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Showing results for tags 'depression'.
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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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TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains mention of--Self harm, abuse, self image, depression, and other possible triggering topics. You. This is something that has crossed my mind in recent events, and I shamelessly must let it out else my mind may explode. You. Male. Female. Transfemale. Transmale. Non-binary. Androgynous. Gender Fluid. Fae, they, him, her, we, zei, zem..... Pronouns and identities. More than I could ever count without assistance, but all are just as important as the next. I couldnt possibly name them all without looking them up, for the variety of people are as vast as the drops in the ocean. These were all things very much foreign to myself no more than two years ago. Had you asked me two years in the past, I would have simply replied that there are two genders, and Ren. Had you asked me if there was anything aside from men and women, I'd have said no. I'm no fool to lie and say that I knew about these sorts of things several years past. I'll admit fully that things I know now, I never new before. I never even assumed such things. But there is something that I do know, and had I known about this wide world of other identities back then, it still would have applied. The respect that you show a ciswoman when opening a door for her is also the same respect you should show a transwoman. The same respect you show a cisman who has done something admirably masculine, you should also share to a transman. The respect you show to anyone, regardless of gender or identity, should not be narrowed down based off who you think is noble enough to have it. It does not matter if that person has done something you feel is outside of your opinion of their gender, such as a feminine man or a masculine woman. They're people. Not an object. You cannot pick and choose where your respect lies. A hero with a revised birth certificate is no less a hero than a person with an unaltered. Your gender is not what is within your pants. Your value is not established by what, or who, you identify as. Your value is established by you. By the respect you show to others. By the compassion you show and the willingness to learn when others are trying to teach you about themselves. Regardless of the lesson or the context, you have the responsibility to show your attention; even if you dont understand at the time. It doesnt matter if you have marks on your flesh from burns, cuts, bruises or starvation. It does not matter if you wear small sizes or large sizes. It does not matter if your flesh is pale or dark or perhaps even the shade of the Grinch. You are your own value. A high, beautiful value. Your reflection may not please you, and this is something I understand fully. My own reflection is not, in many ways, my own. But that makes me no less a person. I am who I allow myself to be. I wished in so many ways, that I could see myself the way others see me. That way I could either love what I see, or know what it was that made them treat me so foully. But the truth is, you dont need anyone's approval. You dont need to mold yourself into what everyone else is. You have already been molded beautifully, flawlessly. But it is up to you to put that masterpiece in the kiln and finish who you are. You can paint your colors along the way, but you cannot successfully paint the surface until you're done trying to mold. The truth is, you are a beautiful soul. A beautiful person. And no, it does not matter who is reading this. You may be going through hard times, and others around you may or may not understand it. Not fully, anyway. There are always pieces of our pain that we never give to others, sometimes in shame and other times simply because we dont want them to suffer with us. I understand that. I'm still struggling with it. You may be battling sickness, or mental turmoil, or perhaps emotional tragedy. You may be self harming in one, or many, of a vast array of ways and not even know it. You may think "it's just a scratch" or "it's just one meal...". But it's not. Not to me. I may not know you personally, but I do care. If you dont believe me, just message me. We'll talk about whats going on, and we'll get through this together. In case no one has ever told you, you are beautiful. You are not fat. You are not too skinny. You are not ugly, you are not worthless, and you ARE worth so much more than you think. Your life is more valuable than their opinions. You do not need to watch your feet in shame and hide your face from the world. You have committed no crime worthy of self hate. Even Hannibal Lector knew that, despite his horrendous crimes, he was still a person. We've all done things wrong. And we all have things about ourselves that we not only dislike, but cannot change. But that does not make you any less of a person. You are valuable, and you are worthy of affection, protection, forgiveness and