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not the way i loved you. wanted you.

i think that’s why i feel the need to let you know how callous and cruel it it when you flirt with people to meet a need on yours you barely recognize yourself and have far less intent of being clear about with others.

it’s selfish.

it hurt.

i know you… didn’t mean it. but…. it meant something to me. and i tried to be clear about that. but. you were focused on you. and i was focused on me.

it hurts even more when the ones you flirt with…. are…. ‘better’ than me. knowing that i was…. a stop gap. i was easy. i was available. but never good enough for you. in that way.

i don’t know if ill ever fully get over that. but. i’ve gotten over it enough to be your friend. genuinely. to sometimes not think about it.

but i won’t let you get away with it again. if i am in your life you are going to confront it. because i cant….. i cant watch it happen. it will hurt me too much. selfishly. it will hurt me too much to watch.

i. i loved you. i was never going to be enough. you were ok with using me. i was ok with ambiguity.

we are all so…. wounded and selfish.

it would be nice to be desired.

as me. but i don’t even know who me is. because im always so desperate to be wanted. what the fuck does that say about me? i’m broken. just a bit.

so i can’t be a hypocrite. but i am.

it’s easier isn’t it? to focus on someone else.

i still hold out for you and i hate that. i tell myself i wouldn’t. i couldn’t. i shouldn’t. because i can’t trust you to not take advantage of that.

i can’t trust you to actually… want me. you won’t. you don’t. you haven’t.

and yet. this wound.

why did you have to fill it so well. be so kind. so bright. so funny.

and why did i have to be so not enough for you in return.

i do hate myself for it don’t i.

and if i allow myself to love you. want you. anything like that. it’s just allowing space for me to hate myself.

and i need to love myself. im trying.

my dog died

i missed my meds

my friends didn’t invite me but really why should they

my friends didn’t play the games they said they would with me

my friends put me on the sidelines while they pay attention to others

my birthday is a bust- barely anyone is coming. and i can’t and don’t want to fault anyone for that.

i see people and…. i know im different.

not only do i look different. am i different. but im not even desirable.

i’m tired of being….. unsuccessful. and immature. and looking too young. and being. different. i hate it. why can’t i just be normal.

i hate being trans. and i hate being autistic and having adhd. i can’t. i can’t do it right. anything. and i’m always a freak. i never belong right. and where i do belong is just pain. i’m always the one learning. never the one teaching. and so frequently sidelined. not funny enough. not interesting enough.

and these are the people who know me best.

what does it say about me that i keep…. people. real people. on the sidelines. who…. struggle. more than me. to make me feel better. because somehow to them. i’m of interest. value. worth looking up to. asking things from. being attractive even.

i hate this.

why can’t i just be fucking ok for once.

i fucking hate it. i fucking hate me. i just simply have to do better.

i’m just so tired of having to work so so so hard all the time just to be ok.

but what other choice do i have.

why does something comforting have to come back with so many memories. the memories of…. how much we hated each other. of how much contempt. of who was wrong. of. things i don’t remember anymore, but can still feel hurt from.

it doesn’t… it doesn’t matter. except to grow now. doesn’t it.

i’m sleepy. but i hate that i’ve lost my freind. still. was it always messy? was it ever good? it was always both. wasn’t it.

i wish we could’ve been friends. i miss those moments. i really really do. laughing. you made me laugh. that first time we hung out. i remember wheezing on the floor. i havent laughed like that. not in a long time. with or without you.

i’m sad that i didn’t get to have that freind. but maybe they never fully existed, maybe i never, maybe that friendship never fully existed.

i’m tired. you’re real. i can’t reduce you. and i hate that ive lost my friend. selfishly. too much is lost now. it will fade more. but i will always know its wrong to reduce you when i speak or when anyone else does.

realizing it just. might not be worth it for me.

it just. might not. it might not be worth it. for me at least.

being trans.

but…. what if?

god. i hate this game.

i hate it so much.

i’ve been here before.

ive been down too many paths.

at this point i just want to be happy. that’s all.

i haven’t been happy in so long.

i have to try harder.

and then i can make a decision.

