I don’t know

I’m at a position in my life where I feel...stuck. I’m sure this is a scenerio many know well just in different and unique ways. A blog has been something I've been planning to do for quite some time but never got around to it. Right now feels like the right time.

I will give a basic jist about me but I want to expand upon them in seperate posts as time goes on. Then see how much has changed. I’m a 25 year old demiboy going through a life crisis and feeling like I’m either at a dead end or crossroads. I've been dealing with some "health stuff" and "mental stuff" for the past few years. I put those in quotes because I'm not entirely sure what I’m dealing with and it's been really unclear what doctors think. This is something I will expand upon in later posts.

My interests have evolved over time and frankly, I can barely keep track of them. The social sciences, specifically philosophy, sociology, pedagogy, economics (heterodoxic economics specifically), psychology, psychiatry, post-psychiatry/anti-psychiatry, critical theory, politics, epstimology, anarchism, socialism. I could go on and on. Outside of that sphere I have an interest in art, drawing, animation, fashion, nature, music, guitar, gaming (sorta has changed now), and various aesthetic movements like hauntology, weirdcore, dreamcore, and liminal spaces.

I haven't been able to spend too much time with many of my interests as of late which again I'll explain with time. But these these things mean a lot to me, some more than others, some stronger on one day than another. I'm hoping a blog will get me more motivated to get back to them.

Ultimately the purpose of this blog is to serve a few purposes:

Facilitate and aid my interests (talk about music or things I’m learning for example)

Organize my thoughts and reflect on things

A place to make notes on things I read or resources I consume

Have discussions and form relations with like minded people on topics of interest

And a place to just vent and get the verbal diarrhea that just stews in my head and causes me to pace constantly

There might be more reasons but this is all I got.

Why Tumblr?

I think one of the things that turned me away from Tumblr initially was what the demographic was and the "culture shock" as I'm new to the platform. It seems like Tumblr is more geared towards fandoms, aesthetics, some shitposting, but then I thought "Wait I’m in some fandoms (Hazbin/Helluva, Welcome Home, Furry, etc), into aesthetics, and a little tomfoolery" so that's already covered XD. All I have to worry about now is culture shock. The other reason was it didn't seem like a serious place to call my own. Alternatives for me were Neocites, Blogger, or Bear Blog. Neocities was out of the question (for now) as I didn't want to bother with learning HTML. Blogger was a no because I don’t want to start off that seriously. Bear blogs was a no because it was just too small in terms of community.

So really Tumblr offered the following advantages for me:

An unserious place to not worry about my deteriorating writing skills and grammar.

Get my feet wet in writing and blogging

A place to form community out of shared interests, like mindedness, or other reasons

Microblogging allows me to have balance between something more professional and casual (I guess)

A very queer space, which I desperately need.

Perhaps there will come a day where I evolve past Tumblr, but who knows.

The Name and Theme of My Blog

Jacques Derrida's coinage of the term "hauntology" has really influenced me. Especially Mark Fisher's additions to it. On a deeper more personal level, I felt attatched to the idea of being haunted by futures that never materialized, hence the dreams. How individual past histories to societal, and political histories have shaped our lives and haunt us growing up. How interesting it is that we seem to be completely engrossed with nostalgia for childhood or pasts we never grew up with as if they were some magnum opus of human existence. We see hauntology everywhere, through nostaglia of Y2K aesthetics, vaporwave, and so on. Liminality comes in where hauntology exits. If hauntology is about how the past disrupts the present, liminality comes in to be the transitional phase between that present that is disrupted and the future. So to me, it's a form of reconciliation and comfort, harmony. I will really dig deep into hauntology more at later times from a personal perspective and how it's made me see the world differently. I want emphasize this that this blog is not purely about hauntology itself but is more of an aesthetic choice.

Concluding Introduction

I probably didnt need to go all out like this for an introductory post but I did it anyway. I really want to get an introduction done and dusted and move onto the things that really matter to me. I think my first post will be more geared towards the circumstance I find myself in right now. I also gotta keep exploring with Tumblr and learn how to use it and how I can incorporate ideas of what I want to do with it. Also get better at writing at some point like god damn...