appreciation. I'm not saying this just to make you feel better, I mean it. I mean it for you and for myself. It's difficult and its frustrating, but you..my dearest reader...need to forgive yourself. For what you may ask? For doubting yourself. Everyone has doubted themselves at one point or another, but perhaps you do more than others around you. Dont. You're so much more capable than you let yourself be. I believe in you. Me, a stranger living lord knows how far away. Forgive yourself and move on, move up, and move higher. Something that Ren and I have taken very deeply is a speech from a Rocky movie. Not because it is possibly our most favorite franchise ever, but because when we hear it, we hear his father. I'll type the words, but please watch the scene. "Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s a very mean and nasty place and I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard ya hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done! Now if you know what you’re worth then go out and get what you’re worth. But ya gotta be willing to take the hits, and not pointing fingers saying you ain’t where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody! Cowards do that and that ain’t you! You’re better than that!" "I'm always gonna love you no matter what. No matter what happens". But until you start believing in yourself, you aint gonna have a life." (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaO8K1JSJuo) This, shamelessly, brings me to tears almost every time. And whenever we're in a tight spot, I search through our ipod and I find this and we listen. My point is, be yourself. No one can be you better than yourself. It doesnt matter what other people think about you. They dont know you like you do. No one does or ever will. I cannot promise that you wont loose people along the way, but if they walk away from you, they were never there to begin with. You're a treasure, not a burden. And if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. Message me, or message me and ask for my number and I will gladly text you. You're worthy of appreciation and affection. Especially from yourself. And dont you dare let anyone tell you any different. Afterall, if they call you a freak, take it as a compliment. Freaks have the best understanding of the world around them, have fought the toughest battles, and as it's been said countless times over the centuries.....Us freaks have to stick together. Sincerely yours, A proud Freak, Alexandru
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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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So, my mother doesnt call me, and that is completely fine with me! I do not have contact with my older sister either. And when my younger sibling (Changed their name to Kai apparently which is fine with me. Theyre pretty sure theyre FTM as well but I'm respectful at the fact that they've decided not to make perminate choices on the matter until they are POSITIVE theyre transgender. I GREATLY respect them for that!!) has asked me if they can come down to hang out again at some point. I told them that I have no problem with that, but when I come to pick them up, I'll meet them at the end of the driveway. I want nothing to do with my mother. And I've decided that if my mother refuses to call me Warren OR Ren, I'll no longer call her Mom. I'll call her Alene, either she likes it or not. So today, there was a post on a friend's page about Trump. I was not aware she was friends with my older sister....until this happened. Me, feeling bad it was on my friends' post, Messaged her apologizing for what was said on her post. To my relief, she responded with "Its OK Amanda is the 1 to b apologizing. Well don't sweat it I'm home n can get to my computer she's about to get hers." Which was kinda nice I think. Warren UPDATE: She removed the Post, then Posted this:
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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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(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STBv6EIFARw) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Op_o2KtQH1c) Warren, aka DH (DubstepHeartbeat)
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Dysphoria was hitting hard today. Has been for the past few days, actually. Although today while I were at the store, someone in the line behind me called me Sir which was awesome. But it was too hard to enjoy it when I were in pain. I refuse to go anywhere anymore because it hurts...I cant wear my binder anymore. My chest size has AGAIN gone up. Bumping me from a DD to a DDD size. I'll admit, its soul crushing. It made me want to curl up in a ball and cry until it eventually killed me. It hurts....the weight, the binding, my ribs...It just hurts so much. And there's nothing I can do about it. It hurts not only emotionally but physically, more than I could possibly express. My ribs ache like never before, and going to my doctor about it was only a punch in the gut. "Only thing I can suggest is stop binding. There's