia, pessimism, and laziness. Fuck you, you fucking drain on my funds, who doesn't even sign on, clean, shop, wash clothes, or wash up.

Fuck you and your addiction to computer games that are online and cost me money.

Fuck you and your constant assertion that buying £20 food from Iceland is better than wandering around real butchers, grocers, and fishmongers.

Fuck you and telling me I don't need something I want.

Fuck you for trying to tell me what I want.

Just generally fuck you, you fucking piece of shit fuck.

I can't kick you out, because despite your issues, I love you, and want to be with you and laugh with you and watch Star Trek and play guitar and make raptor noises and dance like a crazed loon and make endless endless references to obscure scenes in movies and games and programs. I want to look at your beautiful long blonde hair and how it curls around your face at the edges of your jaw and merges with your ginger beard. I want to nom on your freckly lovely skin and ruffle the blonde fuzz of your happy trail or chest, I want to laugh at you checking your hair before we go out, I want to discuss the minutia of the items in some game we're playing, mock each other's music taste, play with each other's wibbly parts, randomly grab each other and dry-hump your butt. Also, where would you go? You'd go mad if you had to deal with the council and shit. Would you refuse to go, freak out, break shit?

This place in my guts is all twisted and hurting and you dinnae care.

Letter to My Mother

A letter to my mother. I'll never send her this.. But I had to get it out of my head before I get stupid and send her a PM on Facebook or some shitty stupid thing like that.

I desperately want to tell you, mother.

But what if you cry and scream and mourn the loss of 'your little girl', the little girl you never had. I'm still me, I'll just be getting rid of these terrible things. You know what I mean, you also find them annoying, but you like being female.. You liked having a little girl and you disliked having a little boy (my brother).

I need to be there. But at the same time I am a coward and I don't want to see what you do. I don't want to wake in the night to your crying in your nightmare, and worry every night that this time, the nightmare is about me.

I love you, mother.

I'm not your little girl, though. You knew tomboy never cut it. You never cared that I slept with women - you just wouldn't do it yourself.

You never tried to make me wear dresses or have long hair or play with makeup.. You never forced boundaries on lovers or friends or books or games - you just taught me, gave me logical boundaries, and let me grow.

I'm sorry I left when I was nine. I couldn't handle the way you took the breakup with dad. I couldn't handle seeing you cry or scream or tear your hair out in great black clumps in the middle of your kitchen.

I'm sorry that I'm so uncomfortable, the further I get out into the world, that I need to adjust myself. I know you taught me my whole life to follow my heart, and do what makes me happy - An it harm none, do what ye will - I remember, mother. I hope this doesn't hurt you. I worry that it will. I love you.

I know you understand how I can't look at myself in the mirror - but you have different reasons. I don't see me, I see this person that has my head, my hands, but the rest doesn't fit with how I see myself, how I saw myself.

You know I've always hated that I'd grow up to be female. You remember how my whole life I said I wanted my womb removed. You remember how I was always a guy in D&D, in other games, at play. You know me, you know I'm not comfy.

Please please accept me. You gave me life, and a mind, you gave me computers and language, theatre, logic, science, herb and vegetable info. You made me who I am, but somehow I ended up in the wrong shape.. I think I've always known that, even if I never realised why.

Now I know I can fix it. I can be myself, get rid of the dissonance, get rid of the confusion and hatred and horror.

I can be free.

But I need you, mother.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

Nightmare

I had another nightmare.

This one was more detailed and intense.

...Means I'm sleeping better though, right?

I think what brought it on was yesterday.. First time someone who knows me ONLY as Ethan has seen me without my binder. That would be the cute girl upstairs (and her friend). My boyfriend had run to the shop on the corner, to buy ice cream, and left our inner front door open (the door to our flat, not the one onto the street). The girl from upstairs came down to go out (with her friend) and poked her head in, asking if everything was okay, why was the door open. And I wasn't wearing my binder, as the boyfriend asked me to take it off.. I felt very, very, very uncomfortable..

Additionally yesterday someone finally got the guts ta ask me "Where have your boobs gone?" though I just said "Use your head."

Not ready to be outed at work.

Anyway. The nightmare was just that but worse - somehow I had forgotten my binder, and gone out, and gotten really far away, and had nowhere to go and no way to get rid of them.