What this blog is NOT

I noticed something odd to with many of these more obscure bands from around the 90s. Their album covers are all so similar. They make air smell fresher and cooler. And water feel and taste fresher. Its fucking weird. And i associate it with marble features, angels, fountains, and lush greens.

I still don’t know exactly what the genre umbrella gives me EXACTLY. I’m still experiementing but I think I’m having a goth awakening 😭.

It's hard to believe. But. I've been so stuck in my doubt. I've been stuck with intense gender dysphoria for like 1 1/2 to 2 years now. Maybe 3. But most of the time it's been constant constant battling against the idea that I do have a problem with it. Like constantly trying to find a reason I’m not. Or proof I’m "delusional" that I had completely forgot how long this has been eating at me and building up in intensity over time.

I had no idea how long time had passed when the realization that I may not feel male or how much I identify with queerness. I just had that thought now and it made my heart sink into my stomach.

I mean I could probably vividly put eras to the stages of dysphoria. First is childhood which was probably combined with neurodivergence and overstimulation. Where being male was something I had to follow to conform or survive with. And all I knew or locked myself with. It was like a lock.

Then it became the era where sir and mr came in. Where I started to slightly flinch at it and wince. It didnt do much to me. Just felt weird to hear. This was also when things like nail polish and fashion started making me feel vulnerable. Which I'd drop eventually.

Then theres the era of silence where nothing much had happened except I noticed how much my sexuality has changed.

Then the egg cracking phase where I saw the concept of demiboy where queerness and gender finally made sense to me. And it just kept opening and cracking more and more. And everything feels so loud now.

Now I’m in the phase of battling denial, acceptance, for freedom. I’m just trying to find my footing. Find my roots I lost. And to grieve what I lost. And build what I discovered. And it feels scary and dangerous. And a threat.

But these past few years. Ive been under so much stress. I completely forget I’m stressed. Because I’m so busy trying to prove to myself that I’m lying to myself and every where I go and try to prove it I just cry because nothing proves me I’m wrong. And I’m still trying and wanting to be proven wrong. But I also don’t want to drag this too long.

So I’m in one and when the slightest hint of "politics" gets out there. It feels weird. So in this example I’m seeing someone say that a park looks like a refugee camp and someone replied with a Trump gif on RBG's death. And there's a weird sense I get from it.

It's like ok we're not supposed to be political. But that statement is odd to say. Calling it a refugee camp? Like foreigners are bad? Why call it that? It has a fucking name. Homeless encampment. It's the subtle racism not racism. The politics but not politics. It's almost like a call for protecting our in group from this "refugee camp" its such an odd thing to say.

I feel like the f-slur is one of those things where you cant ever win. On one end it's a symbol that designates queer people as degenerates. And on the other end the reclaimation is seen as powerful and more so a position of authority.

When I explain I have a complex position with the reclaimation of the word. I’m seen as sensitive, or feel excluded. As my history and associations with the word come from a place riddled with ambiguity.

See, I don’t like the word. I have to be reminded of my own usage casually as something deragatory in my childhood and beyond. Until I'd discover I was the butt of my own jokes. It wasnt really something I had chosen for myself. My brother was well versed in its usage, classmates seemed to be on the look out for that type of behvior.

I felt the dynamics early, not that I fit in to begin with. I was on the outskirts and remained the quiet kid for most of my childhood and teen years. It still affects me to this day despite progress and shedding that off.

The f-slur is a reminder that maybe you are accepted. But you’re still a joke. And not taken seriously. Did I want that? No I didnt. I didnt really consider myself queer until much much later in life early 20s. Not even my bisexual discovery early on at 14 made much difference. In fact I wasnt hostile towards it. I thought it was ok as long as I just dated girls. And that could remain behind the scenes.