really make a go for it. because the truth is i don’t know what will make me happy, or if i can be or not.

i just know that all i want is to be cis. well. not all i want.

so can being a cis woman be enough? since i know now…. i can never be a cis man….? at least. not to myself. not wholly- for me.

maybe it’s enough for others. i’m happy for them- or something. i kind of don’t know what happy is anymore.

i just. i can’t do this. i need to be happy. i need to start living. a life. any life.

i’m tired. i want to dissociate. i can feel my brain trying to. but i have to look at it. i have to. i have to.

genuinely actively pursuing surgeries and such because this isn’t smth that’s about body acceptance this is like actually surreal and i hate it.

tired of people gaslighting me about it too thinking it’s just me being like oh i’m so ugly like i do think im traditionally unattractive but that wouldn’t be such a problem if how i look- the traditionally attractive and traditionally unattractive- weren’t so discordant with my image of myself.

i just hope you’re not here. because i don’t think you’d be getting truth with it. and i don’t want you to hurt.

no. i have to believe i dont. maybe i didnt always ask in the best ways. maybe sowntimes too much. but you always gave what i didn’t want and didn’t give anything i begged for, and then acted burnt out. whose fault is that…… fuck. i’m so fucking hurt. how could i give away everything i have had to you. get the fuck out. get out…… even this pain wouldn’t have you realize it. you would be too busy playing the pain olympics and hating yourself and feeling judged. “i don’t have parent trauma” my fucking ass, fuck you, you’re so unaware. i want to kick you until you figure it out. because your stupid fucking bs has hurt me- so deeply. and even when i told you that it didn’t fucking matter and it had to be about you. is it because ‘i have things you don’t’. fuck you you selfish sinister neurotic narcissistic self centered traumatized and weak and helpless, hopeless, blind, stupid fucking bitch.

i hate that i tried to make you better when you fucking didn’t actually want it. not really.

and now i’m worse.

and i’m selfish. and awful. maybe i’ve only survived this long due to a saint complex………. kill me. but then again, i really believed in you…. and now i hope no one ever does again.i hope they all give up. i hope you never find someone to love you, hold you, make you cum, take you in, share their love, their community, i fucking want to burn your clit off. i want to tattoo on you the pain you’ve caused me so you never forget. i want to kill you and myself because i hate the idea of being this fucked and thinking this low of anyone. i just……… wish to god, please god, lord, savior, god, God. i wish this had t gone this way. i wish it was over. i wish you were better, somewhere far away, and i was happy….. i wish i hadn’t given up so much, i wish i could have it back. i hate you. i want to bite you. i want to choke you out. i want to tie you down and punch you……….. im nothing. i’m fucking nothing. and now i’m the scary and fucked up one. and now i’m the one you’ll work through in therapy. it’s me. i should’ve left a long long long time ago. but i didn’t.

take some responsibility. punch me, hard. do it first. so i can punch you back. i want to see you and hear you in pain. i want to be in pain. i want to be dead because i don’t want to be in pain and because i give up. i’m the fucking worst. i’m the tyrant. why didn’t you run. why did you have no one and nothing else. why are you still so sweet and tempting, why are you still so beautiful, why did you hurt me….. why did you hurt me. why. why. was i never enough. why did you do this. please just. fucking go away so i don’t have to hear you answer and i won’t even get a chance to ask because really want kind of sick unwell masochist am i to ask that question. at this point. i’m so hurt. i’m tired of begging. pleading. there’s no hope.

now i dry my tears and prepare for a war. what will i do. how strong can i be. what will it take. how far will i go. now that i see it, i want out. how do i sustain this. why. why are you like this. i hate you. you’re nothing. you are nothing. and it’s too late.

please hold me…………. don’t fucking touch me.

oh how things have changed. i can see the path walked a million times over, and im walking along side it. its littered with gravestones, id put a flower at every one. it’s frozen now. i can’t go back.

