All posts by Walgo

Douche

When Keith decided to stop talking to me, I pleaded with him and said if he ever changed his mind I would be here. I keep feeling tempted to email him and say never mind, but I’m sure he won’t contact me anyway. Why would I want to hear from someone who cut me out like that, with no real warning? I apologized, admitted my fault, and said I would try to tone down talking about things we disagree on since this was the first time I found out how upset he was, but that wasn’t enough, somehow I was supposed to go back in time and change my past behavior. Anyway, he knows about this blog, but probably doesn’t read it. But if he does look and see this, he’ll know. He hurt me more than I thought possible, and I’m done inviting people who hurt me back into my life.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I changed the way this website looks for the first time. I just felt this outgrew the old look. I may change it again until I’m happy with it. I feel like I haven’t been writing because I feel like I’ve said all I have to say, but maybe I’m wrong and I just need a change. I’m hoping the new look will give me motivation.

Thoughts

Sometimes I say that I’m gay for all genders. I know it doesn’t sound like it makes sense, but I’ll explain what I mean. As an AFAB (assigned female at birth) person, I was used to saying I was gay for women back when I thought I was a woman. Now, as a demi-guy, I feel like a guy who likes guys a lot of the time, so I’m gay for men. And as a non-binary person, if I like someone of the same gender (non-binary), that’s gay! Gay for all the genders.

 

I needed to write something, it’s been a long time.

Sorry

It’s been over 2 months since I posted. I’ve been having a hard time with my mental health for a while, but I couldn’t really talk about it. Keith and I aren’t talking anymore. He gave up on our friendship. At this point, I’m honestly just mad at him. I know it was like 75% my fault, but he didn’t even try talking to me about it before he just stopped answering me. Then Marz got a matching tattoo with someone else, which would make any matching tattoo we were going to get together mean basically nothing. I’m just feeling like shit. This whole year has been mostly lows overlapping each other too much for me to feel up to talking about anything. Even just a bunch of small things like my internet not working for a while, making lots of calls while trying to switch my phone plan from one company to another, my phone breaking recently, my card for my apartment’s laundry machines breaking, having a public mental breakdown when seeing Father’s Day stuff. I mean, I guess those aren’t all small things, but they aren’t as big as some of the other things. I’m tired. The bad keeps coming, and I’m tired of it.

Gender Questions

I met a person who was doing a project on trans and non-binary identities, and I offered to be a part of it, so they asked me some questions that I found interesting and I’d like to put some of my responses here.

Pronouns: they/them, but I accept he/him as well.

Something I would like to do before I die: legally change my name. I’m always afraid that I’ll die before I get my name legally changed and that I’ll end up with my old name on everything at the funeral and on my grave. But that’s based in fear, and probably not reality. I would really like to go back to school and get a job that I’ll actually enjoy that will make me financially stable.

Define my gender identity: When telling someone my gender, I usually just use the umbrella term non-binary, sometimes genderqueer. That’s mostly because I don’t like explaining the intricacies of gender to every single person I talk to. I’ve gone by genderfluid and agender in the past, but both of those feel wrong by themselves now. I could use the label demiguy, because I feel partly guy and partly genderless (and kind of girl, but not very often), and the percentages of each kind of fluctuate. I feel like sticking with one label though, and non-binary feels right all the time. I also use transgender; I only mention it because I know some non-binary people don’t.

About my family and their levels of acceptance: My mom is very feminist. Still, it took her a while to even start trying to use my correct pronouns. She joined PFLAG and walked in the Pride parade with them last year. She’s probably the most accepting in my family. My sister and brother who are in their teens are also pretty accepting, but I rarely get to see or talk to them. I don’t know if my youngest brother (8) even knows, because my step-mom took a long time to seem comfortable, and she honestly still doesn’t fully, but we talk and I know she loves me, so it’s okay. I hope she’ll feel better about it as time goes on. My uncle tries really hard, but he’s not great at using my pronouns and name, and we had a whole long conversation about what he should call me instead of niece/nephew, but neither of us like the commonly accepted gender neutral term ‘nibling’ so that didn’t really go anywhere. He calls me his brother’s oldest and that works for me. (Since this was written, I told him he could just call me his nephew and he seemed fine with that.)

About my friends and their levels of acceptance: Most of my friends are great with my name and pronouns, but there are some of them that aren’t very good with “trans etiquette,” I guess you could call it. One friend will use my old name and pronouns when talking about the time before I changed them, and I have a friend who medicalizes trans people and dysphoria. It gets exhausting trying to educate people, so I spend most of my time with my best friend and the people who at least know (or know about) other trans people, even though I’m not necessarily as emotionally close to them as my other friends.

