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kaseyspersonalventspace · 3 years

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im honestly considering trying to falsely seed childhood memories in my head. like, replace even the good ones. theres so much pain and suffering in these normal memories. like, having fun in theatre is what everyone else saw and experienced, but i was wearing 2 sweatshirts.

i didnt love anything, i loved summer and cake and music but like, i didnt love them in relation to me.

ive had these secret little wish fulfillment fantasies where im a popstar or a stage actor or an artist or a singer or someone big and popular, and anyways the fantasy isnt even like something huge where im in the perfect house or a lavish mansion and everythings perfect, the fantasy is just that i am feminine and happy and very open. im living a life i kept just trying to hold to. but the transphobia and dysphoria and depression all just grabbed me and i could never.

i started crying, again, like for real, for the first time in maybe over a year? anyways, i have a lot of mixed emotions about it (obviously). one of the big ones is this strange sense of misery and happiness? like, crying like this is right. its supposed to happen and be like this. but obviously im still crying so, misery too.

im honestly considering trying to falseley seed childhood memories in my head. like, replace even the good ones. theres so much pain and suffering in these normal memories. like, having fun in theatre is what everyone else saw and experienced, but i was wearing 2 sweatshirts.

i hated the pool, god did i ever. did you know i wanted to be a lifeguard for a while? and then dysphoria really kicked me and i never went swimming again. i wouldnt change in the locker room. there was this overbearing discomfort with it and, yeah. i dont like wearing minor amounts of clothing anyways mostly. ive been wearing the same sweater for weeks now no shirt beneath it i cannot bear to see my own skin usually.

its getting better, and can see actual breast development happening but if the numbers are to be believed, and they are,

yeah. fuckin nothing. I talked to my one irl transfem friend and she said im on track normally, and honestly its kinda painful. that 60 months is 5 years. i have to wait so so long before i can really begin to even be at all.

writing this post is taking me literal hours.

i really dont have any female friends, mostly because i cannot bare to be seen by them.

“Because the sunset, like survival, exists only on the verge of its own disappearing. To be gorgeous, you must first be seen, but to be seen allows you to be hunted.”

-Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (i highly recommend the read, though nobody is going to read this.)

i have had female friends, but i always feel they want an otherness. they secretly look for things and ways im different. ways i am not them. ways they can sentence me to living a life i wont. its not their faults, its my anxiety, dysphoria, depression, and the deeply ingrained transphobia in society.

theres a notification for a jerma stream right now but i really cannot watch it theres just such a pervasive loneliness to everything, really.

i am isolated socially in my gender. i dont regularly talk to other transfems or even other women. i get the feeling this is intentional on their part.

i hug an old memory foam pillow to fall asleep at night. the way memory foam presses back feels like a person and it makes it easier to sleep, and deal with the crushing and painful isolation.

this post is very long at this point and i dont know whether i will ever stop writing it.

i went for a walk today, and bought a notebook and some of those fancy mechanical pencils with the side angle thing. i used to thing those were the best in middle school (and i still do).

i cant really talk about how weird this is with any of my immediate circle of friends because like, its so disparate and separate from them. on that note, a few days ago i thought i had my first period at 19, becuase the symptoms i was expirencing are close to those of a period (on reflection probably not, thats usually a FAR later effect of puberty, ill probably see that in a month or two). anyways, i didn't wanna explain that to my friends and so i just had a bad time and was filled with ainxiety.

im mad that i fuckin cut my hair. right now it looks like shit. i gotta wait until summer for it to get long enough.

i might have covid, and i am not excited about that.

i never would have needed a tumblr account just for this, but since ophelia moved i havent had anyone to give me scraps of the life i wanted to live. wed stay up late and she would show me whatever anime she was watching, and then id show her whatever horror/adventure/general podcast i was listening to, and then we would talk and get sleepy and then go to bed. and that was it. it was the highschool friendship i had always wanted, and then i got overloaded with things, and then we stopped talking. i still talk to her sometimes, im trying to go for at least once a week, but its hard.

i sent a message to one of my other trans friends in my immediate group, (hes a guy for reference, still no close female friends) about lying to my other friends, about voice training in particular. like, getting my voice where i want it. anyways, the lie is that im getting a fringe case where my voice is being raised by the estrogen. its really total bs, but if i start slightly modifying my voice and i have voice cracks and its inconsistent, i have an alibi and a cause to support my case. if they knew i wanted to change my voice willingly? i would have to die. i would rather be dead.

sharp deviation, i know, but. if i went back in time, and killed my younger self, i dont think it would be a time paradox. i should be arrested for time-murder but i would still exist. that wasnt me. that was never me.

