Monday, July 17, 2017

Just need to talk

I have been holding my insulin pen for the past few minutes.  I was ready.  I just needed to jab it into my belly and empty the full container into my system.  I am not sure if that would have done the trick, but I wanted to try.

I am still staring at it longingly.  I feel calm.  I'm not emotional.  The pen seems to be tantalizing and it's calling me to pick her up.  Just keep pushing down the plunger, and then just fade.  No more pain. No more hate.  No more.

I'm not sure what is stopping me.  It is a few feet in front of me, easy to grab.  In a few moments it would be done.

It's quiet.  I hear the faint hum of a car engine in the distance.  What are my last sensations going to be like on earth?  Will I be afraid?  Will I finally be happy?  Will my mind focus on the man I love?  I just want to feel.  I just feel numb.

I'm not going to do it right now, but I feel myself getting closer.  Maybe the next time I hold my pen, I will be ready.

Does that make me feel more happy, or more sad?  Do I even feel anything at all?

My love I'm hanging on for you, I am really trying.  It's funny.  The moment I wrote that, I began to cry.  I can feel again.  I will continue to hang on.  I love you
Why can't I just be a man?

Trapped in hell

I fear my depression is getting worse.  It seems like every day, I am trying to stop myself crying.  I am dreaming of dying more often.  Pain keeps hitting me, wave after wave after wave.  My energy is drained just thinking about it.

I am back in a closet, huddled in the dark. I had thought that I had broke the door down, I thought that I had finally escaped.  But I am back in.  I am back in so as to make others feel better, to ensure that their feelings are respected.  It doesn't matter that it hurts.  It doesn't matter that it's killing me.  I hide my true self, forcing who I am down down down inside me, to make others happy.

So I remain trapped, trapped in a shell that others have created for me.  A shell of expectations, a shell of perceived normality.  The shell is too small, and I feel myself suffocating, yet I am unsure what I can do.  I know what I need to do, but I don't know where to start, or how.  Escape seems impossible, yet I know that I must.  I must escape.  Or I will die.

To be honest, either outcome seems equally preferable.  No matter what happens, the pain will stop.  Until then, I will live in hell, a hell created for me by people whose feelings must be protected, must be validated.  Each day I feel another chip at my soul, slowly breaking away.  I will escape from the closet some day one way or the other, but I wonder, will anything be left of my soul?  God bless  

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Trying, and failing, to be male

For 33 years, I tried to be a man.  I have a penis, so in my mind that meant I had to be male.  A lot of this came from my Granfather.  To him, I didn't have worth unless I was participating in traditional male activities.  And that meant sports.  So in Junior High, I started to play football.  I had worth.  I was learning to become a man.  I was never any good, but I was big, and that helped me play more.  The more I played, the more he would show me that I had worth.

A football team is a very testosterone fueled, manly place to be.  Gender norms were aggressively enforced, and any deviation from this, you were deemed a "faggot" and were scorned until you were able to demonstrate your manly prowess.  So any sign of femininity was squashed inside me.  I was in a show choir outside of school, and I made sure I never talked about that aspect of my life.  I made sure to always act male when I was around any of my team mates.  I even had a girlfriend.  I am smiling to myself about that.  When we were dating, my girlfriend got rather aggravated that I never tried to suduce her, or try to explore her in any way.  It  never occurred to me that I should, and frankly I wasn't that interested.

While I have admitted to what I was not, I am still trying to figure out what I am.  As I was growing up, I felt like I was missing an identity because I was trying to be what I wasn't.  Now, I am trying to find out who I am, and the lack of an identity persists.  I am wondering whether I would have been ready to face being Trans earlier in life, and I am thinking no.

I have fought who I am for so long, that I wasn't able to fully accept who I am sooner than now.  A lot of this is from my Franciscan education.  I have been working with the idea that God loves me so I must love me.  I credit my Order for this.  Their compassion, understanding, and support has been lifesaving.  So to my Order, thank you, I love you all.  God bless

Family dinner

I am exhausted.  I am physicaally worn down.  My entire body hurts, and I feel like I am walking through quick sand.  The reason is I just finished dinner with my family.

When I am with my family, I have to change every aspect of who I am.  I cannot talk in the register that is comfortable, so I drop my voice a few octaves.  I can't hold myself in the way that I want.  I must keep my hands down, and make sure I am moving in an appropriate "male" manor.  I need to watch every single word I say.  No matter what, I do not talk about my boyfriend, I don't talk about my gender.  I make as little noise as possible, but still keep in the conversation so I don't seem rude.