why couldn’t i have met you when you were better. would you have gotten better without me? am i really so se centered to believe that’s true? but then i look at how insanely fucking hard i’ve worked, and how little has changed, and i think……. maybe. and then i see you making progress. and i resent you for me. there’s no progress for me, when do you work on us, when do you help me. when do you stop thinking you’re so fucking perfect. you’re pretentious. and insolent. and stubborn. and childish. you are childish. no matter how much you know or what parent figures you have in your life or what you believe you’re doing and preforming. you are weak. and not in the ways you coddle yourself for. in the ways you praise yourself for.

no more flowers. don’t miss them. or i’ll hate you more. just leave. and never come back to this grave yard. not unless you bring your own flowers.

fuck you. for never helping pull the wagon. for dragging me down. for thinking to highly of yourself and so little at the same time. fuck yoh. fuck……… i want the tears to stop. i want to ache to stop. i want you to keep asking so i can keep denying. i want you to suffer. i want to take away everything i can. we’ve been down this road before. and i brought us back. and now. “whatever im going through” and it’s triggering you. i just……….. want to bite you. tie you down so you can’t stop me or scratch me, and bite you. i’m tired…………. im so tired. i want to feel the tired, that sad exhaustion and rest and peace in pain. but i want to bite you first.

ok. now that i’m sufficiently marked for inpatient. and you’re doing so well.

run good for you by olivia rodrigo. i told you one day it would be the song i played after we broke up. and you told me no… i should’ve known then.

💐

and how do i process this. many questions.

tired.

“i’ve been lying to you, it’s not fine” i’ve said that, idk if it would have the weight that the truth does.

i think i’ve been trying to let it bleed out for a long time. idk if there’s a solution. i feel like we’re together compulsorily…. i hate that. i want to feel wanted……… i dont. idk. maybe i do. i feel myself becoming a bad person. a sneak. a liar. more.

i want to let it bleed out. but i feel fear, for so many reasons…. because of history. with devin. without devin.

and ofc, i know devin hates long convos. perhaps i’ve been lying to myself most of all. im so hurt. and idek what for anymore. none of it feels justified enough. i don’t want to torture them. i think i’ve failed us. how do i proceed? idk if it’s just seeking comfort or displacement or what, but i think maybe we’ve always been doomed. i was too fragile and needing to be wanted at all. in any capacity. and devin similar. we’ve grown so much, and yet so much damage has been done. can i ever tell the truth? will you hate me? will you run away? have i caused too much damage to repair. i want you to comfort me in that, but i know its not your job. some secrets i keep so close, i end up telling lies to bury them and then forget the truth. i think im fake. i’m made of plastic. fear. need for control. so many things. so much pain. so much failure. god……… no one can comfort me. you could leave me… maybe you should. i think “i want you to show me gratitude for what i’ve done for you, what i’ve sacrificed”. but that’s not it. it’s about what that gratitude means. it means i’m safe, it means you love me. it means you’ll forgive me. even when im annoying. even when i keep making long conversations happen. even when i pull away because idk what to do anymore, i want you to maybe feel pain and if you don’t then it wouldn’t matter anyways and maybe it would just make you happier.

i keep thinking “please just hold me”…. i hate my brain. i want to kill myself…. try again in another life. but doesn’t everybody feel this way? isn’t everyone this… complicated. what are we. what am i. why do i exist. i’m not strong enough for them. i’m nothing. and i show that pain and fear…. and it makes it worse…. they resent me for asking for too much…. they’re learning to pull back…. and honestly. it’s for the best…. i know it is. but some awful part of me that doesn’t know any safety or comfort outside of a cycle wishes…. so badly…. that you wouldn’t. but i did this all for you… fuck olivia rodrigo for that line.. yeah.. i do think about it we broke up, i would probably feel that way about your therapist that i found, for us, and gave to you. you’re all i think about…. is this love? is this enmeshment? have i lied so skillfully that i’ve even convinced myself… do i even know how to love. am i that broken. i want to suffer so i dont have to think about it anymore. when im suffering at least i can just focus on that…. god if you ever saw this. you’d hate me. maybe not hate. but you’d know i’m bad for you. and you’d be right. and it wouldn’t even matter that i’m crying about it right now. because you’d be gone. and better off for it. my world- my thoughts, are so painful, all i ever think about in regards to them is wanting to be hurt and wanting to be comforted. one day mom and dad will die. and i will be truly alone. no one will be forced to care about me. no matter how hard i try. no matter how much i try to force smth so that its capability of working without force is indiscernible. no. not even then. i will hurt you. i will frustrate you. i will need too much. heaven isn’t real. and nobody can give it to me.