nothing else I can do to help other than your muscle relaxant meds I gave you..." she said. I dont hate her for it, she's doing what she can. But there's only so much she CAN do. On top of that, its fourth of July. But here I sit, home by myself, because my boyfriend went with his family to the family BBQ...which I cannot attend without a fight breaking out about me being transgender being a cry for attention. His sister-in-law even had the balls enough to message him with "im here if you ever need to talk about it". Like...really!? Thanks, I know he would appreciate talking to someone now and then, but what about me!? The person the family is shunning!?!?!? I want my surgery....I want it so bad and there's nothing I can do about it. No loans I can take out I can afford to pay off. They all want 300$ minimum for monthly payments, and I'm lucky to have 20$ in my pocket. I found a place where I can get it dont for 4500$ instead of the 9000$ but its all the way in the bottom of the country. I cant do that....Everything I want or need is so far out of my reach that it just makes me want to curl up and say **** the ****ing world, I'm done. I cant even bind anymore. And I cant afford a new binder. Even if I could..it hurts......so wtf is the point....... Only good news is if I change my VT birth certificate to Male, all of NH's documents has to honor that and change things to Male. But, again....what the **** is the point when I'm got DDD breasts that I can no longer hide? Feels like I'm slowly mentally killing myself here....And there's nothing I can do about it. Warren
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So, I need a little advice. But first I want to apologize if I annoy you guys or have fallen away from my "help others" phase and just been stuck in my "fml" stage. I dont mean to Anyway, this is about my boyfriends mother. We live with her and her family, none of which really support me or go along with my name change or anything because its my way of "attention seeking" apparently. But her constantly calling me Kristy and lately, lady, miss, girl, chick, all of which you can tell she is doing simply to upset me, is really starting to upset me. It's getting worse, and it totally messes with my dysphoria and depression and self harm. Which, apparently, is also for attention. According to her. She's even gone as far as to tell my neighbor while talking to her to NOT call me Warren because it is NOT my name and not to "feed into her need for drama". I guess my question is....this has gone on for about 6 months? Should I just put my foot down and damn the consequences and flat out tell her MY NAME IS NOT KRISTY and tell her I'll ignore what she says unless she calls me ren or warren? Or should I just ignore it...? If she wants to throw me out, I wont be homeless. My neighbor already told me her house is there if it ever came down to it, and I'll always have a place to stay. But I'm just so......SO F***ING sick of being dragged back into my feminine name and past by her. Tonight I went out and heard a bunch of dishes slamming around, so i went and asked whats up and she said "apparently no one can f***ing do anything except me". I'm like ....what? she snapped "no one's let the f***ing dogs out since i left for work" and i told her i let them out when i got up, and she ignored me. Then she went on to say nothing else got done and i told her 'well...i did the dishwasher..." and she gave me an attitude like "that's it?" More than her precious Princess daughter does. I'm just severely frustrated and dont know what to do about this....I dont want to make the wrong move... On another hand, tomorrow I have an interview for a Security Personnel position I REALLY REALLY want so wish me luck. Warren
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Sometimes I cant help but wonder if its really just the bipolar that puts me down. That beats me down, puts me in the dirt, and keeps my face in the sludge while laughing in my face. Ever time I seem to be doing fine…every time things are looking up, something always grabs me by the throat and shoves me back down. Puts me in my place. Regardless of how far I’ve come, regardless of how many people I help, and regardless of how well I can front a smile---its breaking me down just to get up in the mornings. I don’t want to eat. I cant sleep more than a few hours at night, or eighteen without warning. I cant keep my hands away from my blades, and away from my arm. I cant get up in the morning with optimism without having something, ANYTHING, reminding me that I’m a waste of space and I’m not going anywhere. Maybe no one said anything bad to me. Maybe people finally left me alone for ten minutes without getting in my face. Regardless, I still cannot remove myself from the darkness within the confines of my own mind. There’s times when all I want to do is wander off and start a fight with someone I don’t even know. To feel the crunch of bone under my fist and the sting of broken knuckles. To FEEL SOMETHING. Other than the life crushing depression and anger that swallows me up all the