I need to watch everything that I do, watch what I say, just so I don't rock the boat.  I have to change almost every aspect of who I am, just so I can conform with their expectations.  When you first come out, people tell you not to push who you are on other people, to make sure that they are comfortable during the process.  What they don't tell you is that it hurts to do this.  It is physically painful not being your true self for the comfort of others.

I find that ironic.  When gay people come out, people seem to demand that their feelings be respected, but those who come out, their feelings don't mean a damn.  In many real aspects, coming out, excepting who you are, is a life saving event.  For myself, I wanted to scream it to the world, to celebrate that I finally knew who I was.  But when I began to tell family, their feelings were important, only their feelings.  It didn't matter that this was literally stopping me from dying, it mattered that their feelings were heard, and their feelings were respected.

I am not sure if this is a universal aspect of coming out.  Maybe it was just my experience.  I hope it was just my experience.  I just know that I am tired of being who other people want me to be.  I just want to be me.  God bless

My dream

I am a stranger in my own body.  My entire life, I have felt like I was wearing an ill-fitting piece of clothing.  I'm reminded of the movie Men in Black, and the alien wearing the "Edgar suit."  I am wearing a Kris suit, and it feels wrong.  I had written earlier that I would rather be a cis male, just because it seems easier.  But in my heart, I am a woman.

If someone came to me with the option to change my sex with just a snap of their fingers, I would not hesitate.  I would give anything for this to happen, there have been many times that I prayed for it.  Please God, make my outside match my inside.

Being fluid helps to lessen these feelings, but they are always there.  Even when I don't feel female, I would still give everything, anything, to become a woman.  It helps my Dysphoria, as the longing is always there, but the intense need to change is not.  But there are days that it becomes bad.  Days when I am not sure whether I am crying for What I am, or crying for Who I am and can't be.

I'm hoping therapy will help, and I hope to discuss gender issues in our next session.  But at this point, there is not much I can do to help relieve some of this tension.  One day, I hope to be in a position where I can express who I am, without fear of retaliation.  This may sound cheesy, but the first thing I dream of doing when this time comes is dyeing my hair maroon, and getting a more feminine cut.  So simple, yet out of my reach... for now.  Someday soon I will do this, and gradually do more, so that my outside will finally match my inside.  Today, I hope that some day I can start taking HRT, and maybe even transition.  Tomorrow, I might not feel the same way.  And even if I do, I might not be able to because of my health.  But today, I dream.  And tomorrow can bring anything.  God bless

Saturday, July 15, 2017

I need to offer an apology

I have just returned from having dinner with them.  They were kind.  They were loving.  And I realize how terrible I am being.  Everything that is happening is my fault.  All of it is my fault.  Yet I ignore this fact and push my way down the path of selfishness, ignoring all of the pain that I am causing.  

I am not sure why I am surprised by this.  If I cleaned the way they wanted, they wouldn't get frustrated and do it themselves.  If I wasn't sick, they wouldn't have to support me.  If I wasn't in the hospital, they wouldn't have to spend money to see me, and they would be able to get the stuff done that they need to get done.  If I was always happy, and never angry, they wouldn't feel attacked.

Is there any doubt now as to why I should be dead?  Is there any doubt now that the world would be better off without me?  This is just one person!  This is just one in my orbit, an orbit that just spreads misery and pain.

I offer an apology to them.  I am sorry for all that I put you through

I offer an apology to all.  Everyone I have 

The rational side of my brain is screaming at me that this is a bad day, and to stop.  It is starting to win out, writing has helped.  I am tempted to erase what I have written, but I am not going to.  It is proof to myself that typeing out my feelings helps to quiet down my demons.  Abuse abuse abuse, my montra for tonight.  Above is not rational thinking, but my chemically imbalanced mind.

It has been a bad day, I won't lie.  I am still sad, but the hate is fading... slowly.  I realize that I am always sad.  Even when I feel happy, there is still a slight sting of sadness learking underneath.

Thank you for listening.  God bless 

Walking in a mine field

 My defenses are always up.  I am always on my guard.  I am the prey.  One slight step, one wrong move.  Boom.

I must make sure that my attitude is correct.  I must always show a happy face.  I make sure that I never complaine, or state that I am sad because if I do... boom.

I push my feelings down.  I shove my feelings deep inside me.  I have buried them so deep, I don't know what is real and what is imaginary.  I can never express myself to them.  The second I try to talk, I know I am wrong.  My brain stops me, unable to overcome the idea that, no matter what, my feelings are wrong.  So my brain won't let me explain how I feel.  I try anyway.  Boom

I am scared.  I am always scared.  I know I will screw up, I know I will do something wrong.  It's funny, I am 6'2" tall, 285 lbs, and I am still scared.  Scared of saying the wrong thing.  Scared of doing something wrong.  Cleaning is the worst.  I do not clean well, I am too lazy.  Even when I try my hardest, it is not enough.  Some days they don't care.  Other days... boom.