Describe my physical voice and how I feel about it: It’s definitely more feminine than I’d like, but it’s on the lower side for a feminine voice. I sometimes feel insecure about my voice. On days when I want to appear more “male,” my voice is usually a give-away. Usually I can just talk in my lower range and feel a little better. If I could change my voice, I would probably just make it a little lower, probably just enough to not sound feminine. I would change my voice because I hate being called she/her, or any word that’s sort of gendered as womanly.

Communicating gender identity and correcting people: When people I’m not very close to misgender me, I have a hard time correcting them. I usually shut down a little. I can’t respond. It really just depends how comfortable I am with the person, because misgendering is so linked to my anxiety. If I’m already comfortable with them, feel that they’re trying, and feel that they believe I’m the gender I say I am, then there’s little-to-no anxiety that comes up. If it’s a friend of a friend who I see a lot, there’s anxiety because they should know better, but obviously don’t care enough to try. I’d like to correct people, but my anxiety gets in the way.

Daily struggles: I get some weird looks from people who don’t know what my gender is, but most people assume I’m a girl. Being misgendered is an everyday thing working in retail. The worst is when a customer calls me he/him pronouns and someone else “corrects” them with she/her pronouns. I think if I were on hormones and became more “visibly” trans, the way people treat me might get worse, but since I appear female because of my voice, face, hips, and curves, I don’t get a whole lot of problems from strangers.

Describe a healthy expression of my gender: I wish I felt comfortable wearing dresses and not binding more often. I think that would be healthier for me. Even when I want to express myself more femininely, I’m worried about it. I think a healthy expression of my gender would be me wearing whatever I want to on any given day, and not caring or worrying about it. Right now, I have to have a specific reason to not bind in public.

 

What is your story?

I remember I had a dream when I was 8 that I was a boy in my past life. It doesn’t seem like it should be a big enough deal for me to remember it, but I guess it meant something to me. When I was in junior high, I was mostly friends with boys. They treated me like I was just one of the guys, and it was my favourite thing. I got so excited when one of my friends accidentally called me a guy, and he was pretty confused. I came out as bisexual when I was 13 (now I use the word pansexual more often since it openly acknowledges non-binary genders), and I guess that made it even easier for my straight guy friends to relate with me, which made me very happy.

When I moved provinces at age 15 and started going to a Christian high school, I didn’t come out to any of my new friends except my boyfriend. I spent those years fighting with myself about if I could be bi and Christian. That made me realize how much I wanted to be able to be open about who I was, but I still didn’t know anything about trans people. I went to a Bible College when I was 19-20, and struggled with whether I wanted to choose Christianity or bisexuality, since I had decided I couldn’t be both.

Near the very end of my year at Bible College, I read a book called Every Day by David Levithan, and the main character is non-binary. A is their name. The story is about A waking up every day in a different person’s body and trying not to disturb that person’s life, until they fall in love. It was a very interesting concept. The word non-binary isn’t used, but A says at one point that they can feel like a guy some days and a girl some days, and not necessarily days that line up with the body they’re in. I remember feeling such a weird connection to what A was saying, and wishing I could just change bodies. That got me thinking about gender a lot more.

I moved to the city and lived alone for the first time, and I started looking into things online. I learned about genderfluidity and immediately started panicking about it, because I still hadn’t even decided between Christianity and bisexuality, and now this! I told a few friends from Bible College who also moved to this city about it and they were surprisingly supportive. I eventually came to terms with it and realized Christianity (at least for me) was way too anxiety-inducing. I thought, “Why would God make me queer and then tell me not to be queer? He didn’t take the queerness away from me when I asked Him to, so obviously He’s not real, or He’s a huge jerk and I don’t want to follow Him anyway.”

I came out to lots of friends over the years, and I’ve been binding for a couple of years now, but I only just came out to my family in 2016. I came out to my mom when my dad was fighting cancer. I never got to tell my dad, because I was scared, and I didn’t want to stress him out while he was supposed to be getting better. He died on July 4th, 2016. He was 44. I came out to my step-mom, siblings, and uncle a few months later, and then I came out on facebook during Transgender Awareness Week in November.