Of course with time this slowly eroded. And I’m realizing how much I don’t gain attraction towards cis-women. I can find them hot or attractive but beyond that there's nothing. But conversely. I have a hard time having attraction towards men at first sight. Or even anyone for that matter. It's not a universal rule exceptions exist.

But I get rather...confused or scared or feel out of place with men. It's like I know I’m not supposed to be attracted to them. And I’m not (this is the internalized homophobic brain speaking). But what if they were attracted to me? What would I think or do. I don’t know.

My sexuality remains ambiguous. It seems to require context. I don’t know how else to describe it. Regardless. Queer fits the description. And the f-slur is a reminder of ambiguouty. A question of do I belong? Can I assimilate? And it remains true within the queer community.

Within the queer community I enjoy sexual fantasy play with distance. But I don’t like touch or anything too close. Withon the queer community I don’t like using the word as reclaimation and feel like such an outlier or phony within the space. If I lie and fake it and go along with it. I feel dishonest with myself which defeats the point of my own gender and sexuality and broader identity.

If I speak up I can face conflict of being too sensitive. I just don’t like using slurs in the queer community as reclaimation. Simply because it's a reminder of my history, the ambiguoty, the mind fuckery of my family. Their blindness. Their support in name only. Hearing my brother casually use the word or make fun of gay people while still claiming to be supportive of gay people. Which I do believe he does. But they don’t see how much this affects me.

My dad has admitted to not being crazy about me being gay. But he genuinely believes that whatever I want out of my life is for me to decide. So ok I guess thats good? But when you want to express yourself with family. These other parts you remember to not be "too gay". So that gets locked away. I’m at an impasse.

The word is a reminder of my own self policing, the ambiguoity of it used or made fun of in family, my past of conformity, my struggle now for my own freedom. I’m treated as unserious like my gender identity is less important than what my income is.

Its similar to what I’m listening to in the book White Fragility. White people don’t see themselves as being white. Or are colorblind. It sort of inverts white being seen as default or "normal". It's "normal" in new context by being silent on the clear othering that happens with other races.

In this case male or female or transgender is seen in simple terms. As normal. And being gay is ok as long as we can make fun of it. It sends a message that there is something wrong with being that. So when cis maleness is seen as default. Especially with a child they've known for 26 years. Being cismale is seen as the normal state of being. Any divergence could be a threat to their comfort in knowing what they had defined you as. So you don’t go there. Or keep it to yourself. You'll never be seen in what you wish you could be seen as.

It's so damn hard. Because you cant place yourself anywhere. You’re not comfortable with yourself without being othered some how. Is that ok? Maybe? But not like this. I do want to be weird and playful. But knowing the costs of that. The burden it puts on others. To family to even in your own communities that are supposedly accepting. It's confusing.

Many transphobic or queerphobic stories I've heard have been very black and white and clear. I’m sure greyness exists. But I hear them loud and clear "my dad kicked me out" "my mom said I was going to hell". I mean with my OWN mother I think the answer will be pretty clear. She's still MAGA, need I say more? My Dad and brother is the only relative safety I got. At least in rehtoric. Maybe not so much practice.

They want to treat me the same. Which is a literal fucking problem because I DONT WANT TO BE THE SAME. No I’m different. I’m the thing you make fun of. I am the thing that values themselves and their full expression and journey. I am the thing you misgender casually. I’m not "still the same". I’m not sure if many other trans folks agree with wanting to be seen the same or not. I guess it depends on how you came out and when?

I mean ok, look I can say "I have always been there". And it's something I did find out when I did dress differently. Yes I have always been there. But the enviornment doesnt provide feedback to to affirm yes I see that!

It's annoying. It's painful. When I look at other queers or hear them talk. I get envy. Why cant I be happy like them. Why cant I be pretty like them. Why cant I talk like them. I don’t even want to look at myself in the mirror. I know what I'll see. I fucking know it.

When I talk to family. I know what they'll fucking see. I’m putting up with this misgendering shit until I can be out more in my own car. For now ever he/him, every sir, every mister, every man, every dude, every bro is a cattle prod in a cage that says stop searching. Stop allowing yourself.

