I said I would write more, specifically in here. And I haven’t. I’ve broken my promise because I’ve broken myself.
Big changes result in a domino effect. Everything is falling over. My partner; my understanding of who/what/how I’m supposed to be as a person; my friends; some of my colleagues.
I know this will all pass, just as everything before has passed. Where I will be once this has become the past, only time will tell.
What a load of wank.
To my partner of 14 and half years:
There is a reason it bothers me so much.
There’s a reason why I have a problem with that language/terminology.
That game.
That person.
Those people.
There’s a reason why I can’t understand why you would want to play that game, given all that you have said, believe, apparently stand for.
There’s a reason for why I personally feel attacked and vilified because of “that” , and all of those things.
I am trans.
I am a trans man.
As much as I would like to run away from that, and everyone else, I can’t.
This is not something that I have suddenly come up. This is not something that has suddenly hit me. But also this is not something that I have been consciously trying to hide from you for years, because I was not actively aware it was there for years.
I know that that all sounds very contradictory.
Looking back, I can see it. All of it. But I couldn’t before. I have hidden so much of myself from everyone, including myself, for so long. Which is massively borne out of the environment I was raised in and the people raising me.
Trying to learn who I am whilst also trying not to hurt anyone is extremely difficult. It has been extremely painful. Especially as the more I have understood myself, the harder and more painful it has to hide and pretend who I actually am, to everyone else.
I want to medically transition. But under the current NHS system that’s not easy. Privately-paid for medical transition is slightly more possible (in terms of speed) but it means that all my other day-to-day living expenses have to become very tightly managed, or at least, don’t increase from what they are currently. However at the point I completely come out, I know everything in my life will change.
And this is thing that is ultimately stopping me from saying anything.
It will fuck everything, as we know it, up. I will fuck up any plans you may have for us. I will fuck up your world view. I will fuck up our relationship. I will fuck up our lives together.
I will fuck up.
Again.
All things change. That is life. This past week, the UK has gained a new Prime Minister and a new King. Which is all a bit weird and sudden after waiting an age for either of these. Neither of the two historical events did the majority of the country have a say (vote) in.
I have changed too. This time last year my mental and emotional capacity was being overwhelmed by the internal swirling storm. I didn’t know why then. I didn’t understand myself then. I hadn’t for all of these years. How could I have been so blind to myself and who I am? People pleasing, playing the expected role, not listening to what my body is telling me and what I’m feeling, gaslighting myself, fear. All have played a part. And are still playing their own particular games and roles.
The next steps are to actually make the changes instead of just thinking about and imagining the changes. This is far easier to say than do. Writing not very interesting blogs that no one reads is easy. Telling someone I don’t know is hard. Telling someone I do know is far harder. Talking to the people I’m close to is terrifying.
I haven’t enjoyed this bastard month on the whole, so I am glad to see the back of it.
I’ve spent much of it being frustrated, angry, upset, hurt, annoyed and generally thoroughly fucked off with too many people.
Yes, there have been some delicious highlights, like getting to see Son of Dave live, despite the sound issues he had. The Innocent Fete was on the whole, a lovely day. And wandering around bits of touristy London the day after wasn’t as hideous as it could have been:- I’d had no sleep the night before (boo), but I wasn’t hungover (yay).
The small matter that I completely pwned the arses off a bunch of poker regulars was, likewise, a joyous high.
But the emotional fall out that resulted after certain causes was the massive down on those ups. It would appear that I’ve lost a friend I trust. I have felt utterly shit about the whole thing.
There’s also been the continued anxiety over my father’s health and the wait for the hospital admission for his triple heart bypass. It hasn’t helped that he has this thing of not talking to me, another all too fucking common event of the month. We found out a little over a week ago that he will be admitted to the hospital that he will have the operation in on the 21st September 2008. He’s been quoted a 3% mortality risk, which everyone says that is good, but all I can see is that 3 people in 100 die on the table. Someone has to be one of those three, but that’s me and my usual fucked up way of looking at the world. He’ll be in for approximately four days afterwards, and then I’ll probably have two people to care for when he gets home. That’s if he doesn’t follow through with his crap plan of buggering off up North to stay with a friend for a few weeks. Why do some people think that disappearing is the right option?! Wish I fucking could, and I know exactly where I’d go right now.