I am told that I am a burden.  I know I am a burden.  My very existence costs them money.  They cannot afford to keep me.  They shouldn't be forced to keep me.  But I am forcing them to support me.  I am selfish.  When I make them angry, this is brought up.  Boom.

So I spend my life navigating a mine field, knowing that, no matter what, I will cause an explosion.  People say it's not my fault, but isn't it?  How can I not take the blame.  It is my selfishness, my laziness, my darkness, that is the cause.  I am the cause.  So I walk on

Fuck

Panic.

I want to run but there is no where to run

I want to scream but I can't

Fucking bowling ball in my stomach.  I want it out but it won't come out

Maybe cut it out

I can't cry, I can't.  I'm not alone, and I would need to explain

I can't explain

Pretend to be happy

Pretend

My life is pretending

Why can't I die

I hate me

You should hate me

I cause nothing put pain

There is no point to my life

I'm a fucking coward

I should be dead but I am too selfish

Make the fear go away

Stop reading this

Life is a joke.  It is one long cosmic joke.  Why can't I die, why won't a God let me die.  He should either kill me or take away my fear.  Until then, my purpose on this Earth is to cause others pain.  That is all I am good for.  I produce nothing but pain.  No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I fail at everything.  I am selfish, I only take.  The sum of my life has been to suck resources from those I love.  I am tired of causing pain.

And yet I am too selfish to do anything about it.  I am a coward who won't do what is right.  I am delusional and inflating my self worth when I say this, but if you are reading this, stop.  Stop wasting your time.  Even if I don't know you, I will cause you pain, I will cause you misery.

The world would be a better place without me in it.  There would be more hurt if I stayed, than if I died.  Some would feel pain if I was no longer here, but they would realize that it was for the best.  The majority of those I know will feel better, as I am no longer causing them pain.

I am too fucking selfish.  I am trying to stop being selfish, but I am still a coward.  One day, I hope soon I will stop being a coward, and do what needs to be done.  Until then, I am sorry.  I am truly sorry

Friday, July 14, 2017

PTSD

I don't want to write about this, hell, I don't want to even think about it.  But I need to talk about it, I need to release this to the universe, though I know I won't be able to.  I was officially diagnosed with PTSD today, and I think, I know, what caused it.  My health, and almost dying, and abuse.

The easiest to talk about is my health.  I have a rather... cavalier attitude towards my health.  I have Congestive Heart Failure, as well as some lesser, though still serious, medical issues.  I am able to joke about my health, however, and I tend to view it as a minor inconvenience, though it has completely changed my life.  I am on Disability, most physical activity is beyond my reach, I see doctors at least once a month, and I have been in the hospital at least 15 times in the past eight years.  I have also almost died four times.  The last count was medical mistake, infection, pulmonary embolism, and medication reaction.  If you want to include blood clot in heart, you can, but I am on the fence about that.

The one that sticks out to me, the one that is seared into my brain to be honest, was a reaction to a medication.  I have had multiple infections in my life, and I have had multiple doses of antibiotics.  I found out that I am allergic to one.  They had started  the first dose, and I soon realized that something was wrong.  By the time I was able to contact someone, I couldn't breathe.  It is a strange sensation to suffocate, it's a rather slow process.  I don't remember any pain, I just remember the panic.  As my vision began to fade, I remember four words forming in my mind.  It was a small prayer, the only thing I could produce, thy will be done.  I remember giving my life to God, and allowing him to decide my fate.  They decided that it wasn't my time and I gradually began to breathe better.  I was rushed to intensive care soon after.

Abuse.  I don't want to talk about this, I don't.  But starting in my child, and continuing through today, I am being emotionally abused.  I have to say, however, that I love this person dearly, they are a wonderful caring person.  They also were emotionally abused, so this is in no way their fault, as they are just part of a cycle.  And I know that a lot of this is my fault.  I am a burden, I am a financial drain, I am a terrible person, and I can't fault them for wanting to express their frustration (if anyone is reading this please understand that both emotionally and intellectually I know this to be true, so please don't write anything about how "bad" this is.  I deserve all of this).

But I have learned to protect myself.  I try to maintain a happy attitude at all time, as a negative attitude is greated with anger.  I do not talk about my health issues, unless absolutely necessary, as that will lead to anger (if I need to go to the hosiptal, I know that anger will be the first reaction).  I DO NOT talk about my depression because "everyone is depressed, get over it."  I make sure I act male when I am around them, because gender non-conforming behavior leads to anger.  Many things lead to anger, so my best bet is to hide, and not draw attention to myself.

