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Hello again, my Lords, Ladies and Majesties. Up front I want to apologize for my outburst and dramatic exit. Stress has been neck deep over here and I unfortunately dove head first into the fritz so bad that Ms. Frizzle would surely kick my not-so-royal behind. I took a break and tried to collect myself again, but I cant promise that I'm back up to par. I still have a LOT going on over here but I'll do my best. Please forgive me if I mess up on my swearing and stuff again, but yes, I did read the rules and whatnot. Thanks for letting me know about those, I hadnt seen it posted and totally missed out on it. I'm trying to think of new, inventive ways to get out my annoyance with words much more innocent (and maybe amusing). I have a bad habit of swearing, I'll admit it fully. I put full blame on that with how I grew up Vermonters swear WAY more than we need to Anyway, I guess everyone wants an update (sorry if I start sounding like alex, he's on the edge of consciousness to let me know when I'm swearing again and sometimes his influence tips into my writing >.< ) So my little brother has been dragged to the depths of Georgia and every day he messages me it still irks me to no end. Not because he's messaging me! No way, I love him messaging me. It lets me know that he's okay at least. No he messages about all the shinanigans my older (and much less intelligent) sister is up to, normally barraging poor Kai with insults and criticism about being transgender and having his absolute own fashion sense (he seriously does lol kids today ) It annoys me so bad that she treats him like that and there's nothing I can do about it. I legit cannot even explain how much it annoys me without going back into my swearing fest (which I'm avoiding ) Otherwise he's alright. I plan to send him a phone card for his no-contract phone, some t-shirts (since my dead beat mother doesnt buy the poor kid clothes ) and some other random stuff so he doesnt get too sad down there. My mom is beyond ridiculous. Poor Kai, when he was visiting, came into my room all pouty and said he had to wear his boots when we were going out to lunch. When I asked why, he said it was because his shoes had finally broke. His converses, over two years old, full of holes and tears had finally decided to quit on the poor kid. You'd think, being a mom, that the darned woman would have bought her kid new shoes when they first started to break! No, she'd rather buy herself new shirts and new cowgirl boots.....UGH!!! It took me 20 minutes of convincing Kai to let me buy him shoes, giving him the end choice of buying guy shoes with me or dealing with mom buying him girl shoes later. I think it was the only reason he said yes, and it made me feel better knowing that he was being sent to Georgia with new shoes at least. With all that aside (for now more drama is sure to come), this sunday is the 13th. My Surgery Consultation. I'm supposed to meet up with Dr. Robert Feins in Manchester NH, and a lot of people have said he's amazing. I've gone in for a consultation with him before and he is, I'll fully admit, awesome. He's super friendly and if you guys remember my blog about my first consultation with him, he's extremely thoughtful when it comes to pronouns and whatever. So I'm kind of glad to go back to him in particular, but I'm also really nervous. I have a new insurance this time, and one that someone else said had approved them for top surgery. I know that I cannot do a full removal (bummer, believe me, but I totally understand the reasons) because of my weight. Reason being that if they went totally flat chested when I have kind of a belly on me, it just would not look natural. My plan is to have them go as small as they will let me, and then I'll be able to work out easier and work it off. If I have to go back in a few years to finish it, so be it. But I'm nervous because what if my new insurance is like the last one and says no? What if they tell me I cant do the surgery without hormones, which will surely end my relationship with my boyfriend? I kind of want hormones, but I want to keep my boyfriend even more. I can totally understand HIS side of everything in not wanting me to go on hormones. I mean, come on, give the guy a applause will you? Justin's 10000000000% straight (was homophobic when we first met until I whipped it outta him! ) and he's dating a transguy. He let me change my name, my pronouns, my gender marker---cut my hair, change my style, etc. For a straight guy, that's a lot of leverage! We've been together 6 years this september. I cant just throw that away for a deeper voice, some muscles and facial hair (which I already fight with). So, yeah....Maybe nervous wasnt the right word. Okay, confession. I'm terrified. I dont know how I'll be able to deal with being denied surgery again. I only have 233(?)$ out of 9,000$ needed for surgery if I pay for it myself, on top of us trying to safe $ for an apartment so we can have our own place and so I can rescue Kai out of my mom's abusive household. I'm broke guys, like....legit broke. I have 20$ in my wallet right now and that's for gas money. Spring Break is here which stinks for us people who work in the education section, meaning my 30hr work week is down to 12hrs a week. My paycheck is going to be absolute bologna ((Really hope my substitutes for swears is okay so far. Let me know!!!)). I think in the bank, I have a maximum of 300$, which will be gone by the end of the week because of car payments. I swear, not only can I not keep up, but I cant seem to stay afloat lately either. Granted I got my taxes back, but I didnt even break 1k$!!!!!! It's almost not even worth filing taxes So frustrating!!! I want to get a second job but I cant because then I'd lose my insurance. (I'm the one face first on the ground.) Anyway, That's basically life right now. Chaotic, annoying, frustrating, the works. Oh yeah, then someone told me I need to drink a cabbage/carrot/turnip drink. 0.o Like, what!? WHAT IS THIS MADNESS!? Oh yeah, and I've been going to the gym whenever I think of it and working out more on the treadmill and stuffles. 5pnds down! Which.....I'd gained from junkfood.....my bad. -Ren P.S. It was a rare 65F here in New England today ((IN MARCH!? WHAT!? WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?! REVEAL YOURSELF, TINY WIZARD!)) So here's some pics of me and my Massive Moose and Fuzzy Friend, (Black Lab/Great Dane) Angel and (Collie?) Ziggy; Both rescues.