It doesn't sound that bad.. But the intensity of that fear and disgust were.. Horrible.

Gods.. I don't want to wait for T.. Or chest surgery.. Not if I keep getting nightmares.. Could I buy the gel online? But I haven't the money.. And you never know what you'll get..

Oddly, it gets worse..

It's strange, but, since I've come out it's gotten way, way worse..

To the extent that I had a nightmare a few days ago (I don't even dream, usually) and yesterday morning I got up to make a cuppah and in my half-asleep state got very confused and upset and scared because I had breasts.. It was that kind of gut-clenching, almost-retching fear.. for a good few minutes until I ran back into the bedroom to grab my binder and a baggy t-shirt.

Additionally, I'm male to all family and friends that I encounter regularly (not my mother, wanna tell her in person and she lives hundreds of miles away) and they refer to me as He and Ethan.. But at work I'm not out.. And it's dreadful. And the boyfriend accepts that I'm going to transition, but it's understandably hard on him, so I don't mind him calling me his girlfriend or my given name.. He needs time, and he is getting better. Apart from calling me selfish now and then, when he's in a bad mood and wants to lash out..

This.. Dissonance between life and work, it does my head in. I know I hardly pass, but somehow having half my world accept it and the other half in the dark is seriously fucking my head up.

I kinda wanna crawl into a time-warp until my first T dose.. I haven't even gotten info back on funding yet, let alone any confirmation that I'll ever get prescribed. I actually hate needles, but for this, I'd take them. However, if possible I'm asking for gel or cream, as the levels are more steady due to the daily application and personally I believe that would be healthier for my body and mind.

I did call my doctor; waiting on a call back..
Crossed fingers, tight chest.


I want to be free.

Bluhh?!

Today. I am angry.
I am stressed.
I want to destroy.

And it makes me think about things. It reminds me that I used to write, and create and then destroy and it would help. I used to draw and sculpt and then tear and smash it all away, remove it all, all that emotion spilled out onto screen or paper or into clay and then destroyed, purifying, cleansing. Now I just stew, I lost my creativity when I escaped from her.
And people yell, they yell. I don't want to share but sometimes they find something while I'm doing it and then I have to smash it quick and they get upset. It's my heart, my soul, I can tear it and stamp and burn all I want, I don't want you to have that power over me. Get away from my heart, get out of me.

Why do I obsess so much over that concept?

I'm thinking about showers a lot lately, how they feel and the colours of the sound and temperature. I want to draw them but I can't because no-one would understand it. Nothing I draw means anything to anyone but me so I can't share but I want to share something I want to give joy to strangers as a gift in the shadow of a cool tree or the way a word tastes but I can't do that, can I? It's all just a crazy combination of things that people don't understand or think is in my head but it's not. Things taste and smell and feel in ways no one mentions and it's so much data that I could burst!

Why am I writing this here? I dunnoh really, just thought I'd post and maybe one day I'll look back and this irrational reaction to life will be gone.
Maybe I'm angry and sad and excited and terrified for a reason.
Not just college finishing next week.
Maybe it's all linked to gender.

I want to tell you, world, to just shut the fuck up to wake up to look around and think and smile and tell the trees you love them! Dance in the dark and sing while you work and suck your teeth and fuck like it's your first time and last time on this earth. Love with every tiny part of yourself, give it all away, ask for nothing, plan for the worst, expect the best, and alwayalways be yourself.

I will be myself outside, not just inside.

I will be treated as me.

I will.

I

Panic Stations

Starting to panic.
Why am I purposefully going to see a shrink?

I've a natural aversion to them.
Even the one I had when I was in juniors, in years four-six..
I never knew why I was scheduled to see her each week. But I wouldn't talk to her.
I just drew things on the board.

But now I'm actually going, of my own accord.
Panic panic.
Chest too tight. Room too warm.

Seriously fuckfuckfuck and it's two days away.
Fucking shit.. I don't want to, don't want. Can't sit and talk about myself. Can't certainly talk about things I've spent me life not thinking about.
I need a plan. A list. Something?

I refuse to be scared of anything (except wasps, and needles).
But... I am scared.
Most of all that I'll forget everything and just go "uh-duuuhhhh..."