Then there’s my mother who is becoming increasingly dependant on others. By others I mean us, the family, or more precise my father and me. She very nearly set the house ablaze the other night with her stupid insistence on not using an ashtray, which doesn’t bear thinking about considering there’s a full oxygen tank in the bedroom with her, and my father. She won’t let the nurses visit her more often to deal with her wounds on her feet and won’t allow anyone in to help us care for her. There was another pointless visit from a Social Worker where my mother absolutely refused all help. All in all, she adds to the general head banging that I’ve done most of the month, year, decade, y’know.
But then the really unexpected happened. A guy who isn’t a weirdo, not a creep, shows up on my virtual door saying he likes me. And I like him back. I had one of the best days of the entire year yesterday thanks to him. And it was my first date in over 3 years! He bought me a Radiohead cd as a present, which to those who are heavy into the romance thing won’t see that as being particularly romantic, but to me it was. There was actual, premeditated thought behind it, and that to me, counts for far more than the gift itself.
I am going to be true to myself on more things, not give in and keel over just because I will feel guilty otherwise. I’ve got to learn to let go of the guilt; I can’t be blamed nor held responsible for everything, by myself or others.
Dammit, it’s gone emo again.
Must write fewer emo posts!
Wondering what September brings. As much as I love Autumn, it brings back bad personal memories of life going very shit.
Edit, 10 years plus: Oh fuck honey, it was only going to get far, far worse, you stupid, naïve “teenager”
There was a fan, sat quietly in the corner, whirring away.
Opposite was a steaming pile of fresh poop minding it’s own business, as poop is want to do. Without too much warning, the poop flew into the air and headed straight for the fan. You should know the rest.
The horrible thing is I knew it was going to happen. I could see it coming about beforehand. I knew where the fan was, and more or less how the poop was going to travelling at such speed, if not when. Not a lot you can do in those situations. No one wants to be told I told you so, nor does anyone want to listen to advice, not mine at any road. I’m mostly told to stay out of it, so I keep my head down, back off, stay away, avoid everything before I open up a can of worms. Sometimes that’s appropriate, sometimes it’s stupid beyond reason.
As a result of some of this, before the end of the week I shall be attending a favoured local public house. Within the bowels of the building, several members of the gathered great unwashed of the surrounding area will be completing in a game involving cards, chips and ultimately cash. I will be playing a very quiet and different game, a cardless version of Go Fish.
This is a random and vague collection of whine, of very poor vintage.
Too much to be angry about.
Too much to be upset about.
And none of it actually matters.
How to rectify diminishing self-worth?
I need to pull myself together and stop being so fucking pathetic. I’m truly pissing myself off. Maybe it’s just hormones and I’m not really feeling this alone and broken.
Something has to change.
Me.
Where can I buy a hug and thus not feel guilty about wanting/needing it?
Please ignore all this.
I’m going to slap myself silly now.
Why is a little bit of it too much to ask for?
There seems to be an all too common thread running around me at present. I’m hearing half-accounts from other sources instead of from the person concerned. Currently there’s a Social Worker in my home trying to establish what some outsider could do in terms of care for my mother. The fact that I don’t want this stranger in the house counts for nothing. I’d quite like to frog march her out right now. But I was ambushed. I’ve sobbed like an idiot in front of a stranger.
We’ve got to collectively talk now. But that’s going to prove difficult considering my father doesn’t like to talk to me and instead hold it all in. And having any sort of a discussion with my mother is near impossible due to her severe dysphasia. How anyone expects an untrusted unknown to manage is something I find quite laughable.
I now have two weeks to swallow my pride and do something to change my life, for the better. How much of the guilt can I bury?
I’m waiting for the talking to start.
It’s quite frustrating that so few of the people I know are willing to do talking. There’s a good need for these people to talk as well. It most definitely doesn’t have to be with me, but I can see enough to know that having it all swirl around their head isn’t doing them any favours.