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Hello again! As I stated in my previous blog, I werent exactly finished, haha! I have been working on more artwork in both the mandalas and other art pages and I fully enjoy doing them. It's very addicting! I had mentioned to our doctor that we're no longer taking our anti-anxiety or anti-depressant medications anymore because we dont feel that we need them anymore. When she asked what we were doing to help our anxiety instead, we explained that we've been doing Adult Coloring Books and other art and it is helping greatly on our focus and stress. She agreed and explained that it is actually now being used as a therapy for people with Anxiety Disorders and encouraged us to stay on the routine we have now, dismissing the medications and instead going to art. No arguments here! So we were given permission to buy 20$ worth of Adult Coloring books from online, but we were a bit sad to find that 20$ does not go far with these books. Most of the books under 5$ werent very detailed or struck our interest. The only two that we found that we really wanted were 9.95$ each and another 5$ in shipping. So we got those two, but then wondered how else we could have a large variety of things to color without breaking the bank. So instead we looked up "Adult Coloring pages" and "Blank Linework art" online and found hundreds of interesting coloring pages that were more our age range. We saved about thirty of them and made sure to get pages that each of us (alts) wanted. After Justin's mother offered to print them out while she was at work, we then had the task of figuring out what to do with all those loose papers. So we bought a large 3ring binder and two packages of page protectors. Viola! Our own hardcover art book that will also protect the finished artwork! Cheap and very effective than buying several art books that might have pages that we have no interest in coloring. Here are a few photos of the book and the finished art. Cover page by Alexandru V. Elven Queen by Alexandru V. "Sugar Baby Mama" by Abriella D. More to come soon, I assure you! Now....if only we could write off coloring as a therapy-related Prescription and get our insurance to pay for our markers and binders! Ha! One can only dream, haha Also Ren and I have decided to try and get back into the work of bookwriting. It'll be an effort on both our parts! -Alexandru
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I wanted to just vent a bit tonight if you do not mind. But I do want to add a "Trigger Warning" to those of you who are reading this. I will be adding these to my blog posts now, whenever I feel they are necessary. PLEASE do not hesitate to ask me to add them to posts that you feel need them. I know how important they are. TRIGGER WARNING: OCD, MPD, DID, Anxiety, Depression and Mental Illness Mental Illnesses.....So drastically misunderstood by so many that it baffles your very soul to see others laugh in the face of other peoples' suffering. To watch in full willingness to the pain and frustration of someone close to you, and either do nothing to help or do the exact opposite, unknowingly endangering that person's wellbeing or state of mind. I see it every day, to be rather honest with you. It saddens me greatly. Not only because it is being done to others that I care about, or even strangers that I do not fully know, but also because I too suffer from both the ignorance of others and Mental Illness. By now the fact of my Multiple Personality Disorder are rather clear. It is the reasons behind most of my blog posts. But other illnesses also play an important role in my daily life, along with the daily life of my 'siblings' or 'headmates'. My host and dear brother holds record, so it seems, for to most 'labels' that I can even imagine. Including but not limited to OCD, MPD (obviously), social anxiety, emotional anxiety, depression, claustrophobia, Bipolar disorder, and more. I myself can only self diagnose considering my situation, being that some doctors may not even see me as a factual person but rather an imaginary manifestation of the mind. From what I have found of myself and what I have researched (I assure you, I am not a WebMD sort of man.) I can say with honest conviction that I do suffer from OCD, light situational Depression, Claustrophobia and perhaps anxiety. I say perhaps because it may just be situation demanding. Situation being high mentally tasking situations such as large crowds, lots of talking--things that would prompt a large sensory overload. Again, this is only self diagnosis. But the sheer ignorance that people show who are not afflicted by such disorder is beyond....upsetting to say the least. The other day while I were on duty at work, I stopped the vehicle and saw two young girls mocking and laughing at a young man who was busy fixing his shirt. Apparently he had somehow missed a button on his shirt and the whole thing were crooked. Some people would just chuckle and correct it with a shrug of their shoulders, being no more daunting a task that retying your shoe. But to him, this was a drastic catastrophe that needed correcting immediately. The fact that his shirt were uneven and incorrect drove him to such a measure that he whipped off his shirt right there in the 23F winter weather, shivering and embarrassed, fixing his buttons as if it would save his very life. And they laughed.....They giggled and patted his shoulder and told him he was silly. He was obsessed. That he needed to "chill out" that it was "just a shirt". You see these types of situations everywhere. Not too long ago, during the summer shift changes, Ren were working at the bar instead of on patrol. He rather enjoys this switch, as the constant interaction of people helps him to overcome his social anxiety--but with the very important detail of having a very wide counter-top between him and the customers. This very important but seemingly silly detail makes the whole situation tolerable for him. Something about having that mandatory, unavoidable space between him and another person is the only reason that he can stand it at all. His coworkers chuckled and said he would be fine without the counter, not really fully understanding the need for such things. Of course, you cannot blame them or be angry either. Those who do not experience war, cannot understand the terror of a gunshot. As another example, you have the situation of repeated notions. Tourettes Syndrome. People usually associate the condition of Tourettes with swearing uncontrollably, but do not realize that these 'ticks' can be a very vast variety of symptoms. It may be constant sneezing, twitches, blinking constantly, lip biting, giggling at bad times---all these things can be symptoms of Tourettes. Ren also suffers from Tourettes Syndrome through the tick of 'cheek chewing'. He continuously chews on the insides of his cheeks, creating what can only be described as 'reversed Joker Scars'. It is subconscious and, at most times, unavoidable. The best solution we've been given thus far is 'chewing gum' to chew on instead of the cheeks. Of course, it comes with the downside of damage to your teeth and developing cavities. But with the alternative to possible mouth cancer from the damages to your cheeks---I suppose that is the best choice. But it amazes me how many people have told him "just stop doing