ADHD|creates

She has soulful eyes and the most boopable snoot ❤️

INTRODUCING A PAINTING OF MY CHILD

I've been writing a lesbian fantasy fiction series. I've never even finished a chapter before, and now I have four. ADHD meds are a wonderful, life changing thing.

I want to meet every challenge with strength, grace, and dignity.

That means I go inward, and acknowledge all my rage and sadness and helplessness and fear. I feel them, I acknowledge them, I hold them close until these pieces of me know that it's going to be alright. I'm still here.

Imagine you were born a duck, in a world full of crocodiles. "Oh my god, a duck! That's so unnatural!" The crocodiles say, bearing their sharp teeth. Some of them tell you "why would you choose to be a duck? Why are you trying to make things harder for yourself?" Even though you didn't choose this - you were born this way. You know the crocodiles have killed other ducks before, beaten them, left them for dead. Being a duck is dangerous.

So you try and you try to be a crocodile, you dress like them, act like them; but everytime you do you feel pieces of yourself fading away.

So, do you live your life as a crocodile, never really feeling alive, or do you be yourself, knowing it makes you a target from those who have decided to hate you without knowing a single thing about you?

There aren't any statistics available in Australia for the rate of trans deaths, because often, on the paperwork, they only acknowledge the gender a person was assigned at birth. I do know that trans people are 4 times more likely to experience physical and sexual assault than the general population, despite representing less than 3% of the population.

I know that I've witnessed unsolicited, aggressive behaviour towards trans women in public for no apparent reason other than a man feeling somehow threatened by the existence of another person who has absolutely nothing to do with him.

Anxiety is a rolling thunder only I can hear.

I'm waiting for a great implosion. Im braced against an undefined approaching apocalypse of my life: some force attracted to the relative peace I've found. An inevitable chemical reaction that I can't stop.

I'm standing at the precipice; a convergence of every Bad Thing and memory and action and word and someone is going to get hurt. And there will be nothing I can do to stop it. I'm not ready for more pain and hurt. Not yet. Not yet.

I get tired. And sad. I want to scream. I am so aware of how things have changed and yet I can't stop the passage of time.

My auntie sent me a message the other day: "I really hope you know how good you are."

I felt so humbled.

My best friends tell me they love me and how well I'm doing, all the time.

I am like the moon

I, too, glow on borrowed light

Why can't I just be here to love?