work, tears, music

I came home early from work today in tears, the kind of tears that don’t quite escape your eyelid and dry and make them all sticky…  And it hit me.  This is why so many trans people commit suicide.  It fucking hurts.  It hurts like hell, and no amount of love and understanding, no amount of self-awareness is going to get my body back.  Not that I ever had a female body, but no one ever said this shit made sense either.

I will never commit suicide.  I have shrinks and drugs and I wouldn’t put my people through that.  But I understand why people do it now, I mean I understood before, but I never just sat and faced the pain of this before.  I don’t want to describe it.

I have to go back.  I put on a pot of coffee and ate some cheerios.  I made this playlist.  It’s going to be ok.

 

The Bird and the Bee – The Races  (Please Clap Your Hands)

The Flaming Lips – Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1  (Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots)

The Beta Band – Human Being  (Hot Shots, Vol. 2)

The Bird and the Bee – Ray Gun  (Ray Guns are not Just the Future)

Metric – Raw Sugar  (Grow Up and Blow Away)

No Doubt – Just a Girl  (Tragic Kingdom)

Coldplay – Viva La Vida  (Viva La Vida)

The White Stripes – Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine  (Elephant)

 

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cis-topia

I never used to think about the inhumanely petite women, flawlessly airbrushed across the media.  I wasn’t worried about gender bias in science, or the sexism of it all.

And once I joked to someone, “You know, if you find yourself in a support group, then you know you’re in trouble.”  It was really funny.

 

Now everyone’s put-off when I wear a necklace that shows under my collar.  I want to scream.

I’m not a freak and I seriously don’t care!

I wish it was true.

 

don’t look down

“Don’t think about the future.  Don’t think about the past.  Look at what’s in front of you.  Please, just focus.”

I put one foot in front of the other, not thinking of who I am, how I’m coming across, what I’ll ever do about any of it.  It’s numbing.  And I fear the truth, that I can’t.

 

It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything.  I tell myself that it’s over, that the worst is behind me, that it’s not necessary, that I don’t have time and I’m hungry, that I shouldn’t write when I’m tired.

But someone said that I handle the things I write about so gracefully.  This gives me hope; and wrending, vertigo-inducing dissociation.

 

And part of me feels nothing at all – It’s not fair.