My dad dying made me want to come out, because I never wanted to feel that kind of regret again, and I wanted to enjoy my life while I still have it. I often think about how my dad never knew, and that maybe we would have been closer if I had had a chance to come out to him. I was going by my old name until August 2017. So, even though I’ve known I was non-binary for almost 5 years, I’m really quite new to being out about it, and I still haven’t told people at work.

Trying My Best

It’s been a long time, but I’m still here. I haven’t had internet since September, until this month. I don’t feel like a lot has happened. I work and I go home, and then I do that again. Money is still scary, but I’m on my feet again, paying people back. I’ve been thinking a lot about school lately. A friend and my mom both said I should be a counselor within a few days of each other, and I’ve been thinking about that since then. In Canada, you need to take your 4-year bachelor of psychology and then 2-3 years more to get your master’s degree. With your master’s, you can be a therapist. So I’m considering that, but I would probably need to upgrade to even start doing that, so that’s a tentative 8 years, plus I feel like I would want to get my PhD if I went that far already, just to be called Doctor.

I’m turning 25 in a few months, so that would put me at 33 by the time I could even use my education. If I didn’t get funding for it, I don’t think I would make it that long. Also, I can’t help but think “That would only give me about 10 years in that job if I got it right away” which is a terrible thing to think, but there it is. My dad dying at 44 has made me feel so skeptical about my time left. What if I live to be 90? I don’t want to spend my whole life thinking I could die any minute, but I also don’t want to waste my time if I don’t have a whole lot left. At the same time, the idea of learning for the rest of my life doesn’t actually sound bad at all, the only problem is being poor for the rest of my life. I would like to have at least some years of comfort. Teddy has been bothering me to write again, so here I am, but it’s pretty depressing.

I went to the dentist for the first time in 10 years today, and that went pretty well. I’m trying to start taking care of my body. I’ve made a bullet journal for the second time, but this time it’s actually in a journal instead of just some pages stapled together. I plan on using this all the time from now on, to organize my life. I feel pretty good about it. I’m also going to try to get into therapy and find a doctor. I want to start going to the gym soon too. I want to be healthy and happy. I’ve been thinking about religion/spirituality lately. I believe some things, but not a lot. I often wonder if organized religion will ever appeal to me again, or if it’s out of my life forever now. I miss the comfort it brought me, but most of the time it gave me anxiety more than anything, being trans and queer. I also don’t talk about the bits of spiritual things I do feel attached to, because most of my friends are Christian, and the others are generally atheists.

All I’m doing is trying my best. Hopefully that will be enough.

Percival and The Romantic

There are a lot of ways that my pet hedgehog is keeping me alive, but I feel guilty. I feel like he’s me as a kid, and I’ve become my mom. Wanted a small thing to make me feel needed, but I’m really bad at supporting and caring for the thing the way it needs. I know he’s an animal, not a person, and he’s relatively healthy, but like little me, he’s chubby and possibly feels lonely.

He keeps me going on the really bad days though. Some friends were trying to claim him if I die (this sounds a lot worse than the conversation actually was). I felt really weird about that. I feel like I can’t make that decision. If I did, I would suddenly have an out if I decided to kill myself one day. I would know he would be cared for, so I wouldn’t feel obligated to stay for his sake, because anybody else would probably be a better owner.

I’m not currently spiraling or anything, but I’m usually thinking about if I die. I should probably write a will. I think about it all the time since my dad died. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it since I was 12, but my dad’s death made it real.

I really need to go to a counsellor of some sort. I need to see if I can be helped. I’m just scared that if I tell the truth, I’ll scare them into taking some drastic action. I don’t need to go to some facility, I just need help not spiralling into terrible depressions.

Part of me is scared that if I take pills, I might be one of those people who only didn’t kill themselves because they had no motivation, and that the pills will give me the energy to go through with it. I don’t want to leave my hedgehog fatherless. I don’t want to be fatherless.

I miss my dad so much. I say that all the time and people don’t understand that feeling. I mean, some do, but not most of my friends. I read a TEDtalk about having rituals to remember lost loved ones. It said that we aren’t ready to stop loving the person, so we find new ways. Like a lady who used to have tea dates with her mom would put a tea cup across from her and talk to her mom. I need something like that. I need a dad ritual. I don’t know what though.

I read Turtles All The Way Down by John Green today. It was magnificent. It portrayed loss so well that it hurt. Same with mental illness. It was really good.