I will say again, I DESERVE THIS!  And the person holds no blame.  But it is killing me, and I wonder how long I can servive.  I hope not long.  God bless

Holding on, for now

My body is telling me to give up.  Every cell is screaming at me to stop, to allow the inevitable to happen.  As I was driving home from a doctors appointment a little while ago, my brain told me to give up, that we were done.  We had reached a point where it didn't matter if we lived or died.

A part of me still wants to give in to temptation.  My insulin pen seems to be telling me that it is time to rest, at last.  I just need to pick him up and inject the full contents into my belly.  I would slowly lose consciousness, and then I would be at peace.

The rational part of my brain, however, is winning, for now.  My dreams will not become actions, I will stop myself.  But at the same time, I am just so tired.  Tired of the pain.  Tired of the guilt.  Tired of life.  I saw my therapist today.  I have officially been diagnosed, by her, with Major Depresive Disorder (I think that is what she called it), PTSD (where do I even start with that mess), and we are on our way to a specific diagnosis of Gender Dysphoria (possibly next week).

I am naming my demons again.  Tonight they seem to have the upper hand,  we shall see what the outcome is.  I know that tonight is going to be rough, and I might need to write late on, just so I can have an outlet.  And I know the Keeper of my Heart will be there for me tonight, as he helps me with my burden.  It should be enough to get me to the end of this tunnel.  Time will tell.  God bless

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Thank you Sia

It's 12:47 and my brain won't shut off.  This happens from time to time.  This is actually better than waking up at 3 am and being unable to fall asleep.  I think too much, and that can be a problem.  I tend to obsess about things, often little, insignificant items, causing my brain to continue processing late into the night.  I seem to have the opposite problem right now, no obsession, I am just here.

There is one thought that is kicking around in my head right now, and that is my love of the pop singer Sia.  For some reason her music has away of attacting to my soul.  I think the first song I heard by her was Chandelier, and there was just something about the lifting refrain that grabbed hold of my brain and won't let go.  Her music has a way of casting a spell on me.

In a very real way, Sia has saved my life.  She is the first artist I turn to when I am in crisis.  In the deepest parts of the tunnel, Sia's music has been a lantern that has led me out.  Her music helps to calm my nerves and quiet my brain.  Even now, Chandelier is wisping its way through my mind, and with each passing flow, my muscles relax a bit more and a smile grows on my face.

On the days that I just want to end, I look for anything that will help to dispel the fog of pain.  I find it odd that during those times, when I see myself begging to die... I am scared.  I wonder if this is the rational part of my brain working towards self preservation.  Or is it just my fear of death itself, and I am not ready to shuffle off this mortal coil.

Will there be a day when the fear is gone?  I am not sure.  As I stated before, the reason that I started writing was to create an outlet for my pain, a place where I can confront the darkness, and try to stare it down.  It is helpful to remind myself that I do have weapons to fight with, and I just need to pull them out of my quiver when they are needed.  Sia is one of my arrows, and while I know she will never see this, I do want to thank her.  Thank you Sia, for saving my life.  God bless

Lady in red

I am watching television and a commercial comes on that features a woman in a beautiful red dress.  I begin to feel a pull in my stomach, and I realize how sad I have become.  I struggle to find the right word for what I am feeling, but one word seems to recur most often.  Longing.  A longing that is less about looking like this specific woman, but a longing for what I am not.  What I will never be.

Intellectually, I don't want to be a woman.  If I had my choice, I would be a cis male; it seems so much easier, there are less hassles, less to worry about, and life seems so much less complicated.  But emotionally, spiritually, menatally, I want to be a woman.  I am a woman.

I am trying to describe this feeling, and I can only think of one poor example.  Imagine that you are born left handed.  The second that you were born, however, your family, friends, society as a whole, identified you as right handed.  That is who you are.  That is how everyone sees you.  So you struggle through life, always feeling wrong, always feeling off.  But the realization hits you at some point, when you are a teen, or younger, or older (33 years for some of us), you are left handed!

I don't like using the word feeling, because it is not a good enough discripter.  It goes beyond just a feeling, it is an innate, defining characteristic of who I am.  When I say that I feel like a woman, or I am a woman, it is only because of the limitations of my knowledge of the English language.  I'm not even sure there is a word, because it is more of a defining understanding of who I am.  I AM left handed.  I AM female.