time. Yeah, I have my medications. No, I haven’t been taking them. Why? Because they don’t help me regardless. I can be faithful with them, taking my pills every morning like a good little spud. But that night you’ll still find me curled up and bloodied. You’ll still find me reaching for those blades, and you will absolutely still find me angry at the whole world with no one to blame. I have no reason to be pissed off. I have no reason to be depressed. But I am. I feel as though the whole world is against me, although I’m not even out in that world. I stay hidden in my room, moping. Laying in bed in all hours of the day, just staring at the ceiling. Nothing to occupy my time. And if I did have something, I don’t enjoy it. Nothing I do keeps me satisfied for more than an hour or two. I fall asleep at four in the morning, aching with backpain. My head throbbing from furious aggression boiling up with nothing to dispense it on. Every turn I take, something’s blocking the path. Every time I raise my fists to free up my path again, I get lost. Something turns me around, and I start walking in circles. It’s like living in my own personal labrynth, invisible to everyone but me. All the turns look the same, all the paths walked on already. I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I haven’t seen my doctor about any of this because what’s the point? They’ll just give me more medications that make me more sick than healthy. There’s nothing they can do about my overwhelming dysphoria that seems to shred every existence of a calm. I cant look in the mirror without a skull cracking aggressive response to want to shatter the glass with my bare fists. I cant shower without glancing down at myself and wanting to beat and bruise myself until I cant take it anymore. I hate how I look. I hate how I feel. I’m so damn angry all the time I cant even cry. I mentioned my issues to a professional and all she did was direct me to a suicide hotline. Here’s my input on it though. Anyone who’s suicidal and feels beyond help, isn’t going to SEEK that help. They don’t want to pick up the phone and listen to someone fake up all these reasons that they’re important and need to stick with it! They don’t know you, they don’t know your problems, and even if you explain it, how the hell is one more stranger involved in your life supposed to heal your anguish? I thought I was doing better. I thought I was getting by. I thought wrong. I cant even talk to my sisters without wanting to just shut my ipod off, roll over in bed and play dead. I get angry over nothing. Snap about nothing. Complain then feel like crap for involving other people in my problems. Useless waste of breath, just to ruin someone elses day and drag them down with you. And it's not even their faults. My Sister Des does everything, EVERYTHING she can to try and make me happy. Sending me messages every morning to make sure I'm okay. Trying her best to cheer me up and remind me that words are only words, and no one can ruin my life unless I let them. But.....I just cant stop myself. I have no control over my own emotions anymore. I remember being like this when I was sixteen. My only solution was to go out and f*** away my problems with people I hardly knew, just to feel all my energy and anger be used up and wasted away. But it never really got rid of my emotional overload. Just made them fester and question myself. My sexuality, my identity, my personal worth…I just sit here and stare at nothing. Think nothing. Fists shaking and a bountiful pile of bloodied tissue next to me. Yes, I cut. I’m not even ashamed of it. Why should I be? Some people smoke and get lung cancer. Some people smoke weed and rot their brains. Some people shoot up and destroy their organs. Some people are alcoholics and destroy their lives. I made little slices, watch it bleed, and call it a night. I’m not hurting anyone, and its not going to kill me. It’s no where deep enough to even be a risk. So why f***ing stop? What’s the point? I don’t want my breasts. I want them gone, and it’s a struggle every day not to just do it myself. I like my hair short, despite the backstabbing crap I hear from my boyfriends mother behind my back about it. I HATE being called a girl all day by her. Being called Kristy. Being told she will never ever accept me as I am. Being lied about. Her and my mother and my older sister running their f***ing mouths saying “SHE is only that sexuality because SHE WANTS ATTENTION”. “SHE is only transgender because SHE WANTS ATTENTION” “SHE only cuts herself because SHE WANTS ATTENTION” “SHE only changed her name because SHE WANTS ATTENTION” HAVE I GOT YOUR ATTENTION NOW? Because that’s all anyone seems to think that I need. Attention. When all I really want….is for everyone to leave me alone. I just…. I just want to feel….okay. I’m sick of helping everyone else when I know, I KNOW, I cant even help myself. I just want to disappear… And I don’t know why I’m even blogging this… But there you go. My blog for the night. Enjoy. Warren. Or, I guess, Kristy. Since that's all anyone seems to care about outside of my computer.