it". Ha! If only it were that simple. "Just stop doing it" Its a phrase that people like us hear often. "People have it so much more worse than you do. Just cheer up". That is as effective as cutting off your pinkie and saying "Other people have done something worse. Just stop hurting already." Society has planted this idea in our minds that others have it so much worse, so much more drastic and emergent that we are forced to assume that it's really not that bad. That the person who is 'complaining' about their situation can simply 'suck it up' and move on. You do not realize how much courage it took for them to admit their pain, only to be told that their agony is invalid and unworthy of mentioning or sympathy. Perhaps they dont even want your sympathy but rather your understanding and perhaps some encouragement to endure and prosper. So many many times I have heard "so much more worse than". When Ren admitted to someone that he was struggling with cutting himself and that although the wounds were not deep, it hurt and it was addictive. The response he received? "I know someone who did it a lot worse than you. They needed stitches." Oh, I apologize...I did not realize that pain and suffering were also a competition. Pardon me while I try to outdo the damage done.... I'm not sure exactly where I am going with this blog aside from just a bit of venting. To get these thoughts off my chest and onto the screen. Perhaps to share my insight on how I feel about these situations and..perhaps even put the thoughts that others are having as well. Afterall, it can be very relieving and gratifying to know that your thoughts are also the thoughts of others. In my own situation --that actually prompted this blog---is my OCD. This is a post that I wrote upon my facebook wall. "Over Compulsive Disorder. OCD can be very difficult to live with at times. Yes, I will organize the simplest of things. No, you will not find a mixmatched storage chest in my Minecraft game. Yes, I count every single block of that house I built to ensure it is all even. No, you will not find a window that does not match the opposing wall. Or a door that is not centered. And yes, I will destroy the entire set if it is uneven. No, it is not funny. We cannot help these things....But sometimes it takes just a push from others to make it much worse. You may reorganize my things just for the fun of it, and I may smile and laugh when you shake your head at my desperation to rearrange them. You may think me crazy because I NEED things just so, or that I'm just obsessed with keeping things in a pattern. You may shrug and see it as no big deal if I realize that the pattern of the design in which I am coloring is not even, but it drives me mad. I can spend hours working on a mandala, setting the colors just so---and realize that though I've been doing one color every other flower and realize...there arent enough and I lost count--I would rather tear that paper and start anew than shrug it off. I cannot look at it. I cannot 'ignore' it. This is what OCD is. It is not funny. It is not something to giggle at. It may be funny to watch me scurry about and rearrange my things the way I need them to be, but to me, it is agonizing. My brain CAN NOT settle or relax until it is fixed. It will pester my mind all day, whisking away any sense of focus or settlement until I know that it has been corrected. It baffles me how amusing OCD is to people who do not suffer from it.Please, if you know someone suffering from OCD--even if you dont understand it---do not torment them. Do not move their things. Do not rearrange their items because it is amusing to YOU to watch them fix it. They may laugh, they may smile and giggle at how foolish they look---but it is only because they are embarassed. We know it is not normal. Thank you for reminding us of how weird we look or act. Certainly that will correct everything, yes?Please, be considerate.Just because OCD is an invisable disease...it does not mean we do not suffer." I suppose I will end here, now that I have vented a bit. I seem to have gotten all, or most, of my thoughts down thus far. I suppose the moral of this post is.....be kind. You may not see what they are suffering from, and you may not understand why or how they feel the way they do. But that does not give you a right to judge them by their faults. Help if you can. Be sympathetic or sensative to their situations, not amused or disgusted.Believe me, if they could help it...the situation wouldnt even arise. -Alexandru Sidenote: I have finished more mandalas and I will post them in an upcoming blog post. (Along with the colorings of the others)
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I havent blogged in a little bit...Mostly due to being sick, really. I took on several extra shifts for my boss because she came down with a flu-like sickness (which is sadly going around.) and now it seems like I got it. Thankfully it's gotten better over the past few days with some help from bedrest and Ginger Ale. And of course, binge watching Supernatural. Almost 2 seasons in the course of 3 days But with the new year starting out and my new insurance starting in Feburary, on comes a new(er) anxiety that's been bugging me like a mad dog in the back room. Surgery. I want it done this year. I need it done this year. At this point, I cant even tie my own shoes without nearly passing out from suffocation. It's just so damn hard to do daily life things with these......unbarable bags of yuck on my chest. I feel like my chest is under there, under the disgusting lumps--I just cant touch or see it. So now I have to go through the anxiety all over again of applying to have it approved and covered....or potentially declined. Again. Plus putting up a post about being sick and someone told me to "go P on a stick lol" I know she wasnt trying to be mean, but you DONT say that to a transguy. That is legit the worst case scenario that instantly put me into an anxiety attack and made me feel sick. I dont think I'd be able to handle it if it was true...I think I'd rather die than have kids. And honestly....I'm really sick of people telling me not to get my hopes too high, because it only makes me feel worse and less optimistic. Like I'm legit applying and the only possible outcome is denial. I'm starting to feel that overwhelming sense of depression all over again just thinking about being denied once more. Shoved aside and told to "deal with it" And then to add insult to injury, my GoFundMe page. I was shown a page (to laugh at) of a girl who has a gofundme page to remove a damn 420 (marijuana reference) tattoo from her damn forehead. She's been given over 1k$ in THREE DAYS!!!!!!!! And the comments below expose the fact that she's done this three times for the same cause, used all the money and never got the tattoo removed and starting all over again afterwards! Like----WHAT?! I've had my gofundme for a year with only 150$ and it's for a legit problem, and this scamming twit has over 1k$ just HANDED to her!? Ridiculous...... I cant go another year like this...I really cant. I feel like it's legit killing me. I cant breathe. I cant function. I cant work out, I cant go for walks because I cant breathe---I cant keep living like this. I'm to that mindset that if they dont do it for me, I'll mutilate myself to the point where they wont have a choice but