I think this is one of the reasons I did not feel like I had an identity throughout my life.  It is impssible to understand who you are if the basic framework of an identity is missing.  Trying to define myself without this framework caused any notion of who I was to collapse upon itself.  It is an interesting experience constricting something this late in life, when it was supposed to be formed in childhood.

My identity is forming, slowly.  I now have a basic understanding of who I am, and also what I am feeling.  This will be a long journey, and I thank you for walking a small portion of it with me.  God bless

Who I am

Today, I am she, and these are my best days.  When I am she, I feel comfortable, I feel relaxed, and, most important, I feel RIGHT.  When I am she, I know in my heart, this is who I am meant to be, how I am meant to feel.

Most of my time, I stay around the female spectrum, whether as a Demi-girl (which is in between neutral and female, feminine, but not fully she) or fully she.  When I am fully she, I see the world in a different light.  Colors are brighter, music sounds sweeter, love becomes deeper.  I should say that I am not exaggerating this, nor am I being hyperbolic, but I can see and feel a deeper connection with everything around me.  I will use music as an example.  I love music, I consider myself a singer, and listening to certain songs can become transcendent.  But when I am she, these same songs feel like they are reverberating in my soul, that the experience becomes more intense, more personal.

On days that I am not she, and especially when I am deep in a tunnel, I question this, and wonder if this is a sign of manic depression.  I fear my mental illness goes deeper than I am willing to admit.  But most days, however, I think that when I am she, my brain is able to clear, and, if it wasn't for my depression and fluidness, I would feel this way all the time.  I wonder if everything seems better and brighter because I am finally who I am meant to be?

This is a question I hope to answer in therapy, but, again, I fear there are no answers.  As I write this, I feel myself sliding down into Demi-girl, though the happiness remains.  There is still a touch of optimism, and I still feel right.

Feeling right.  This is all that Transgender people want.  To feel right.  To feel comfortable in their own skin.  To be the person that their brain is screaming they should be.  To be who they ARE.  To be who we are.  To be who I am.  And that is all I want.  I just want to be me.  God bless

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

A visit from Dysphoria

8:45 p.m.

Anxiety.

Anxiety Anxiety.

Feels like someone's nails are scratching at a chalkboard.

Mind is racing a mile a minute.  I can't think, but I can't stop thinking.

Trying hard not to itch, because I just want to scratch, and I know I won't stop.

Legs won't stop moving.

I want to run, but I can't, I want to hide but there is no where that I can.

Trying not to cry.

I am breathing, in and out, in and out.

Trying not to panic.

Don't want anyone to see me, but I don't want to be alone.

Trying really hard not to cry.

Starting to schratch, don't want to stop.

Calming down.

Legs still jumping.

Deep, controlled breaths

Legs no longer jumping.

9:42 p.m.

Relatively short

Update: I spoke to soon, it's coming back

Fighting the dragon

I was driving to church when it hit me.  I was about half way there, when I suddenly knew I couldn't be out in public.  My heart began to beat faster, and I started to need deeper breaths.  A molten cannon ball began to form in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to panic.  My skin felt... wrong, like I was wearing a costum that, even though I wanted to get out of it, I couldn't.  I wanted to scratch my own skin off.  The worst, though, was knowing that people would know.  The moment I stepped foot outside my car, people would stare, and realize that I was an imposter.  They would know that I was wrong, that I wasn't what I said I was.

This is how I experience social Dysphoria.  Dysphoria is a fun psychological disorder that those who are Transgender can experience.  It occurs when our internal self doesn't match what is presented to the world, and our brains cannot handle the stress and discomfort.  As in this instance, Dysphoria can occur when we are in social situations, and when presenting ourselves to the world.  For me, Social Dysphoria is normally not as bad as Physical Dysphoria, in that I have never wanted to cut my penis off when I am experienceing Social Dysphoria.

Whether I am experience social, or physical Dysphoria, I normally end up crying.  Today was a good day, I just panicked, I didn't cry.  For those who can, Transitioning to the opposite sex can help relieve some of these symptoms.  Because I am Fluid, I am not sure if I ever would want to Transition, as well, my health issues complicate things.  Because of this I have a reoccurring, and horrifying, question repairing in my mind.  Will I ever stop being Dysphoric?  Some of my depression issues come from my gender issues, and if I will never escape these feelings, can I survive?  Or will this continue to wear me down, until I do the inevitable?  Is happiness, true contentment, forever out of my reach?

I have no answers for these questions, nor am I sure if I will ever be able to find any.  It is a possibility that I will be battling this dragon for the rest of my life, and I wonder how long I can continue until I finally succumb to this beast.  Until that time, I shall continue to pick up my sword, and brace myself to the next oncoming fiery assault.  God bless

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Support in name only

I love my family, I truly do.  I know that they love me as well.  But there are certain barriers that separate us, and it seems that my sexuality and gender fall into this category.