“Migration can be triggered by the angle of sunlight, indicating a change in the season, temperature, plant life, and food supply. Female monarchs lay eggs along the route. Every history has more than one thread, each thread a story of division. The journey takes four thousand eight hundred and thirty miles, more than the length of this country. The monarchs that fly south will not make it back north. Each departure, then, is final. Only their children return; only the future revisits the past.”

-Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (again, beautiful read)

i think about that whole idea, that you can never go back to the past. its fun but not true at all. you are free to revisit the past at any time, but will find nobody is there. nobody lives in the walls of your childhood home, nobody goes to your elementary school. nobody is there. sometimes i walk alone in sherwood and think about that. the highschool got turned into the middle school. every time i pass it i think about that. i think about the bad classes and the stress. and i come to a realization, walking passed the living haunted building. i think about my memories there, and they didnt include me. they were just the walk itself, or the conversation, or the class. i wasnt in any of them. my deadname, that body, its not there.

i find i do a lot of wishful thinking.

i said i wanted to replace my childhood memories with some different ones. i think one of them is going to be just, expanding the ones i have with my sibling. for reference, they had barbies as a child, (and american girl dolls, which is its own mess) but when we moved to beaverton, our first room there we had to share. they would play with their dolls and i would build some lego structure i would end up vulturing in a week anyways. anyways, the maybe 6 foot distance between saoirses and my stuff meant eachothers stuff ended up on eachothers sides of the room. they would do lego stuff and id usually fix the mis-velcroed/unevenly buttoned doll clothes. we moved to a different apartment in the same complex and we got separate rooms.

i think i will add in memories of shows i had to sneak watch at friends houses or on the computer as a child more and more into the memories. in reality, my parents wouldnt let me watch the normal kids programming, so i could only watch hannah barbara cartoons from the sixties and whatever was on PBS. dont get me wrong, both are excellent media, but when i got older i realized they had prevented me from socializing using shared media experience. when we got a shitty macbook, equally shitty mac games and pirated versions of cartoons i wanted to watch were what i was hooked on. i would just google like "dragons" or some shit and have a zero volume sailor moon clips or lego game reviews play in a tiny window on the right.

you know how i chose my name? basically, i spent a lot of time deliberating on it, but eventually i realized.i dont want a flashy or unique name. becuase i dont really want to stand out. kasey is a name that looks good in lowercase or uppercase, isnt hard to pronounce, and is just very normal. I didnt end up using it for about a year or so though, this was intentional. i first had everyone learn a fake deadname. everyone learned my name as sage. this, of course put a layer over my deadname. a shroud that makes people slip up and not deadname me. i developed mnemonic armor, in a sense. an additional layer of memory that would have to be pushed through before someone might accidentally/intentionally hurt me.

i had a babysitter when i was a kid, her actual name was christine? idk we called her christy or crissy i cant earnestly remember. anyways, i thought she was the literal coolest teenage girl on earth. like, cooler than anyone else and i wanted to be her so bad as a kid. like, so fucking bad (looking back duh it was obvious). anyways, i had a dream of a memory of a time when i was bored and in the back it was raining. but in the dream, i was in the car where she was. i was wearing a black hoodie an some of those grey forever 21 sweatpants. i think i had earrings in? whatever. it was her car but it was like, actual me inside it. like, kasey. anyways i was listening to music (both within timeline and anachronistic) and i just went to the dmv to get a new id and then i drove home and i woke up. this dream is so significant becuase all my other dreams were in third person mostly and i was painfully aware of how i looked, and exactly how my face looked in any expression. but this, i just did mundane boring shit. i didnt do a goddamn thing. i had a normal oregon day as myself. and it felt good.

i think im going to end my first real post on this nice positive note, that feels good.

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