help. I cant keep this up...I really cant. At this point I would have normally turned to cutting already, but I've so far only had one episode and I instantly regretted it and didnt do nearly as much damage as I normally would have.... Then I have the added problem of friendship issues. Alex has become really good friends with her, and I've gotten further away. I knew she was going to ask me to roleplay. And I just....dont want to anymore. I dont want to roleplay with anyone. I just cant keep trying to put myself in a fantasy land when I have way too much stuff going on in real life. I just dont have the imagination for it anymore. But she asked anyway when we barely started to talking again. Hardly gave me time to get used to talking again before she popped the question. Kind of ruined my want to talk to anyone. All my RP friends do the same thing. As if the only interesting thing about me was my roleplay, and since I dont RP now, they dont know what to do with me. Geez...thanks...I know she didnt do it to be mean but geez....let me breathe for a few weeks before trying to pull me back into normality....But I let Alex and whoever talk to her whenever they want. I've NEVER told them no. But she asks about me which I understand, and I had the opportunity to come and say hi while I was out, so I did. I got the "Warren" instead of "Ren" again. And it's not the first time. She's been doing it a lot, calling me Warren instead of Ren. To me, coming from her, that just feels extremely non-personal. She keeps trying to call me "storbror" which was sort of our thing when I was "normal" but I'm not comfortable with it anymore and I told her I wont be doing pet names anymore. But she still does it Anyway, I said "You know you can call me Ren right?" and she just replies with "Yes, I know."....Uh...ok? So I asked if that was a desensitizing thing. That every time I say hi, it's Warren not Ren an it felt like she's trying to unfamiliarize herself with me. And she just....blows up. "Um, no. First off, I talk to Alex, Milo and Abby (So?). You've been quiet today and I've been talking to alex all day. I was just making sure it was you (so there's others named Ren? Dont think so....) And you're such a liar. Whenever I talk to you its Storbror or babe. So dont even start with me." Then it goes to the whole "you always jump own my throat when I'm wrong, even if I'm not, but somehow you're a saint" type thing. Wow. Thanks. I ask a question and I'm automatically the bad guy....TOTALLY makes me want to say Hi more often...I'm just..I'm so done trying to---I dont know, try. Every time I do, she gets pissy about something I said or did. I'm just tired of being the bad guy. Alex or whoever wants to stay friends with her, fine. Whatever. But why is it that every time I walk away and say I'm done, I somehow always go back? I dont like fighting with her all the time and I legit do. And either she admits it or not, it is NOT always brought on by me. I dont know, I guess I'm just ranting. It's nice knowing someone here is actually listening to what I'm saying, even if there arent comments. I'm just tired of talking to walls... It feels like I have no one to talk to anymore. Most (if not all) my friends know I exist but dont acknowledge it. Plus any friends I did have, Alex or Abby now has, an I've been forgotten. Theyre more interesting or more talented or something and I get pushed to the side. Always do...I've considered just letting one of them out full time an saying [the heck with it], I'm out. Abby can do whatever the hell she wants, grow out my hair and be the chick my boyfriend wants. I just cant deal with it much longer...I cant even commit suicide because I'd be taking them out with me. Why would I deprive everyone else of their friends? I honestly have no 'want' left in me.... -The less interesting brother
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Hello again lol So I have something I wanna talk about. Anxiety at work. This came to mind shortly after watching a bit of a recent movie (cant remember the name of it. Something to do with a woman working in fast food, getting fired, then robbing the place). It really brought up some memories of my first time working for Dunkin Donuts. My anxiety disorder was basically ruling my life at that point, but I desperatly needed a job and I was willing to take what I could get. Sadly, it ended up being Dunkin Donuts. After a ton of hassle about tests and blah blah blah, I was finally hired to do prep work, cleaning and register. It was alright at first. Nerve wracking, sure. But all new jobs are I guess. Anyway, they started me off with mopping and cleaning the back areas, and doing dish washing. Those things I was great at because my anxiety was low considering I was in the back room AWAY from people. No problem! But noooo they wanted me to learn more stuff so they put me on donut prep. That was fine...whatever. But my boss would nag me about mopping and whatnot, and one day I foolishly was mopping in the wrong direction and pinned myself in a dirty corner with a clean room. My boss came in and gave me hell, amping up my anxiety, and making me feel stupid for "not even knowing how to mop." I knew how to mop....I just messed up that one day. Give me a break! But this wasnt good enough...."It's time you learned the register". I cannot even tell you in detail about how it went because I blanked out more times than I can remember. The anxiety of trying to learn the computer and cash and do math while people are barking orders and specific coffee needs was just waaaay too much. I eventually caved, unable to function, and asked someone else to take over. OR, I'd get pushed out of the way for holding up the lines. As a sort of punishment, I was told to "mop the freezers". NO ONE specified that I had to use special mopping solution for the freezer.....I swear they did it just to make me look stupid. So I was stuck working late, mopping a freezer, leaving pieces of the blue mop all over the freezer floor as the water froze on contact and tore it apart. I felt so stupid..I couldnt get it off the floor. And no one offered any help with it either. The next day I was called on my cellphone by my boss. "You dont need to come into work today. We wont be needing your services anymore". And when I asked what I did wrong, she simply said "We're overstaffed." Overstaffed.....I'd only been there two weeks! All because my anxiety couldnt let me breathe enough to learn what needed to be done. I came in that week to drop off my apron and hat, after spending over 40$ on stupid specific shirts that THEY wanted me to wear that I didnt have and THEY wouldnt help me pay for. And you know what I saw? Three new people. Overstaffing my ass! My point is, a lot of places that you work in sadly do not understand what it means to have an employee with an Anxiety disorder. And instead of slowing down and taking the extra minute to explain slowly and letting their employees ease into it, theyd rather just replace them. Thankfully in this day and age, with the anxiety and transgender issues coming out more and more in the work force, employers are being a little better about it. My new job as a security guard has been beyond amazing in this! I confessed immediatly to my boss (because I liked her right away about how open she was) about having an Anxiety Disorder and being