When I first came out, like many, I was terrified.  I didn't know how they would react.  I was pretty sure that they would be excepting, that I was scared for nothing.  But I was still worried.  I was sure they would except me as gay, my Mom having asked me numerous times in the past, "are you sure you're not gay?", but the gender thing was a different story.  I have heard my family talk about Transgender people before, and their pereception never seemed to be a positive one.  So when I was ready to tell them who I was, I felt afraid.

Looking back on the experience, the thing that surprised me the most was the anger.  They seemed offended that I was afraid to tell them who I really was.  I tried to explain to them that coming out is not an easy thing to do, especially after spending 33 years in the closet.  They said they didn't care who I was and that they would love me regardless.  But there came an unspoken caveat.

Being gay was fine, but expressing myself as gay was not.  As well, because they didn't understand what being Genderfluid meant, it became taboo, and could not be discussed.  My coming out was quickly labeled "my pronouncement," and I was deemed inconsiderate for not thinking about other people's feelings and how my coming out could effect them.  We are now in a "don't as, don't tell", stalemate, and I feel like I am slowly dying on the inside.

I find myself "butching my self up", so as not to make anyone feel uncomfortable.  I try to lower the tone of my voice, to a more masculine level, and every time I do, a thousand more needles poke through my soul.  I love talking in my higher register, I think I sound right.  But I don't sound male, and that is what I need to be.  Male.  I am back in the closet, and not by choice.  I thought I had kicked the damn door down, but my family decided that the door needed to go back up.

What is worse are the little things.  Getting a weird look when I agree with my Mom that a guy looks cute.  Being misgendered by my brother, and not being able to correct him.  The worst one was when my boyfriend was coming into town.  We were gathered around the Sunday dinner table, and I casually asked my family if they would like to meet him.  They all hesitated, some said maybe, others didn't answer.  I was told, however, that my nephew would not be meeting him because, "they were not ready to tell him about us and that it was inappropriate."

I could be over reacting, that it was more because it was a long distant experience relationship.  But I wonder.  Intellectually they seem to want to support me, but emotionally they are not ready to offer this support.  So right now, my family supports me... in name only.  God bless

Monday, July 10, 2017

Thats me in the corner, that's me in the spot light

I am living a lie.  While I find it natural to lie to myself, I find myself lying to God.  I have had the honor to be a part of a religious community for the past five years.  I have felt that God has shown me this path, and on good days, I know that this path is right.  I am a Franciscan Friar.  I follow the teachings of Jesus Christ by the guidance of Brother Francis of Assisi.  I have dedicated my life to the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and follow the teachings of Brother Francis that God is love, and this love needs to be shared with the world.

I lie to myself that I can do this.  How can I spread the love of God if I don't feel worthy enough to accept it myself?  How do I bring joy to the world when I do not feel this joy?  There are days when I can truly feel this love and experience this joy, and on those days I am able to share these freely to the world.  On other days, I lie, and pretend I feel these things, though I am not worthy enough to receive them.  On an intellectual level, I know that the love of God is there and any good works that I do are in Their glory.  On bad days, I am a usurper only in pursuit of personal glory and self satisfaction.

I am also lying in another way.  In the mail today I received a wonderful gift from one of my Brothers, which included pamphlets promoting our order.  I was reading through it just now and one word jumped off the page and began to burrow into my brain.  Men.  "We are men..".  I am part of a Fraternity of Brothers who have dedicated themselves to God.  But I am not a man.  Emotionally, spiritually, mentally, I am not male.  I spent my life trying, because I thought that I could only be male.  When I discovered that I wasn't, I realized that being apart of a Brotherhood was a fallacy, because I couldn't be male, no matter how hard I tried.

The Order has been amazing, and in a very real way, lifesaving.  They have been supportive, understanding, and so loving.  I even met the keeper of my heart through the order.  But I keep coming back to the fact that I am lying to belong, "we are men...".  But I am not a man.  I am forcing them to lie about this as well.