I hear my own voice. I noticed I developed that lisp. I notice how it fluctuates. It flows and grooves. But then it turns flat and monotone in uncomfortable or conforming situations.

I hate being myself. But I also love it. Maybe I just hate that I cant be myself openly and playfully. It hurts. It hurts so much. Sometimes I believe I am faking it or I’m going down a wrong path. I remember the other day someone considering detransitioning just because they cant get a job. People would say "see you just needed a job! You didnt need all this gender crap". And that's something I worry about. Only slightly if it's true. Or if it's a trap, equating cis white heteronormitivity with "the true self".

I do expect to see people detransition. And this will be held up as a victory for the "gender mind virus" or whatever crowd. As it becomes less economically viable and safe to be trans or themselves. People just need to be normal and get a job and be productive members of society. We see that as default. It's been the very foundational core of white culture, liberal society as a whole. All because people detransitioned for immediate survival, and they'll never be seen as victims of genocide and cultural genocide.

What a rotten way to feel. It sickens down to my stomach. My heart sinks as that radical logical conclusion starts in homes everywhere. That if you just got a job you'd forget about this gender shit. Or stop overthinking. That you just need to assimilate and find what you "want to do (as long as it makes money) with your life". It scares me that thats what my family thinks. It scares me that they don’t see their own bigotry. That it's not so black and white. It's the same nice bigotry. Pseudo allyship.

Or am I genuinely disgusted with how my generation has treated the epstein files with the same level of cynicism and nihilism as with any other "edgy" crap? Like I understand the purpose of humor. But at what point does humor just become a disturbing crutch? Like it distances yourself from actual heavy lifting of the hard work of "we need to start building this better world. A world that can house accountability and justice". But that's just not there. The humor doesnt provide a critique of an injustice. Just to make fun of a very dark. Fucking dark situation and just cast it aside as your done deed of action for the day.

I find it disturbing. Very disturbing this type of behavior.

I looked at myself in the mirror as I engaged in some micro-cleaning. Wearing my plastic hairband to keep my hair back. It's a mess, it's not receeding. But is what you'd call a "mature hairline". It's not a lot of forehead by no means but it's there. Some hair is lighter, some greyer. My facial hair is shaved...horribly. Patches of hair dot around my face, my neck. I curse to myself having to torture my skin again after multiple tries at shaving that hair. I can never get it.

It's almost like patchy facial hair is a taunt. A reminder that I can't shave away what I look like, cant shave away the man. Not that I’m ugly nor cant be andorgynous. I could be. But I look tired and beaten up. Long winded battles yet the battlefield doesnt sway either direction.

I feel gross again. The prickly and stingy sensation on my face. The water in my eyes, the dryness too. Slight nose hairs just poke out and I grow a unibrow I always make sure I shave before leaving. Or pluck. It wasnt supposed to be like this. There's so much there to shave. Body hair is slight not much. But skin is bumpy.

Boy am I tired. I tried on clothes I was gracefully donated to by the local queer center. But they almost mean nothing yet. Today I engaged with eyeshadow again. This time I used 3 q-tips that could have been just 2. Was it harsh on my eyes? Yes. But it helped simplify eyeshadow for me. All I really did was take some dark contour and padded down the end of my outer eye, packed the crease till it faded near my inner lid. Made a soft wing, highlighted the inner corner. Placed some on my lower out corner lid and I was impressed. Again, harsh. But it was easier and more precise than those confusing brushes. I'll get back to them one day.

I was impressed. I still believe there's an inner ethereal bitch in there somewhere. Waiting for her joy. These little things just reaffirm that. No matter how many times "he" or "him" is uttered in this household. Despite me coming out to this liberal family. They act very much like liberals. They know they need to be respectful of others until it inconveniences them. So I gave up correcting. Every correction got a response from one member of audible annoyance. And my other family members dont correct each other behind my back. So Im back closeted, half closeted? Quarter closeted. I dont really exist in the air here.