Transgender. She nodded and understood, telling me that I'm going to mess up a lot and that's okay, and she'll be patient. She said it doesnt matter if I'm transgender because she respects me as a man as long as I respect her as a woman. She's never messed up on my pronouns on purpose, and if she messed up, she immediatly has corrected herself and apologized. When I felt anxious and was messing up on things, she took a step back and said "take a deep breath. Think about what you did wrong. How can you correct it for next time?" And I did. It's been amazing. And I'm seeing a newer, more efficiant side of myself now that I'm able to step back, take a breath, and try again. She can see in my face when I'm being overwhelmed and will ask me to do something else, knowing that I'm reaching my limit of functional comprehension. I cannot possibly express how much I appreciate everything that the people at Proctor have done for me....I love where I work. But you have to go through some SERIOUSLY bad apples in order to find something worth doing. Something you love doing. Of course you'll get tired and wanna do something different now and then, but if you are asked "Do you like your job?" and do not hesitate to say yes...you're doing just fine. My time as a chef was more or less a living hell at times. I can honestly say now that it fueled a large part of my depression and self harm, leaving my work station to hide in the bathroom just to self harm. The constant crowd of faces surrounding me at all times made my heart go on overdrive, sweating despite feeling cold, being angry all the time because I had no other way to express how I was unable to deal with my job. Running (literally at times) to get things done and still being told "you dont do anything". Being told that the problem was not the fact that I was being bullied, pushed around or slapped with transphobia--that the problem was me. Just me, and no one and nothing else. And when I sat in tears after writing a letter to the superviser about the treatment I'd recieved, I instead was pulled into the office and made to feel like I'm a horrible person and that I'm blaming everyone else for my problems and that it was ME who needed to change. I smile and play nice, but to this day...I hate them for it. Because of how they treated me and how they refused to see the abuse I was going through....they literally almost killed me. I almost hope one of them sees this. I dont want you to have to apologize. I dont want you to have to come up to me and beg forgiveness. I just want you to acknowledge what you did, and what you didnt do to help. That's all. Instead of making me look like a loser who quit because I couldnt "handle it". You should consider yourselves lucky that I didnt take further action beyond your own little house of control on either myself or others in that building. It came pretty close, I wont lie.... But thank you. For showing me the door. Because I found something better. Something I ENJOY doing, people who understand me and appreciate what I do. Sincerely, Ren BTW: Dunkin Donuts are all premade, frozen,and laid out overnight to thaw before you eat them. The ovens never get cleaned and there are so many chemicals in your coffee coolatas, its amazing they still have living customers.
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So, my therapist had me do a project. Well, ex-therapist. I quit her, but I never did the project. Decided to do it tonight. She wanted me to write about how I felt with my 'conditions.' Here ya go. These Things "Imagine a desert. No beginning and no ending. Nothing in sight but sand and an occasional breeze. It’s humid and agonizingly hot, every breeze that wanders through only seems to increase the heat. Every direction in which you wander only seems to send you in the same looping circles, though you cannot tell because there are no markers and no footprints. Nothing to occupy you while you wander aimlessly and afraid. You feel no thirst in this desert. No hunger in your belly. But instead of these things, you instead suffer such an overwhelming sense of failure that nothing seems worthwhile. Every step you take is agony. Your feet burn from the sand, yet you cannot bare to stand in one spot for too long, fearing you may scream from the pain. Yet it doesn’t matter, because every scream that escapes your lips is silent. Every wail and cry is unheard in this vast and seemingly empty desert of sand and dune. No one can hear your grief. No one can comfort your fear. Ghosts only occupy your mind, though they whisk away as nothing but sand with empty and concerned eyes. There seems to comfort from this burning hell, and nothing seems to comfort and relieve you. It is as if you’re burning apart from the inside out, turning hollow and dark. You think you see shadows of guests in your own personal hell, but alas, they only turn away and disappear into the dunes. Mirages, simply put there to make you hope before making you weep. There seems to be no escape, yet you’re not even sure how you got there to begin with. All you can do is wander, and wait, and hope that someone somewhere will rescue you. These things are Depression. Imagine that you are within a room. It is a tiny room, to be honest. This tiny room has only four walls of a bland grey, the floor covered in broken and cracked tiles of unidentified color. Should you know this color? Have you forgotten this color? The ceiling is low against you. So low that it actually forces you to remain laid down upon that floor, curled up in an uncomfortable position, struggling to find relief from this frustrating situation. No position seems to help, and every part of your body hurts from the attempts to find one. Not only can you find no comfort, but from places unknown, noise vibrates through these walls. These grey, oddly crowding walls. Are they shrinking? Have they gotten shorter? Perhaps you should have noticed this. Have you gone crazy? These noises make no sense. They jumble together like spilt scrabble pieces, making no sense but reaching you nevertheless. Screams inaudible. Nails upon chalk, a pounding like hundreds of hammers against your little walls. Wailing for unknown ailments, furious yelling as though angry creatures stalk for you. Should you remain quiet? Or are they here to help you? No, you remain quiet. Perhaps it is best. The noises never dull. They never quit, and they never quiet. Unyielding and demanding, these sounds pester and frighten you in your little box. You need something—anything—to lock out those taunting walls and frightening noises. Anything to make it stop, even if just for a moment to offer you repreave. Yet…you dare not move. You dare not breathe. They might hear you. They might tear apart your walls and discover you. Every scream seems to be your name. Every angry cuss feels as though it were directed at you. Every wail seems to be of your cause, filling you with despair. And among these things, the whispers can be heard. Are they mocking you? Perhaps. Are they rumors of your existence, spoken either kindly or of ill will? You’ll never know. Are they perhaps just comments of your agony, or broken and weak attributes? Can they see you in that box? Or perhaps they are nothing at all. Perhaps you’ve simply lost your mind. Is this all a game that you’re failing? Regardless, they persist. Should you listen? It