I keep coming back to the fact that God has shown me this path and asked me to journey down it, and it would be arrogant of me to ignore Their desire.  But this is is in conflict with the idea that God would like me to die.  A war wages inside my mind, each side holding firm.  I stand in the middle, wondering if I am losing my religion, and wondering which side will ultimately win.  I have prayed that one day, this would be resolved and I would finally be able to express God's love to the world, free of any trace of dishonestly.  But that was just a dream.  God bless

The keeper of my heart

My heart belongs to another.  It came as a surprise when he accepted it.  I always figured my heart was too damaged, too broken, too dark, for anyone to want it.  I have wished I could find someone who was kind, understanding, and loving, but I always doubted that it was possible.  I am not a good person.  I am selfish and I only think of myself.  Love was out of reach for me. When I look in the mirror, what I see disgusts me.  My outside is as ugly as my inside.  And thinking that someone could love such a deformed creature seemed like a ridicules idea.  So when I realized that someone had the same feelings that I did, I was in shock.

We never meant for it to happen, and it came gradually.  We were friends for a while, and I slowly realized that my heart was no longer my own.  When I found out he had the same feelings, I was floored.  I couldn't understand why.  Why would someone be interested in me?  How could he see through all this crap which surrounds me?  What could he see within the darkness?  To be honest, I still feel this confusion.

But what is real and what is not?  Are my feelings valid, or are they a symptom of my depression?  Part of the reason i am writing this, my non-existent reader, is to help me figure this out.  Intellectually, I know that I have no self-esteem, and that my depression causes much of these thoughts.  Emotionally, however, I truly feel and see the blackness of my soul, with the only light coming through the thousand tiny holes.

He is the reason that I am trying to hang on.  I feel that the only reason I haven't done anything is because I don't want him to feel any pain.  And I know how selfish this is.  I am hanging my life around his neck in such an unfair way, forcing him to not only carry part of my burden, but also support me whenever I may need to be supported.  I am a terrible person for putting him through this, and while I am aware of this, I cannot help myself.  I am too weak to do this on my own, so I force others to accompany me on this journey.  I use the excuse that I love him, but is this love?  Is forcing my mental illness on another made better because I say that he has my heart?  Would it be better if I were alone?

Which pain is worse, the pain I am inflicting currently, or the pain that might come with my absence?  This question seems to be percolating in my brain more and more.  I love him with all of my heart and soul, but is my love toxic?  I just don't know.  But until I figure this out, I will still love him.  And  he will continue to be the keeper of my heart.  God bless

A thousand needles

Scrolling on my wall on Facebook is often a depressing proposition.  It seems like the bad news stories and articles are shared more often than positive ones.  I have made it a personal rule to only post positive articles or humorous items.  Memes that feature puns happens to be a personal favorite.  But it seems that there are more negative stories, especially surrounding LGBT issues.

Today there was yet another article featuring a doctor explaining how damaging the Transgender "lifestyle" is, especially to youth.  And yet again, those who are Trangender are "delusional" and in need of serious counseling.  It's an interesting feeling to read that you have a diseased mind.  Or that you are an abomination.

An abomination.  Once you have become an abomination, rights no longer apply to you.  Discrimination becomes the proper course of action.  Your life becomes forfeit.  Because I am gay, because I am non-binary, there are people who would not hesitate to take my life.

While the statistics terrify me, there is still little chance for me to experience this kind of vitriol.  I am more likely to face small forms of hate and discrimination.  Smaller forms that poke tiny holes into your soul, which can be far more deadly.  Even the simplest actions could have a profound impact on how people treated me, and how I was viewed.  This point was most evident the first few times my boyfriend and I were together in public.  I never realized how complicated simple acts can be when in a same sex relationship.  Showing any form of affection in public carried certain risks, and even the act of holding hands became a multiple decision process.  Is this an area where this would not offend people?  If it would, what is the chance of violence being used, or a verbal assault?  If we are harassed, or assaulted, were there safe places to get to?  Was it even worth holding hands?

These are questions that people like me ask themselves every day.  Even the act of coming out carries specfic risks that need to be considered.  When I first came out, I was lucky.  I had a large number of friends who were very supportive. They helped me discover who I was, and encouraged me to be my self.  One of my biggest fears was, less about rejection, and more simply a change in relationships.  When the inevitable changes happened, I wasn't fully prepared to deal with them.  A thousand needles began to pierce my soul.  Most often, people would tell me that they would support me and, while I am sure they tried, could not fully follow through.  There was a difference, I discovered, between intellectual support and emotional understanding.  I was soon back in the closet, not by choice, but to maintain relationships and not rock the boat.  A thousand more needles piercing my soul.

I am questioning whether these relationships are worth my soul.  Do I die to myself, or do I die to those I love?  Or will it be both.  By dying to those I love, will that push me further into the dark tunnel?  Can my soul survive either outcome?  Until I answer these questions, a thousand needles will continue to be my companions.  God bless

Sunday, July 9, 2017

The train is a-comin

Living with depression is like walking inside of a tunnel.  Every time you think you see the light at the end, it turns out to be another train coming at you.  Happiness becomes a burden, because you know it's fleeting, it is only a reprieve to the inevitable darkness.