I want to believe there's someone in here in this body. Someone that isnt being defined by others. Just someone defining themselves. And that's the other realization. See Im fine with any pronouns I believe. As long as I get to define it. I dont feel like I get to. Every time it's uttered it's just pressure to go back to the script...stop searching.

So I just hide in the quiet. I think of that person on my own time. I plan and scheme here alone. Every time I shave, I apply mascara, jewlery. Yeah...she's there. She'll come out soon. And maybe he'll be liberated too. They can exist containing harmony and possibility. For other genders to brew and stew.

Maybe I dont know if I want HRT. Maybe I want something at least? At least get rid of the hair. Electrolysis? Ouch, hell yeah, ouch. I’m still non-binary. Femme non-binary. But I’m sitting waiting for reclaimation. I’m sensitive to societal pressure. So it's not so much the pronouns but the weight of them.

In the meantime, I got my only ticket out of this rut. It's the only real thing I believe in wholeheartedly. It seems ridiculous. Millions of these people appear every year. Getting my drivers license and a car. Im finally behind the wheel. My road test is in March.

If I fail. I'll still believe. If I pass. I'll still believe. Regardless I know they're with me rooting for every step of the way. Having a car would be unshackling. Have my "man" clothes on one moment. And in the car, undress myself and put on what I want, makeup that I want. I can look at myself and sigh relief. It all stays outside of the house. The way I wanted.

I believe...I'll fight for us. For them. I'll make magic happen. Because I see glimmers of it each day. Even within the twinkles of my eye. I've got nothing to lose here except radical authenticity. I will die if I dont get it. Not literally but metaphorically. She wants to be joyful. She will. They want to hold the pieces together and open doors to possibilities and play. They will. He wants to have definition that he never got when he was younger. He will. And he'll be seen in the way he wanted to be seen.

I dont hate my family. Part of it is me. I feel no place to communicate that hey, when I said call me they/them I meant it. I want the blank slate that they/them feels like. A return to self definition and harmony not succomed by projected expections and projected gender. It's purely self defining. It's the nutriets for he and she to be. But they dont get it. I get it. It's hard. And doesnt seem that serious. Almost playful or optional, negotiable. But it isnt. Gender is first real identities and maybe even social constructs we're first assigned to. It's the bedrock to all being oneself. Who wouldnt want reclaimation over that? One thing leads to the next. It's not happiness im looking for. Happiness isnt freedom. It's a box. Liberation and fluidity and love and joyful curiousity id what im looking for.

I care for this family. I care for my elder members. But not like this. It feels like im just too much of a burden on them. They need the care before they could. They do as much as they can now. And believe me it's astronomically helpful and I feel privileged. But it's within walls, gates, and checkpoints. It's not totalitarian, it's monotonous, normal. Almost as standard issue as TSA despite being a brand new phenomenon. I would also say ICE too, but we can leave those bastards for another discussion another day.

When I look over to my older members. Scrolling through facebook, remembering loved ones, loved ones passing away around them. I think about what they dont know about me. What they're not ready to hear. The little bits of happiness they get within what feels safe for them. It's almost like an inner child wound gets torn open.

There's this urge to cry. Anemoia of a connection you don’t know how to fit into and never could. You'd think joy would be found in their children to discover themselves. But it's met with a lower than mediocre response. It's better than being chastised for sure. But it's not what you hoped. So they scroll life away on facebook. Small hits of short happiness each moment. It's disheartening. Just look at me please. But I still dont want you to look at me too much. It's painful, invasive...why? Why is that? I dont know yet. Perhaps whoever is hiding underneath the surface me might have the answer. Maybe she'll guide me or lead me to where it is. On purpose, by accident. It doesnt matter. I'll be faced with the phenomenon but not the facts, I make the story. I'll honor it for the family that couldnt be and maybe could be one day. But Im looking for bigger things still.

Each time I try to make an entry. I can never finish them. Or feel them worthy enough for a post. I actually have more drafts than posts. I don’t know what keeps me back. Maybe I just get distracted. Or I spill too much?