hurts to hear their sounds. But what if it is something important? Maybe you should know these things. If only it were all silent, you could perhaps breathe. The tiny confinement limits your air, cutting away your ability to think clearly with all the noise and that agonizing sense of dry drowning. You want to escape. You want to flee as far and as fast as you can. But instead, you have to wait for someone to open your box and let you out. These things are Anxiety. Your day begins as it always does. You don’t remember when exactly you fell asleep the night before. Or what woke you up today, for that matter. Regardless, here you are. You stare at the ceiling in a sense of hopeless ambition, feeling as though you’re sinking. You almost hope you do, actually. To sink down so far that you will never have to come out. Yet, you do. You somehow insist on getting up, beginning to dress yourself. What will you wear? Will you conform to society’s demands, or will you do what makes you feel normal? Let us assume for a moment that society rules today. You wear what they demand, a sense of aching in your chest as you slip into the clothes that they deem appropriate. You feel ridiculous and hideous, yet you endure it. Perhaps you wander to the bathroom and paint on a face that is not yours? Wearing a mask with bold lettering stating “I’m fine”. Perhaps you will do something with your hair. You’re not entirely sure what to do with it, because everything you attempt seems odd and unfamiliar. As if you’re modeling yourself in someone else’s image. Someone you are not, yet….someone you are. They say you are. They insist you are. With a heavy sigh and a broken heart, you wander from your room. Will you work today? Will you go to school today? It all blends together regardless. It feels as though all eyes are on you. Every detail of yourself seems flawed and obvious, and everyone is whispering about it. You are desperate to hide, even if for a moment. This isn’t you….This isn’t who you are…but its only for today. Right….? No, let us instead chose that you decide to be yourself. You set aside those things, and you avoid that mask. It has been put away for now, and you can use your authentic smile and enjoy today. You dress as you wish, and do your hair as you please. Yes, this looks right. This looks pleasing for once. Is that a smile I see? Yes, I think it is, actually. Perhaps today will be fine Perhaps today you will enjoy being out of that bed. But wait…they’re still looking at you. Are they looking even more? I cannot tell, to be honest. But…but wait. Those things you don’t like. They’re hidden, aren’t they? Those things that you wish you could remove yourself, but know it will end you for certain. They cannot be seen can they? But it feels as though everyone sees them. Everyone seems to point, even if not physically. They whisper, they talk, then they giggle. Do they know this is really you? Or do they think this is a mask? Do you blend in, or do you stick out like some freakishly abnormal thumb? Perhaps you will be the mask again tomorrow. Perhaps it is safer. But wait…the mask hurts. But doesn’t this hurt? Nothing seems right. These things are Dysphoria. Today you are happy. Today you have had no cause of alarm, and you’ve found a rather enjoyable time either playing games or spending time with friends. Your smile is priceless, your joy unavoidable. It seems contagious, as if you have gotten the laughing virus and no one is immune to your illness. You find a smile on the faces of others enjoyable, and you thrive on these things. You giggle and you jump around, having a blast and perhaps even singing without shame. You dance as if your mother will be embarrassed, and you have no shame. But wait…what is this? Where did this darkness come from? Your smile disappears. Your chest aches and you can feel your heart sinking. As if it were a literal disease, your heart sinks into your stomach like the titanic and disappears. You look around, and everyone is still smiling. Why wont they stop smiling? All you can think is “stop smiling at me!”. You want it to stop, and its making you furious. What is this feeling? Where has it come from? Nothing had upset you that you can remember. You were so happy five minutes ago. What changed? People will ask you what they did wrong. You have no answer for them, yet somehow it is annoying that they ask. They will ask you ‘are you angry at me?’ and you will struggle to figure that out. Are you angry with them? But weren’t you just happy with them? Did they do something wrong to you, or have they done something that somehow impacted your emotion? You cant even put words to it. It is as if someone has taken your happy. They have taken that little spark in your eyes and put it in a box, and they’re holding it hostage. Perhaps it will come back. You want people to give it back to you, and you want them to understand that they did nothing wrong. But you wish they’d stop asking you what is wrong. You don’t know what is wrong, and it is frustrating to try and figure it out. But wait, what is this emotion now? Are these new things? These things are Bipolar. You have your desk, and it is your own. Your own design, your own order, your own creation. Things are just as you please, and nothing can damage that. You know how things are to be done, and how things will work, and these things make life pleasant. You enjoy your things and your desk, your creations and your order. Yes, your order. The patterns in which you place things, making them as your mind has decided ‘yes, this is right’. You will not understand this order, but you will obey this order. You may try to explain it to others around you, but this is a language that they do not understand. You walk away, pleased with this order. But wait, you come back. Someone has altered your design. They have changed your order. These things are not in their places. Your mind falters like a car out of control, screaming tires and smoke. No, no, no, no! This must be corrected! They have changed things! What has been changed? You cannot decide. No, no, this must not be. These things make your head ache, your heart beat rapidly, your hands sweat and your fingers shake. No, this must not be! You scramble to fix these things. People point and laugh. This is amusing to them. They will alter them later simply to watch you panic once more, though they hardly understand the pain your head feels at this moment. These things must not be so. Your order must persist. Your design must be as it was. Your stomach is in knots, as if this alter of design will cause you harm. As if this change of pace will bring forth a sense of dread unknown to man and misunderstood by all who witness it. Wait…yes…yes, this is better. This is your order. Yes, you have fixed this disaster. You have brought peace to this chaos. You’ve done it! You’ve brought back your order, your design, you have recreated the life in which they have destroyed. Yes, you can breathe now. You can breathe. You can relax. All is well, and all shall remain well. So long as the order is kept… These things are Over Compulsive Disorder. There are more of these things. Perhaps we will speak of these things later. These things have made me tired. Warren G." Also my Mom called me Ren. Kind of a big deal, but I'm still cautious about it. It's not like her to cooperate so well....
