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TRANS PEOPLE ARE NOT A BURDEN

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9:59 PM My gf: a/s/l 9:59 PM Me: 50/m/under the bed 9:59 PM GF: 87/f/on top of the bed 9:59 PM Me: mother help me i am stuck Sexy roleplay we got going on here y’all.

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nyoom

Random title is my favourite word of the week. Because I could use something inane and tickly. Also 'nyoom' kind of sums up my experience so far.

Me on Sunday: yay! Six job interviews this week! I'm so ready to get a job and start taking care of myself and being an adult!

Me today: [screams like a fire truck singing a lullaby to baby fire trucks]

I was a few minutes late to my first interview. Despite missing my initial bus, I actually made excellent time! There was a fifteen minute delay at the train station--totally out of my control--and it was overall a two hour commute. When I got there, the woman at the front desk looked at me, sort of sneered, and said: "Well, it was at nine.....so......you can go. I don't think this is going to work out."

So I had to take two hours back home. In that time, a man in a car said: "Begone, fucking queero" (yes, that is what he said, like some alt-right wizard), I got blisters on my feet that are bleeding, and I had water spilled on me and my suit by a woman in the bus seat behind me. When I glanced at her in surprise she just sort of shrugged.

Me, trying to be polite: Haha, it's just water [inwardly shrieks]

her: yup.

Me: sits in silence the rest of the way 8)

at least it dried up by the time I got home for an hour of rest before my SECOND INTERVIEW AHAHAHAHAHAHKILLME.

Nah but. If my antidepressants weren't helping me so much I'd have screamed, cried, and shat myself by now. I don't know how poopy shows up on black but whatever.

i have. five more to go 8). 8)))) EDIT: also the dog I raised from one week old to 13.5 years old was put to sleep today. WHAT AN AWESOME DAY YOU GUYS.

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when you say rolf instead of rofl

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Q:

T/W: contemplations of suicide and gender dysphoria

I'm graduating tomorrow.

I spent four years enduring crippling depression, anxiety, and complex post traumatic stress disorder without professional help and without medication (until march of this year, after the nurse helped me get celexa without having to use my insurance). I spent four years hiding menswear between lacy cardigans and leggings, and quietly ignoring misgendering of well-meaning but unaware professors. Four years of putting on makeup and something pretty to go home until I could hole myself up in my room and cry.

I tried to commit suicide twice by starvation, by jumping out an open window, by cold water shock, by chugging aspirin, and by drinking in excess. Many times I considered letting the water in the residential hall shower run while I sat on the tiles forever. Many times I contemplated the sharpness of the new razor and considered it better suited for a waiting vein than the sparse hair on my body I let grow in between my trips home.

The two people who knew were thousands of miles away. My partner in Portland, my best friend in Wales. And even then I'd taught myself too well to keep quiet when I wasn't feeling okay. It's what I'd learned to do growing up in a house where mental illness was make believe.

But I graduated. Not quite with honors. Just a hair shy. So just slightly short of something really special. In my lowest lows I kept saying to myself that there was shit I wanted to do. That all the time and effort I'd sunk into this damn piece of paper was nothing if I offed myself. So I managed.

Question is what the hell I'm going to do now.

I've got some plans, yeah. Big, lofty plans without a set game plan just yet. Some people would be satisfied with that, but I've always coped with having my answers mapped out. Real life isn't like that, I guess, and transitioning sure as hell isn't.

I'm moving to Portland, working to get a job--anything will do right now--and I'm working on getting my shit handled out. In the first week I've got three interviews, a state change for my license, opening a new bank account.... and as soon as I get employment sorted out...it's insurance, then hopefully I'll get on my way for HRT.  

I've been living as a man socially for.... since some time in high school. Not privately, mind you, but the way gender is percieved by most cis people is that ciswomen get a whole lot more leeway than a cisman does. Masculinity is far more specific. Transwomen are in so much danger because of that. It seems anything can be deemed "feminine" these days, but "masculinity" is some special, exclusive club. I'm safer that way, but am I happier? No. When I think of my trans-sisters I know I should count my blessings, but it's hard. I'm from rural southeast Alabama...even the most heteronormative person is liable to feel isolated, for good or ill.

It's changing next Friday. I'm going to Oregon. And then I don't know what. I have to consider whether or not I want to estrange my family. How I'd want to do it. Whether I'd want to give them a reason why. My head says yes. My nuclear family warped psyche says how fucking dare you?

I'm graduating tomorrow.

I feel like I'm staring at a sinkhole, being handed a headlamp and an axe and told: Okay, go on, little fella!

No pressure.

I'm going on sheer adrenaline and keeping all of my screams (mostly) inside. We'll see what happens when I have a minute to breathe.

mmmprobably more screaming.

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First Post!

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