I don’t know. I try to not concern myself with perfection. At least not on here. I cant grammar well nor english well. Instead, I’m just here typing away. Feels good. To let everything you at least knew about english and grammar to fall to the sides in favor of dumping. Whatever it means.

But I don’t feel good. I’m so stuck. I’m so alone in the world. And what's strange is I feel like things are out to get me. People, myself, my own body. I worry a lot. I worry about really losing myself here. What's left.

Right now my lower right side of my body. Where my appendix was is in a lot of pain for the past few days. To the point its distracting. It eats away at me. I get into somatic scenerios. The worst of the worst of them. It's the same elsewhere on my body. The ringing in my ear. The blurriness of my eyes. The itchiness on my face. It's a mix of somatic anxiety and dysmorphia. It's all together.

What I noticed as of late and thanks to body scan meditation is how shallow my breathing is. How stressed I am in the face, shoulders, chest, diaphragm (or lack there of). I'll catch myself sometimes. And I'll catch the feelings.

I seem to latch onto something or a few things and have them orbit around me so long that they become real life. I notice one thing happening in my body it gets enhanced.

I’m quite frankly fatigued at this point. I keep having short visions over and over again of myself in very negative situations. From suicides to illness to homelessness. They don’t particularly stop. Neither does my ear ringing. Nor my heart pounding too hard or my stomach gurgling or the prickliness in my skin.

Just speaking of this makes me tense up. Making it worse. Making my breathing more shallow. Good god did last week take me for a ride. Now I have the darkest shade of grey over me I cant get rid of. And my body feels more like a liability.

I havent looked at myself in the mirror for days. I did once after I shaved. I saw how skinny I got, how sickly I looked. How tired I looked. But I saw a glimmer of hope in there somewhere. That maybe I can find some way to take ownership of this. I don’t know how.

The other day I was told that if I harmed myself they would be angry and that nobody lives in a vaccum. That it's selfish to harm oneself. And that's when I realized. "I’m alone...unseen". I mean i get it, I don’t disagree. But it's incomplete. Not what I wanted to hear. I don’t want anyone to have ownership of me. This is my body. I do what I want. I’m tired of feeling chained to expectations, family, and these things that don’t serve me. I decide for me what I want. I want to live just not for anyone else. I think....I don’t know. Maybe it is for others? But it doesnt feel that way. Not anymore.

I’m so trapped in agony with my body. I cant stand seeing the hairs growing on my chest. The strain in my voice. The derealization. The prickliness in my skin. The discomfort. The cycles of malaise that happen daily or weekly.

I cant catch a break. And I cant catch a break from perfectionism either. The real abomination that gurantees life is impossible. I don’t know what I’m doing. Nobody is helping and frankly i don’t want help. Everyone already says things that doesnt work nor do they see me for who i am. They never ask me why it matters so much. Nobody.

Its not that I want it to. Its that I’m scared. I’m scared of missing out on something. Or losing something. I cant do chaos. It scares me and causes physical pain. As if i need any more now. I’m scared of losing coherence with my identity.

I feel like I’m melting. I do wish i could play in the world. To my best ability. But nothing will let me. I want to be in touch with myself and the world but nothing will let me. I fight and fight. No matter how much i want to play and relax my way to things. I feel put back. Be it my mental or physical state.

Its a fight. A multipronged one. One is trying to figure out how to be an adult. One is trying to do my hobbies. One is trying to understand what keeps me back from doing things (alyxthemia be damned). One is taming physical health but a lot of that is out of my hands. One is taking care of more immediate responsibilities. One is feeling at ease in my body. But i feel stuck because I’m so caught up with having the one thing that can keep this all together. Trying to find it. And the approval of family that I’m not sure I’m even aware haunts the shit out of me.

I don’t understand what happened here. I was in high school one moment. Then i cried in a hospital. Now I’m here. My body caught up to how i feel. My mental health deteriorating as everyone including family has given up on me. My inability to reach out to anyone else.

I legit feel like theres something nobody is telling me.