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Hey guys...I know, right? Been a long time...I havent felt like blogging lately. I even skipped out on my youtube videos because I felt like...I dont know. Like they're not going anywhere. Not doing any good I guess? I'm at a loss I'm back into that feeling like....nothing I do, does any good. All my waiting for surgery and help is wasted. All my optimism and hoping is falsified. I'm really....really at a loss you guys. I broke my cut-free streak again. I couldnt help it...I've tried so long and so hard to stay away from the blades but it just...got to me. Again. Dont get me wrong, I love my new job! I do, I really really do! But being misgendered all the time...it hurts. Probably more than it should, but it hurts regardless. I feel like I'm doing nothing with my life. That I'm just sitting here wasting away. I dont enjoy doing anything anymore. My intentions with youtube and blogging was to help others thrive and 'be okay' but how the hell am I supposed to do that when I cant do it myself? When every attempt I make seems to just....disappoint? Not even disappoint other people but disappoint myself. I've started to avoid the FTM top-surgery group I'm in. It's just so....sooooooo so so SOOOO depressing to see all these people posting their post-op photos and how happy and proud they are...and I'm stuck where I am. I'm sitting here suffering, mentally and physically, in my female body. I can deal with not having bottom surgery. F***, I'd be okay if my bust size was like.....a B. Or even a C, maybe. Because I'd be able to hide them better. But this? A 44DDD? It's unbarable! The binding has started to really really take it's toll... And nothing I do seems to help. It makes me want to cry every time I squeeze into it again because it hurts. It hurts so bad and it limits my breathing so much, and my back feels like it's about to collapse every time I remove it because it's compressed the muscles and whatnot for so long during the day. Not even to mention the heat and sweating and unbarable dehydration I keep fighting because of wearing it! I just....I cant take it! It's driving me crazy... I have my consultation on the 1st of September. I'm so close but so very far...I've already told my boyfriend. "Justin...if they tell me no, and insurance wont touch it...you'll need to keep an eye on me. Because I cant promise that I'll take it well." And its the truth...I know I wont. I can promise that I wont. This is so amazingly frustrating and painful and mentally disabling that if they tell me no...if they say we wont pay for it, you cant have it done, you'll have to deal with it and keep binding...I dont know how much longer I will last. This has literally become a do or die situation. I just...I cant... I dont know what to do... Warren
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Funny how a panic attack can sneak up on you....
RoxanneLafleur posted a blog entry in A New Life of Love and Music
I want to share what happened to me during the afternoon of July 18th, 2015. Having moved back into my house at the beginning of the month, not only was my adventure in transition starting but also a great adventure in cleaning (sigh!). My ex was a clothes hoarder which means that even after having "moved", she had left me a bunch of scattered piles of clothes in every room throughout the house as well as in all my closets...what an adventure! With the help of my 17 year old step daughter Isabelle who chose to stay with me, I started this exhaustive task. The closet in my entrance was the first one to tackle but before doing that, I had to free up some room in my storage containers which were filled with my ex's old society games. Since she had left me a huge pile of unused cardboard boxes right in the living room, I had all I needed to take care of business so I packed up all her things which were NOT clothes and managed to fill over 20 boxes! When this was done, a few days later, then I would start on the clothes... Remember by this time she HAD moved lol! Over the next couple of weeks, I packed up boxes with her clothes which of course were all dusty from having sat there litereally for years in some cases. I did this off and on, after work and every day off until finally on the 18th, I decided to take a break, go for a meal at my favorite shopping centre in Ottawa then go to the movies...I wanted to go see the new documentary about Amy Winehouse. I never made it... That whole day I felt off..a bit like I had felt back in 2003 the day I had a heart attack but I knew it wasn't my heart as all my vitals, which I check regularly were in check. I went to the Rideau Centre, ordered a "poutine" at the New York Fries, sat at a counter where they have plugs to charge cell phones and started eating while watching something on YouTube. The sweating started, then the nausea, then I remember feeling very comfortable and sleeping not realizing I had actually passed out and fell off my stool. I woke up to a bunch of people staring at me and asking me if I'm ok! The security guard helped me sit up in a chair and told me the paramedics were on their way... Of course being in early transition, only a couple of people know about my dysphoria and transition. Isabelle was close downtown Ottawa with a friend who also knows about me and my sister was at work. I haven't told my parents yet as I'm waiting for my mom to get biopsy results and will only tell her once her emotional distress has diminished somewhat but the issue now was I was going to be sent to the hospital where I knew my parents would come and see me. Wouldn't be to bad if I wasn't wearing light green nail polish and panties. I wasn't worried about the panties but the nail polish would be a little tricky to explain for sure. When the ambulance came, they checked my vitals and told me everything seemed fined but wanted to take me to the closest hospital just to be on the safe side which I was not opposed to. During the ride, I outed myself to the ambulance attendant and he was very nice about the whole thing and found it remarkable that I was not shy talking about it. He asked a lot of questions and I answered... We got to the hospital and by that time, I had called my sister who then called my parents and after laying down in the emergency area hallway for a couple of hours, my parents showed up. I told them the nail polish was Isabelle's doing and said I didn't mind having color on my nails...they just gave me a funny look and dismissed it... I ended up waiting for another 4 hours before even going through triage and by that time, I had figured out that what I had was a simple panic attack, well a big one, probably the biggest one I ever had and through therapy found the whole house cleaning was what led up to it. I told my colleagues at work and they recommended I take a couple of days off the following week which I did. I then followed my therapist's advice and proceeded to purchase contractor style garbage bags and use the "shovel" method to finish my cleanup! Now all her things are in my garage and waiting for her to come pick them up. If she hasn't done so before the end of this month, I will give everything to charity! I have just finished cleaning my top floor, washed the walls and I'm almost done the main floor. I will be on holidays from my job next week and for the first time in years, plan to actually enjoy myself! The day I am looking forward to the most is August 12th...I will meet my new doctor who will send my for my blood tests and a visit to the endocrinologist at last! I just hope the hormones will help the dysphoria and anxiety... Roxanne- 6 comments