devin please love me. please want me. please…. i shouldn’t ask this of you any longer. you can have a good life, i can see it… you should have it… im…. i won’t say nothing because i think if i did you would give up on me- because what’s it worth trying with someone who feels that way.

what is human connection really? i mean… i said previously i couldn’t let you see this place. i changed the url and everything. and now, i think, that’s just fear, it could happen. i could show all parts to you and you to me. i want to die because i think that’s the only way it could be possible. i don’t actually want to die…. idk…. life hasn’t gone super well for me. and if you left…. idk….. i think that would… just…… traumatize me more. idk if i could cope without allowing it to become trauma. would i want to leave you first? idk…. i think i guess i just don’t want to see you be happy… functional…. better off without me. i want to be good for somebody. anybody.

the only way to let go of this fear is to truly find altruism at the same moment as another. to want you because i want you. not for me. and for you to do the same. idk if that’s possible. what does it mean to want…. to be wanted…. can even the best professionals help me? will i just live on like this forever until i die too. i will die. this life isn’t real…. it is…. but…… it’s not mine. my life was supposed to have heaven. my life was supposed to have that comfort. unconditional. dad did it- why can’t i? what could i need? is the solution to bury it? how deep would it have to go… is the solution to gaslight myself? idk how much feeling it can solve in this situation. i’m trying so fucking hard………. and it’s still…. too much, and not enough.

ugh. devin please….. idek what i’m asking for. i do. and im trying not to.

please live for yourself…. and in your memory think fondly of me…. know that as fucked as it is and was…. as much as i couldn’t do it for altruism…. that i tried… and i do genuinely hope your life is better off for it. go find it somewhere. out there.

fuck.

i feel like my mind is turning into scrambled eggs. i don’t know how to parse it. idk how i get through the day, i just- do? how long ago did i stop feeling? does everyone feel? does everyone stop? do they feel it like i do- or does it happen young enough? idk.

i want to process this. it’s so big. how?

if i can’t find a resolution at least try to emotionally support the other and be compassionate…

last thing- it makes me sad that you felt negatively about that long convo… i- i felt good…. it made me so happy. it changed so much in me. i know it was long. and bumpy…… but i was so happy. i thought you were too. maybe you were and i didn’t know it, maybe im just getting one version. maybe i should ask you about it…. how would i react if you confirmed my fears….

anyways. i don’t feel like i really have friends anymore. i feel distant from everyone. i miss sam so much. i think he would get it. maybe… perhaps i just have an idea of him, and not actually him. devin….. ugh, im not gonna ask you to hold me. i have to try to take responsibility for this…. all of this. i have to right?

devin feels distant. they don’t want me to be growing and processing like this with them. they want me to do it on my own. like they do, more and more. but without this- what’s left?

how can i support and be compassionate for myself right now. here. i’m grateful for my vulnerability. i’m sorry it hurts, it’s a lot of big heavy emotions, from so long ago. it’s not easy. it’s ok that it hurts. it’s ok that it’s a lot.

finn, i promise to try- no, i promise to learn to love you unconditionally, because no one else will. you are brave, you are strong. you are worthy. you do good. you struggle, you have done things that are wrong, you have hurt others, but you are good. you can be good no just reactionarily, you can change and be kind and strong for yourself, not just out of guilt. try one step at a time.

devin is right. getting out will help.

i feel overwhelmed. i feel guilty- maybe remorseful. i feel sad, i feel grief. i expected this to be different. i don’t like having to feel these things. i don’t think this will pass quickly. i’m not sure how to behave in the meantime.

how do i behave when im processing.

how do i get through being normal.

how do i get through bad days.

i’m trying to rack my brain but i’m not even sure that’s the right thing to do.

am i intellectualizing too much? i’m trying just asking questions. that’s what feels normal. or rather- like i’m working with the emotions without trying to surpress them.

that’s what i worry. that probably says a lot huh.