All I hear is tinnitus, and my thoughts are just as loud. And the stories feel more real than real life. I’m having silent migraines again. Tons of aura. I’m nauseated. My sense of time and memories are blurry. I feel like I’m carrying a burden. So sickly. And heavy. I’m on edge all the time. I keep catching the tensions points. Eyebrows, cheeks, jaw, tongue, throat, shoulders. Those in particular.

I feel like my own body is destroying itself. It will not rest. At all. Its so "broken". The screens don’t help. Every thought, notification, visual, audio cue is a memory or a thread to chase. I don’t have many options. Sit without the screen with tinnitus or have a video on and risk new threads to chase.

Did i even write how i got to this point before? Essentially bad shit happened pretty much all in one day. I couldnt handle it. I drowned myself in xannax and pretty much was on the borderline of OD'ing. And my memories of the last few days feel weird.

My abdomen hurts so much. I cant even relax. I repeat the body scan. But the tinnitus is killing me. And the heartbreak. Omg. I’m legit in crisis and nobody is helping. I’m scared to reach out and be made fun of.

I’m scared of my own heart. I stopped taking my heart meds. And noticed the beating. I realized that despite my best efforts. My body is trying to stay alive. And I need to stay alive despite how heartbroken i am. I was playing gm_flux2 and part of the map has the Kauai O'o bird's "last of its kind call".

Whether thats true and real is beyond me but its just an example of how something like that can make me think of how heartbroken i felt.

Nothing is working. But I’m not giving up. Nobody actually knows what the fuck is going on with me. To them I’m just normal. But if they knew what I’m hearing, what I’m thinking, how sickly i feel. Theyd be changing their tune.

My plan was to sleep and wakeup and do one activity of reproductive labor. But even that feels like a tall order now. I don’t know where to start. Cleaning my mind might be the natural course?

I’m so tired. And I know when I do sleep...I'll never have actually "slept". I have never truly "slept" since I got out of the hospital for my apendectomy.

Something must give...this can't go on forever. Something I need to hold onto. All I’m holding onto now is just a dream. The eternal dream. But even that is so big and overwhelming it makes me cry and feel worse. I need to keep it in my pocket. And focus on whats in front of me. And thats this body being in crisis.

You know, I can't remember what I wrote yesterday. I feel so distraught and torn to shreds right now. I feel impossible. But I can say for one thing. I'm a dreamer...and sometimes dreamers dream too fast. Or they dream no past the clouds.

Right now I have a community. A community I'm working tirelessly to be a safe space for queer people of all stripes. But I messed up...again. I can't remember if I mentioned it in full. But I lost one transmasc indiviudal who didn't feel safe because there was a lot of anti-man stuff going around and not enough transmascs which was something I wanted to fix.

I tried my best for us as a community to have this be an opportunity to fix this issue...but all I got left with is a message to hang onto. "What more can I do?" will forever sit with me. It's hard, I haven't seen a lot of transmascs with discord or on discord. So trying to do this online is hard. And....I have to be honest and this leads to the next thing....I'm...scared of men...it's complicated and I can explain with ANOTHER story which wraps back into the community I'm building

Without giving too much away, essentially I've been dming a cis guy for years. We've been through thick and thin and it seemed like he was the first person to really make me feel safe around a man and protected. And I loved that and he was rooting for me to come and see him...and then it was too late as of the other day....there's so much nuance but I want to keep it private and I still love him to all hell. It's just I can't be friends anymore...not with what we had.

I was already fucked up on xannax so I was lashing out incoherently. I was on xannax because I was freaking out over the transition stuff being expensive and not being good enough for anyone. Not being pretty enough for him. I was afraid that he wouldn't like me so I didn't want to show myself. To be honest...I was afraid that him being bi meant he wanted femme men. So I was trying to be that...well turns out he is dating a guy....I had nothing to worry about and it was too late.

