#i get the paranoia and anger i genuinely do i don't blame people for it

[stackslip]

not to be controversial but i don't think there's a nebulous army at tumblr hq personally flagging and deleting transfem users and their posts, considering how moderation on large social media networks work. i think it's far, far more likely that terfs and transmisogynistic tumblr users love to report and flag transfems themselves, and because moderation is partially automated (and automatic moderation tends to flag any trans and especially transfem related content as being explicit/bad) and in other part outsourced to overworked underpaid workers who have to take about 10 seconds per post, very few of these posts will be unflagged or restored from the other end. i'm not denying that there might be rabid transmisogynists on staff (it's quite likely, as it would be anywhere) but from everything i've seen there's very little likelihood that anybody at hq are doing that moderation work themselves or would have the time or even ability to specifically seek out transfem users to flag.

[reasonsichanged]

d

D for dreamy chai latte held in my hand. D for damned workweek. D for disgusting film of cheesesteak sandwich left in the space between my fingers. D for (no) destination.

I get these bursts of being out somewhere, doing my own thing in a way I wasn't able to do before (sitting at the Barnes & Noble with a drink, typing away, sharing an electrical outlet with a stranger) and I feel grateful for C. I have felt grateful for him in a lot of ways recently. Things just go so well, and I'm able to effortlessly keep things fun. I feel in sync with him. There is nothing that is difficult.

At every turn, he takes what I'm afraid of and turns it into something I didn't need to worry about at all, and I believe him. I say "when someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time" frequently, and I don't always follow that advice, but C has shown me who he is so many times and he is genuinely good. I cried saying I felt too small of a person for him and we never mentioned it again, but that feeling comes and goes. Last night when I had a bad high from the vape pen for the first time, I did not feel scared once I told him. He didn't want to abandon me.

And I thought just a few years ago that I was living on borrowed time, that I wasn't supposed to survive past 23-24 and everything else was just drifting down a river... floating in space. There was an article on the "golden child" who grows up as an adult, feels isolated from people their age, and is praised for doing things with no effort. And when things get tough, it's expected that they should get through it like anything else in life. The most important thing on all parenthood Reddit threads is "praise your child not for what they achieve, but for how they achieve it," e.g. getting back up again after failing. I didn't fail at many things, so "failure" could mean anything from clogging the tub and neglecting to tell someone it was clogged to using a kitchen knife to cut up crayons. Dad got angry then and his eyes flashed.

I'm afraid of that anger in me, ultimately. It's a recurring theme that there are things you cannot apologize for, and there are things that you can say to your kids in a flash of anger that can never be taken back and never apologized for. I decided neither parent deserved by forgiveness, and anyone could do that to me. No one owes anyone anything for life, but that would be hard to accept as an actual parent.

Maybe there was something at play under the surface that also led to not wanting to forgive. I won't kiss them, I won't initiate hugs, I won't compliment them. The gut feeling is "they will ruin that trust," and I can't remember why that formed. So much is lost to memory. I only have the things that stand out after years of retelling: the tub, the crayons, the "you made me hit my dog," the laundry, mom crying in the bathroom at Pies 'n Pints after moving me in sophomore year, dad pushing me out of the way to go in and read the messages I was sending to B. Forcing me to have a dinner with M when she had made me feel less than a person just months before. "No one can fill your cup of self-worth." Blaming me for his paranoia when he rushed home from work after he assumed I was being abducted. Calling the police when I didn't return phone calls into my 20s. There were childish emotions at play that were disguised as maturity, and I had no choice but to sit there and take it.

The laughter. Laughing when I don't understand something. Laughing when I assume something. The ego. That is unforgiveable. The sitting and talking for hours and hours, refusing to let me leave restaurants or cars when I'm crying and everyone is looking at me. Pretending he doesn't get it to save face. All of those things. You keep your distance after those things pile up over 18 years.

And they carry over into other things. Wanting to be relied upon and considered capable. Wanting to take care of my own life but just not knowing how. Wanting my decisions to not be questioned. Not standing up for myself when it counts.

And tomorrow is the... eight-year anniversary of J's suicide lie. Struggling to put that into terms I can understand, struggling to remember everything that happened in the order they happened. I remember telling his mother he had a good heart on the day I left. I don't remember the nasty texts. I remember sending JtE so many messages about it when I shouldn't have, when I confused an inside joke I had with J with JtE because it was the same closeness. And everyone asking at the writing workshop what had prompted me to latch onto a person like that, what was going on in my life that this was someone whom I loved with all my being. And in eight years from today, what i will remember of this time too.

A fog of weed, slacking off, killing centipedes, sleeping and sleeping. Passing a bag of vapor back to C while watching nature documentaries. Ignoring how much I need a haircut. Leaving the cats alone so I can go have sex with C and take the first few steps into anal. Something dirty and directionless, also D words. But on the other hand, everything can be framed as progress: surviving a pandemic and staying responsible, buying groceries, online shopping for Christmas gifts, going to events with C and making friends on Bumble. Seeing his friends; visiting my own and staying in touch. The survival lens and the thriving lens. I don't know how to write through the thriving lens because it will never be without fault; I could have woken up to exercise, gotten my car registration transferred, made an eye doctor appointment to fix my dry eye. Always something. I cannot imagine balancing another life on top of my inability to take care of this one. Or maybe we take the roles that are thrust upon us, as Shakespeare said. You rise to the occasion.

I did not dissect (another D word) what I wanted to here. I am trying to sort parents and J and future plans without being too specific because this is not a love or hate letter to anyone in particular, and nothing is coming out that I may want to remember. I'm not creating anything right now and I'm nearly 27. I'm not prolific and things are not aesthetic or beautiful. I'm not reading or working on a project like I did in high school to pass the time. There is no time to pass because it's my time, all the time. Maybe I have to feel or pretend it's someone else's to get anything done; the time of a child or the time of a spouse.

The B&N is closing soon and I'm reminded I have lost the Haruki Murakami book I want to read but lost in the move. You lose something whether you try your best to keep track of everything or not; last move I lost a microwave; this move is books. Just something that isn't the internet, to get caught up in instructions and videos that promise to tell me how I should live when I have no intention of following them. Something to pass My Time.

D for dissolving into abstraction.