I don’t have internet right now, but I hope to soon, because I get so lonely being in my new place alone. I’ve been watching a lot of movies, just to distract myself from The Lonely, which feels like an entity of its own, like my depression. The Lonely quiets when there are voices in the room, like mine, or on the TV, or in music. But as soon as I’m lying in bed, trying to sleep, it comes back and starts talking to me.

“You’ll always be alone,” The Lonely says quietly. “Nobody wants to be with you.”

This is similar to My Depression, and I think they’re a team, but The Lonely comes whether I’m sad already or not. The Lonely just sits beside me, and stares at me. Mutters under its breath. It inches closer unless I distract myself, then it walks away for a while. If I let it be, it will eventually sit on my chest and crush me. Then Depression comes, and that one is a lot less subtle. “They all hate you,” Depression says, demanding my attention. “They can’t fucking stand you, and neither can I.” I already know this. Depression likes to try to convince me that it’s my Inner Voice. I know it isn’t, but it’s very convincing.

I can’t sleep.

Sometimes I think about those 2 years during which I was rejected romantically 4 times, twice by men I had extremely strong feelings for. I think I ran out of romantic vulnerability after that. The last person just kind of crushed it all up and it blew away in the wind. It also ruined an important friendship, and could have ruined a second one. Now I’m too afraid to do anything. Not that I’ve felt any strong connections since then, but I’m quick to snuff out any flames that happen to ignite. I’ve felt a strong attraction to a few people over the years, but I never just let it be, I always try to push it away and out. The last guy destroyed the romantic in me.

Money…

I haven’t written in a while. I changed my name. I moved, and live alone now. I’m having a hard time adjusting to living alone. It’s lonely. I’m also very worried about money. I don’t know how I’ll afford rent and utilities this month, but I don’t want to ask people for money. I’m pretty sure that if I don’t spend any more money this month, I’ll still only be able to afford rent…

I don’t really know how it happened. I guess I just owed people money and had to buy a lot of things for my new place that only Marz had in our old place. I’m scared things won’t work out for me in my new place. I have all these plans for the future, but I haven’t even bought groceries this month. I’m sure that if I give it a few months, I’ll be okay, but right now money looks like this deep, black hole. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it on my own. I need new ID, but I can’t afford it. I need food, and electricity, but I can’t pay for it. I’m really not sure how I’m going to do this.

I really need to work on my budget, but there are all these unknowns in my life right now.

Every Day

Every day, I feel like I’m another step closer to disappearing from my current life without a trace. Every time something awful happens, I feel less and less attached to the people in my life and the city I’ve been living in. Every time a friend hurts me, I feel more ready to leave. Every time I’m misgendered, I feel more prepared to shed my old skin. Every day, I’m more likely to do something drastic. There’s no part of my life that I’m happy with. Every day, I want to disappear. And someday I will.

The rain and sunset didn’t even make me happy today

I don’t usually write this often, but whatever, I need to write again. So, people say (and I agree) that passion is attractive. People want to date and be friends with passionate people.

I’ve been thinking about that, and it’s making me really sad, because I used to be passionate, but I’m not anymore. A mixture of depression, anxiety, and emotional abuse have crushed my passions.

I used to sing all the time, and I wanted to be a singer. I used to write songs, and then poetry, and stories. So then I wanted to be a writer of some sort. For a while after my writer’s block got really bad I was even passionate about becoming a librarian.

Now I’m not passionate about anything. I tried to write a poem recently and I couldn’t. I believe the last book I read was about organizing and cleaning, and I don’t remember the last thing I read before that. I’m bored of all the music I usually listen to. It’s really hard to live when I have no reason to.

When I’m not distracted, my brain starts whispering, “Kill yourself, kill yourself, just fucking do it. Nobody will miss you. In fact, they’ll be better off without you there to bring them down.” Then, if I accidentally end up overwhelming my brain while trying to distract myself, it goes into panic mode. If I even think a little too much about getting help, my brain says, “Oh shit, oh my god, fuck no, don’t do it! You will literally die if you go see someone! Isn’t that what you’re avoiding? No! Don’t go! It’s scary and awful, pills will make you a zombie, weed is illegal and you’ll go to prison, therapists have never been any help!

Of course, nobody will force me to get help through my brain having a meltdown, and my brain is too busy trying to throw me in front of semis to put in the effort, so the idea of giving in to suicide is a very seductive one, but of course I also get thrown into a panic attack over that. Plus, thinking about my family dealing with another death makes my heart break.

Basically, I’ve been given a piece of shit brain and would like to get rid of it, and nobody can love me because I’m garbage.