And that's how I see it, darkness.  I have spent my life feeling trapped in a shell, unable to break free.  But I fear that once the shell breaks, there will be nothing underneath.  A large part of my depression focuses on this lack of substance, truly a lack of an identity.  My entire life I have never felt like there was a me, that I lacked the basic structure that makes me whole.  Even worse, I felt wrong in my own skin, that the me on the outside did not match the me on the inside.  Because of this, I have hated myself, I truly loathed me.  I couldn't look at myself in the mirror for longer than ten seconds, I would feel a mixture of both shame and disgust.  

I am getting better about this, because I had a realization in January.  I should qualify this statement, however, by saying it was less of a realization and more of an admittance.  My lack of an identity came from trying to co-opt a gender that wasn't mine.  I was born male, and that is my sex, but that is not my gender.  I spent my life trying to be male, and I kept failing.  In January I came across the descriptor Genderfluid, where a persons gender flows between male and female, and everything in between, and that, I felt, described me perfectly.  The stories I read, the testimonials I heard, matched my experience and I realized that I wasn't cis.

Because of this, I was also able to admit that I wasn't straight, either.  I was able to finally explore this side of myself, and admit the truth.  I like men.  But of course this made things more complicated.  The terms I use within my own mind is pansexual and androromantic, which means I can find any gender attractive, but I prefer men.  To the world, I say I am gay.  But that doesn't describe me well.  When I am female, am I straight?  When I am male, am I gay?  When I am neutral, what the hell am I?  

With time, and these questions racing around my brain, also came additional questions about my gender, and I began to doubt myself.  What if I am not Genderfluid, but fully Transgender?  And this question keeps coming... and coming.... and coming.  It won't get out of my head.  I can only see two options, and they are both terrifying.  If I am truly a Genderfluid, I will feel this way, the doubts, the fear, the unknown, for the rest of my life.  If I am truly Transgender, I am not sure if I can transition, and if I can, I am not sure if I would.  In other words, can I ever be truly happy?

I know I can't answer these questions quickly, but it is torturous to have those thoughts constantly bouncing around in my head.  I know I need to take each day one at a time, and I just need to remind myself that I am on the journey to answer these questions.  Purhaps the next light I see will truly be the end of the tunnel.  God bless

Saturday, July 8, 2017

The beginning

I am not sure what to say.  I don't have any amazing thoughts, nor do I have any skills that would translate into what I am writing.   Hell, I don't even expect anyone to read this.  I am writing this for a purely selfish reason.  I am trying to live.

For what seems to be my entire life, I have been fighting depression and, as of late, depression seems to be winning.  The past six months have been difficult, and there are times that I have been low.  Low to the point where death seems to be a preferable outcome.  Death and I have had numerous conversations recently, enticing me into their embrace.  For me Death is not a hooded specter, beckoning me with a skeletal finger.  Instead, a mirror image argues with me, telling me that I would be better off, I would cause less pain, that the world would be a better place.  I am finding my arguments convincing.

But I try to persevere, not for my self, but for those that I love.  I remember the friends who have helped me.  I remember that my heart no longer belongs to me.  I tell myself that there would be countless people who would hurt if I was no longer on this plane... yet I don't believe it.  In my mind, I know the intellectual arguments, but I cannot feel them in my soul.  Intellectually, I know that my death would be devistating on people.  But emotionally, I know that those same people would be better off.  My death would bring sadness, yes, but relief as well.  I would no longer be a burden to the ones I love.  I would no longer cause people pain.  In my darker hours, I even feel that God is telling me I should die, and that I am selfish in not complying.

As I write this, I am not planning any action.  While I am not currently courting my friend Death, I do long for their arms to wrap around me and carry me onward.  I call myself a coward because of this, sure that if I had the strength I would dive head first into Deaths awaiting bosom.

Again, I am not sure what to say, nor if these words will be read.  Part of me feels that this is a cathartic exercise, to ensure that Death and I stay apart for as long as we can.  Another part of me wonders if this is, in effect, my last Will and Testament.

But a secondary reason occurs to me as I write.  In some religious circles demons lose power once the demons name is known, giving one power over it.  So I will name my demon.  Suicide.  I will battle this demon for as long as I can.  I am not sure who will win this fight, and there will be times when I am not sure who I will want to win.  But I will continue to fight until one of us is the victor.  God bless

Just need to talk

I have been holding my insulin pen for the past few minutes.  I was ready.  I just needed to jab it into my belly and empty the full contain...