My mom’s been watching my every move, lately. Thinks that any space she gives me, I’m going to take and run with. Do all the things she didn’t want me to do, all of the bad things. The online forums she thinks I’m visiting, the random people she thinks I’m chatting with, and I am sick of this. I know I haven’t been very trustworthy, and I’ve been good at bearing this loss of the independence I so rely on so far, but tonight it just reached a breaking point inside my head.
So I’m… somewhere in the middle. But I identify much less with ‘female’ than ‘male’. I’m hardly ever comfortable with my chest anymore, for more than a few minutes. When I’m wearing my swimsuit, I don’t notice it. I feel good, because I feel attractive, and being female and attractive is okay for me right then. But my brain is still a guy. ‘She’ is bad. ‘They’ is fine. But I’m still… I’m still thinking in terms of that guy in the mirror. What about me, here, now?
Three ‘I expect’s in a row, can you believe that? All about totally separate things. “I expect you to be in bed soon.” “I expect you to find out what’s going on with your online Economics class. They should have sent an email.” “I expect you to spend extra long on the piano to make up for not practicing today.” Should’ve known that relaxing in my room for an evening was too much to ask for. It stresses the hell out of me, when she does that. And I know. She isn’t going to change. It’s not like it’s going away. Just gotta… learn to deal. I’m enjoying sitting in my room, though. I had a good day. Laundry basket, full of clean laundry, is right in front of me. Laptop case is next to me. Lunchbox for school is near the basket, and the floor to my left is covered in binders and books. Most times, I find the chaos too much. Stressful, irritating. I’ve written about those episodes of random obsessive cleaning. Everything must be in its place, and nothing can be crooked. But right now, I’m enjoying this. I feel whimsical, kind of just… bouncy and floaty. Weird feeling for me. I haven’t been this happy in a while.
I decided I was going to put on a dress. My mom bought me one from the store, and, well… it was really pretty. Very me. Rolled up sleeves, a thin braided leather belt, and soft polyester cloth. Button up, with a collar. Still pretty damn feminine, though, of course. It is a dress. But I felt pretty, when I put it on. Not like a girl girl, though. I was still a guy, under the surface. If I’d had a binder (sports bra) on, I would’ve worn it all day and been fine. Better than now, at least. But I didn’t. It wouldn’t have fit under the cloth, would’ve showed. And it’s the fucking weekend, so my mom would’ve noticed. She always does, lately, when I dress the way I need to. So the weekends are constrained to girl days. This is killing me.
I know I’ve only really written not-so-great things about her. But the fact does remain that she was always there for me when I needed her. And when I reached out on Thursday, at a really low point in my head, she was there for me again, even though we hadn’t been best friends in years. Yeah, she was a Trump supporter in 2016 (no idea where she stands now)- and as a queer kid, that kinda rubbed me the wrong way- but to me, her actions and her behavior speak louder than whoever the hell she supports or the things she says she’s for or against.
I feel abstract. Like I’m floating, or something, like nothing’s real. I thought it would improve once i slept, but it hasn’t. I’m still out of it, and my head hurts, and im dizzy. what is wrong with me? I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve felt like this for a long time now, and it’s just sending me into a cycle of… of this.
Why the hell is it so bad this time around? I’ve been predominantly male for almost… I don’t even know. But I’m dealing with constant dysphoria now, and I don’t know if I can take it. Tomorrow. Until tomorrow. It’s the last day. Then I won’t need to hear she and her and all of those fucking words that are just wrong wrong wrong wrong and I know what everyone else sees but that isn’t me! I don’t hate myself, I hate the fact that I can’t ever be what I am. I’m not telling my family until I move out, save for maybe my sister, but- I just don’t know if I can deal with it. If this is one week of break, how the fuck is summer going to look?
It’s like whatever I do, Mateo is haunting my thoughts. I guess I did still have feelings for him. We weren’t going to work, that much I know. Being with him was a little stifling. I’d rather be in a relationship where we split the check on the first date. I’m just sad. I miss him. It was a good decision, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a little painful. Am I allowed to feel like that? It was my own doing. His feelings don’t invalidate mine, and vice versa.
Huge, huge thanks to the britchy one for nominating me! I'm really excited to be nominated for my second award ever. 🙂 She blogs recipes, and food things, as well as some life things. I highly recommend reading her stuff. Now, as per the rules, here are the rules: Thank the person who nominated you for... Continue Reading →
I feel like maybe cutting would be Gorilla glue. Keep me sane a little longer, enough to finish this damned project and the damned report that goes with it. Step up from duct tape, a little better- little longer lasting. I don’t think I’m at that point, yet, but I’m slowly tipping closer. I just wish I could focus. It might be dysphoria, it might be the concussion, I don’t flipping know. But I know that even the fact that I’m around people that love me, even the fact that I’m not as alone as I feel, doesn’t seem to be enough for me. I don’t know what to do.
Chamomile Midnight Rambles 