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I cant help but feel slightly offbalanced knowing that I haven’t posted a blog in a while, and that my last blog was rather…eh, how to put it…..rabid? Furious? Either way, I’m not entirely proud of it and I apologize for the negative ranting that you all so lovingly put up with. Sometimes we just got to get it out of our systems I guess. No worries though, today’s is less snapping teeth and clenched fists. Today is sort of just a wander around and poking at flowers while caving in anthills type of blog. So, I did meet with my doctor for my last insurance-covered visit, just to get an update on meds and whatnot. So since around this time last year I have officially lost aprox’ 30pnds. Either from feeling more myself with the transition, maybe depression meds, or maybe it was just gonna happen anyway; either way I’m glad for it. Though I don’t feel like I have more energy, and my fight with clothing still persists, I do feel slightly better knowing I weigh a bit less. Aside from the rather lose and baggy skin left over, I’m a little happier with my body. I cannot credit it to workouts, however, because I’ve honestly not done enough of it to even consider it being a contribute to the weight loss. It’s too hard to breathe and function during workouts with such a heavy bust, and I applaude any woman who can do it comfortably. In other news, my neighbor/mom/gramma (she hasn’t decided which she likes best lol, SUPER supportive of my transgender awesomeness) has hooked me up over facebook with her friend Alan, who apparently is HUGE into LGBTQI rights(apparently the new LGBT) and is a CEO or something for some big company. Apparently he wants to talk to me about my transgenderness and the surgery thing and whatnot. Naturally I’m nervous as hell to talk to him, and not sure what to expect out of all of this. But hell, its worth a shot right? You never know. Ive joined a few groups on facebook for a little boost of support and know-how, such as a Pansexual group and a few transgender groups. It’s rather uplifting to talk to other ‘uniques’ such as myself, and I’m proud to be a confident panda (pansexual. We have a nickname! Schweet!) And although I cannot rule out thoughts of self harm now and again, I am a little proud to say that I am 100% healed and haven’t harmed since I quit my job. So that’s good I guess. Naturally I still have thoughts and such, but so far with the help of my sister (not biological but I’ll be damned if she aint my sister!) Destinee, I’ve been able to withhold these urges and stay clean of it. I slowly got more into photography again, though its only here and there, because the bugs in my area are HORRIBLE and I hate going outside with these little bastards and getting eaten alive. But I have noticed that my area of interest has been the sky, and I rather enjoy “screenshooting” the clouds. I’ll post some pics with this blog to show some, from the most recent thunderstorm in my area. Other than that, there isn’t much to talk about in this blog, as nothing has been too awfully exciting lately. Although my little sister/bro (theyre still figuring out, but may be gender fluid, which is totally fine with me) is coming down this week (after a frustrating debate with my mother on letting them come down -_-) for my birthday My birthday is May 22nd, so this Friday, and I’m turning 23 I’m taking my lil punk to the hair salon, and the both of us are gonna get cuts and they might bleach theirs. I don’t think I’ll bleach mine but am looking into dying it dark blue just for something different! Then, hopefully, the plum island beach on Saturday! So excited! I’m an ocean-aholic……. Sending you more pics soon, Warren
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Today I went down because my mom wanted to talk to me about my brother doing homeschool with me. After our conversation I went to make some popcorn because popcorn is awesome. A few minutes later she then commented that her soap opera has a transgender in it. At this point I am nervous on how she would think of that. She then commented "That's disgusting. I guess they have to make it more modern. What has the world come to?" My heart instantly dropped. I quickly finished what I was doing in the kitchen and ran upstairs to my room. I am full of emotions right now. Angry, sad, confused. Right when I was starting to crawl out of the pit of depression, I sunk back in. My mom basically rejected me, and the worst part is that she doesn't know it.
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