oh well.

it’s both the fear of loving the enmesh, you know, bc of trauma and abandonment and shit, and the fear that when all that is taken away, what left? will i still be in love? am i in love now if that’s the case? or just a toxic bastard who should be put down like a cow with a gangrenous front leg. am i so stupid that i could have confused the two or worse mixed them? have i lost myself that fully? or am i just so hurt and angry and sad and all those things in some way or another that i feel them towards you? or can i just not see the other side? or do i just worry i wouldn’t be able to learn to love you if i found myself out of love?

i often think we shouldn’t have gotten into this relationship- that we weren’t ready. either of us, separately, or together. but then i think how can i know and does it even matter, because we are here, and we are both different for it, forever.

sometimes i resent that change, sometimes i don’t.

i want and am trying ti be more honest about my feelings. frequently i just don’t have the tools once they’re out there. i can’t speak for you but the reactions i get and have gotten haven’t helped. but i know i should be stronger- to get us though those times. as i have in the past.

i worry that i’ve thought you everything i know and have deteriorated in the process. i worry that i’ve learned nothing- or if not i have learned meal adaptively, or if not that i’ve learned so little in comparison. what’s worse is that you don’t need me. and yet in all of this i’ve found myself needing you. and i hate it. i hate feeling….. useless. burdensome. pathetic.

i think of cutting open my wrists and watching the blood. but i’m not sure who i’d be doing it for.

i think about a rope around my neck. i think about driving my car into a tree. i think about all the stupid pain. i think about floating into nothing. i think about a society so broken that i must rely on others and thus can never fully grow. how can there ever be consent when we are getting fucked this way. i complain about capitalism so frequently it feels performative to say it’s name. so i’ll only say it once. to not detract from what i’m trying to feel. if this is the best i’ll ever be because i can never find true growth and attachment and want again because of the boot in my neck telling me i’ll die, well… then maybe it is too late for me. i should’ve figured it out as a kid. before things got…. capital. but i couldn’t. things were too bad then. what good does it do me to reminisce. what good does it do me to contemplate. i don’t want to die, but i don’t want this life. i think that’s why i hate it so viscerally when people say “that’s life”. if that’s life then just shoot me. it’s dramatic, but it’s real. i might as well just become a heroin addict. i feel like my only shot is to disappear. to be like sam. i just don’t think it would work for me. i’m too….. vulnerable. i just don’t know what else to do anymore. i spend time hopping from dopamine hit to dopamine hit. i make art about my pain but it feel trivial and performative, and the act of making art and thinking i could be praised for it temporarily fixes the pain. so i think about making art for no one. that’s this i think. i think if i was trying to placate i’d say more or less about certain things, make it seem nice. but whatever. i’m trying not to hope people see this. frequently i do hope people see these posts because all i know is performance, survival. i don’t know myself at all. i don’t know what i want. i don’t know anything. how does one disappear? id like to ask him.

it’s dead.

replaced by grief for so long.

what stage am i in now?

i think it’s almost over.

anger becomes acceptance.

depression feels past and perhaps somewhat present.

i tried as hard as i could. perhaps you did to.

but it wasn’t enough.

it just wasn’t.

and now it’s dead.

the anger wants to punish you.

the acceptance is ready to move on.

i don’t know if you’ll ever understand how hard i’ve tried. but it’s ok now. it’s almost over. i gave in. it wasn’t worth it. and now i’m disgusted by you. i don’t like thinking of you because everything would be replaced with pain. so i’ve shut you out. i’ve turned it off. i think of you and it makes me uncomfortable. and now even that is fading. i am starting to just not care enough to even invest disgust or repulsion. i had wanted to watch you suffer, as i have, watch you feel unwanted, deprive you, make you feel disgusting, all of my worst most intrusive pain fueled thoughts, and yet i truly want none of those things. none of them. i just want to find something that won’t fail me, as you have.

once i finally hit full acceptance i might not feel you’ve failed me anymore. i won’t fantasize about your pain, heck, i won’t dream and think of ways to make it better and how to broach topics, how to sooth, how to encourage, how to begin. i won’t think of how to begin. that’s all so far gone.