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(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STBv6EIFARw) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Op_o2KtQH1c) Warren, aka DH (DubstepHeartbeat)
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Well first off, I'd like to start out with 'WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED TO THE GUIDE?!" Although some change is good, I've found it a little difficult to navigate the site and find my things and whatnot.....not 100% I'm a fan of this new set up....I'm not even sure if I'm blogging in my usual place or if this is just going to float around randomly... Anyway, back to the blog. So it has been made very obvious to me that I have anger issues, according to.....well, I dont know. The world? My anger problems has basically ruined my job which I had to quit for more reasons than one but, yes, it basically came down to my attitude problem. But as the few weeks have passed I've come to realize that I am a very bipolar, angry person sometimes. Mostly during the evening. During the day, right after taking my usual poison (all the damn meds my doc shoves at me) I'm alright. I'm usually in a tollerable mood, for the most part. But in the afternoons....I loose it. The littlest things p*** me right the f*** off. Misspelling things. Dropping things. Banging my elbow on something, not getting comfortable--ANYTHING sets me off into a rage and I just dont feel like I can deal with it. But the last thing I want is to complain to my doc and have her tell me to take even more meds. I'm so f***ing done with taking that crap. I'm sick of it. I have to take muscle relaxant meds for my back at night now because I cant sleep, and I told her that I now have to sleep in an upright position else I cant breathe because of these stupid (what I wanted to say was more like ****ing ***hole ****ing pieces of horse **** that I cannot ****ing stand, but let's keep it civil) but I've basically been told that theres nothing anyone can do about it unless I opt for breast reduction. News Flash: I do NOT want to go through a surgery that I do NOT WANT, only to have to deal with the depression of STILL HAVING THEM, and THEN deal with maybe going into surgery for a SECOND TIME and pay a SECOND BILL to finally finish what I wanted done in the first place. I seriously, seriously ****ing refuse to do it! If they're not willing to take care of the problem 100% then its not worth fighting with. I'm just....I'm so...so...so done.... I havent cut in about two....maybe three weeks. My bicep looks flawless, tanned, healed....like it never happened. That's the strange thing about my "habit"...it almost never scars. So when its over and done with and I'm alright again, it's like nothing ever happened. I have no proof of my mental turmoil. No concrete evidence of my torment and depression. Not that it should matter, having the scars. But it's almost frustrating. After all the pain and anger and tears that went into it all...and nothing shows from it. My dysphoria has gotten worse. The constant nagging of having 44DD breasts bound tightly in nearly three shirts, suffocating, sweating like a farm animal; yet mentally I'm always stressing that they can still be seen. That the people around me can still see through my agonizing cover-up, and inside they're laughing at me. Judging me. Mocking my existance. What God would be so cruel as to force this onto a person? What had I done wrong to anyone to deserve such mental anguish? The embarrassment, the depression, and annoyance and anger........Yes, I have anger issues. Yes, I have anxiety problems. And yes, I have an attitude problem at times. But now I have to ask....Do you really, truely, seriously f***ing blame me? My mother mocks me behind my back, telling others lies and embarrassing rumors about my "attention seeking lifestyle". That I'm only transgendered for the attention. That I paid the 130$ to change my name, for attention. That I went through the bulls*** to get a new Social Security card....for attention. That I'm an embarrassment to her. To the family. My older sister keeps me from the nieces I've put so much on the line to protect and keep happy. My boyfriends family refuses to give in even a little bit to my new name or pronouns, and on top of all the crap I have to deal with from people who are my "family"...I then have to deal with my own problems. The constant desire to hide in the bathroom away from the world. The napping all day simply because if I'm awake, I have to wear my binders and be around people. The literal consideration of serious mutilation in order for the hospitals to HAVE to remove that which I despise. I didnt used to be this bad. I didnt used to think, act, feel, or behave like this. I was getting better....I hadnt dont any self harm. But now....I dont feel like I can keep that back. Hell, I shoved something down the front of my jeans today only because that emptiness made me feel sick. I've never had to go that far...I was comfortable with my lower half. I didnt like it, but I was comfortable with it. Now it's like I cannot handle any of it. And now that I have no insurance, no job, no life basically.....the hell else am I supposed to do? The gofundme has been a bust, and understandably. Everyone's broke, no one sees it as something nessesary or worthy, plus with all the stuff going on around the world like the shoots and Nepal and the earthquakes; my request seems childish and downright stupid. Selfish. I keep having thoughts, a voice I guess you could say. The phrases and sentences muttered in my voice, my tone, but not things I would normally grumble. Theyre depressing and only infuriate me even more. I'm not sure what to do anymore, except simply go back to bed. Good news is that this time last year, I weighted 236pnds. Today I weighed in at 204pnds. Guess that's good. Maybe, I dont know. Now I have lose, disgusting, annoying skin. Whatever..... Off to another pointless nap. Warren