So I ran and lashed out in my dazed xanny fuel rage on my discord server and got hell for it when I said "I hate men" and blah blah blah. And rightfully so I was checked. But it created a schism, and somebody left. Welp....shit....having to heal from a fucked voice, deal with transition costs and gender dysphoria, dysmorphia, tensions with friends, losing community members, losing a friendship that could have been more all in one day, having other "friends" that don't even talk to me. After working so hard to build this community....I lost it. I drowned myself more and more in xannax but that doesn't stop the pain. Just makes me loopy.

My community in its infancy now lays on some tough spots. And as much as I'd like to move onto greater things in life....books, hobbies, and more. I can't. I'm alone. Feeling....well I can't say. But I can say I feel like a failed.

My dream had been to create a community in which everyone was heard...even their darkest feelings for us to unpack and come alive again. But that's tricky isn't it? It created more pain than I thought would have been imaginable. I do have solutions to these problems. Over time I will work them out.

Just for right now, my heartbreak and heartache is killing me. I feel sick. Sick down to my stomach. Alone. Nobody is there. Not even my community. A community is one thing a close connection like the ones I've had are different.

I thank that guy for helping me not be afraid of men. To see a man who does care. Who is strong and protective. But I wish he didn't diminish his impact on me. I told him that it was because of him and me that I got to where I got. But he dismissed it as all just being me...that was the most painful thing for me to hear....but I understand. And I don't judge him. I still love him dearly.

I don't know how to end this. I feel unfinished here. Just that I wish I met him, I wish I could do more, I wish people were there to talk to me, I wish I could transition, I wish I could have created the community of my dreams.

Toncontinu from yestedy i dookecavout how i cany transition because we're finsnciakky squeezed. Y wasnt so much sbout thrct i coukddnt transition. Just thst it was seen ss a butden. Never got that kind if temark from abyond realky. That my heart medications are a burden or that mris were.

But looking inti it. Transition seems pretty difficukt considering I’m prone to blood clots more than the average person. Thabks LVNC. An god knows is if my nervous system or migraines will fuck me over. Tge least i coukd do is remive my hair. But i think even that reaiuires out of pocket

I’m not calling back this trans clinjc. Because clearly 1. My identity is detatched from my boopsychosocial health and 2. My health issues and heart condition will complicate things 3. The financial cost of handling all that monitoring will be huge. Whats the pount? I’m not real. There is not point in doing anytging.

To make matters worse. I fucked up. Later that day i failed someone who is trans masc who has been there since the wvry begining in helping me create the secr in have created for now at least 11 peopd. I was guilty of man badging abd tge envioronment just felt hostile towards the only few trans mascs.

It breaks my heart because i wish i coukd explain ny identity in a way that makes sense. Yes i feel nonbinary leaning femme. But i know masc isnt going away. Its a box. But i alsovbace to acknowkedge my fear of men that i have.

They make me feek trapped, like i have to do enotionsl labor forcthen, orc invalidated. Even tge seeetcones i adore are very condesending and lack any nuance. Ive been assualted by meb. I cant stand them. But i also have a little bitcof that in me. I just want to express mysekf out if ut

I wish they stayed so i coukd see a queer masculinity. But i failed thame. I’m tryingvmy bestcto honorcthen. And theircdecesion to leave ans improvecthe server to makecpeoplecfeelvsafe invaddressing converns rathercthanvtgen bubblingvupbovervtime. Thatscjustcnow rightvfircnectivdivvtietcthstchaooent.

Ivdintvknoe hiw I’m going tovfix it alk. Butcitllbtakectineceitgvnewxideas. Naybe i need ti add notecmmmmmmore trabsecnsmmmmmasec reoresentpmatuobv becausecits very skewed towards transfemnecwhere imevenbibibfeekvkukexibdontcbeoibg.

Itvhurts s lot. Akk othemis hurts a kot. And I’m hopingvtgat ivcan dobthe right thing. For noe in justcdelvibg deeper abd emmmdeeper intobaxoutcof dispair. And i have stopped taking my pukls except xannax. Whats the poibt? Whats the point. Becausecwhat i see in thesecpikks is to articifiacckyvkeeovstavle a body amthar doesnt exist. There isntbacpoint.