Take my dad, for instance. He’s the kind of man who would never say “suck it up”, but that is his entire way of existence. I know he’s shit scared of what is to come, it’s possibly the biggest event in his life. Facing death tends to be the biggest thing in any life. But instead of opening up and talking, he’ll mope, he’ll get very depressed and push people away a little bit more. I am really proud that he’s managing to stay off the suicide-sticks though, for which I should take my pride out of the issue and just say it.
I don’t want to prod these people to the edge into talking. Some, I know, really aren’t ready to talk. And that’s fine, I get it. Just need them to know that I’m here for when they do need to offload, about absolutely anything.
Then there’s the some who really need to talk, because it’s causing more problems by not talking than any discussion could possibly do. It’s with them I need to be diplomatic, and I’m not very good at that. There’s a very good reason why I’ll stay very quiet during specific conversations. It’s partly because my hearing is fucked and I wouldn’t want to mishear but it’s mostly because I’m biting my tongue. I know there’s one conversation that I’ve got to have with someone where I’ll be doing just that to such an extent that my mouth won’t have a tongue any more, just a big, flaccid, bloody mess.
I need to do more of it, it would seem.
Although I’ve done remarkably well at it so far, just not good enough for my liking. It’s far easier to hide away from things when you don’t admit them to yourself. It’s about believing the lie. Once you’ve got that sussed, pretending you don’t see or hear certain things is easy.
I’ve had to hide away something which has been a big chunk of my life for a long time. That’s fine when there’s nothing being teased directly in front you. There only so much graphic talk of masturbation I can tolerate, which was all meant in a girly, chatty way but c’mon dude! I know that the drunken snogs were all meaningless, but being ground up against and being kissed in darkened places doesn’t exactly put out the fire. It sets off alarms mostly. This ain’t usual.
If they don’t know the effect they have on me, then big ouchy to me, but fair enough; it’s just my little problem. If they do/did comprehend what that sort of behaviour does to someone then I really don’t want to know. I’ve gone on the basis of the former for the majority of the time. Maybe that’s me convincing myself of a lie that isn’t there.
Then there was Saturday. I didn’t actually see everything. My viewpoint was different, but I came to the same conclusion about everything all the same.
There are many more things I should have said that night as opposed to the one thing I did say. I should have said “No, you best sleep on the floor.” But that would’ve been for purely selfish reasons that had nothing to do with getting a good nights sleep. I should have said something about the porn. I should have loudly objected to it, or said that I really didn’t want that on. I didn’t and instead closed my eyes to it all, quite literally.
Then later, I saw an arm draped over a waist and decided that there was no way I was going to get back into that bed, no matter how much some people objected to my new rather comfy resting place.
And now I know it’s all gone bad. At least one other knows this too. And the other one is either sticking their head in the sand and hoping it’s all going to go away at some point or is totally clueless.
I wouldn’t know which one to pick right now.
Shot myself in one foot, will quite probably do the other one in and then I will blow my brains out.
That’s not my name.
Years ago, when I was altogether smaller, the school friends decided I needed a nickname, because calling me by my real name was too much effort, or something.
They played around with the letters and came up with something not very original. They weren’t the best with original nicknames anyway, as is often the way with kids.
Eventually they fell upon something which appealed to them. And that was that. I have since become that name to almost everyone. And I hate it. I hate being called by people I don’t know and new friends by it. I hate being introduced as it. The idiot that I am I used it within email addresses and usernames, as I am also crap with coming up with something original.
That fact that no one knows how to spell or pronounce my real name whenever I tell someone doesn’t really bother me, although I tell people it does. I don’t know, nor understand, why I bullshit with that. On telling someone new my real name it turns into a conversation piece and if they are old enough, ends up with them recounting the now very old and very tired half remembered fruit squash commercial jingle.
I’ve learnt to love my real name, although it’s taken a while and that has as much to do with my own self-loathing and sense of identity as anything else. It’s fairly unique and actually beautiful. It’s only three syllables long and a far more easy to roll off the tongue than the gained nickname.
Can’t change what’s gone before however, so here’s a new policy for me. No new intro’s with the nickname.
head ventilation 