I'm going to post this entry from livejournal, which was not from very long ago. It was private, for my eyes only, but it was shortly before I figured out the whole... trans thing. I have a few of these in my journal, sitting and gathering dust. I don't know what to do with them aside from air them out. Dirty laundry. Hehehe.
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depression is a pretty good way of describing it
i spend all my life hiding in fantasy because i don't have the coping mechanism to deal with confrontation
it started with that cuntbitchwhore that ruined my life and it just has never ended.
i've never felt as miserable or betrayed as I did then, because she told me I was bad and wrong and that everything that had been secret had been told. I think everyone knew anyway, but no one had talked about it.
that feeling of hot and cold all over, prickling skin, sinking feeling, echoing hearing, blacking vision
she hadn't spoken to me for three months
it was like an emotional evisceration.
I was already sick and weak. She was like the lioness performing a coupdegrace to an ailing gazelle.
now
feeling is a luxury for those who aren't bleeding
i have to bandage it cover it up hold it closed hold it tight because if i let the feelings in or out its like releasing a stomach wound and my entrails spill out over the ground
its everything now. I keep myself in a shell of safety, buried under swabs of cotton that keep my me from bleeding through. When the red seeps through i add more cotton wrap it tighter
when anyone says anything about anything beneath the cotton i get the same pricking skin echoing sinking blacking out and i'll do anything to make them go away and stop
the cotton is stuff fantasy clutter
my friends are outside the cotton i don't want to bleed on them
the cotton is gone for right now so im getting this out. i have such a rotten hateful core, a terrified child inside, who doesn't know the least bit about how to exist as a human being of the age that i am
i spend these moments boomeranging between a lust for revenge and infinite sadness and furious misplaced anger
how do real people deal with this? i can't be the only one that keeps so much inside. at least when I snap it's wallowing in self-pity and endless crying. I hate everything and myself and I want to curl up and die.
And you know what? FUCK THIS. FUCK EVERYTHING. All this crushing despair and bullshit is because someone came into my room and suggested I clean it. They even brought me clean sheets. That's a fucking nice gesture. Why can't I be grateful for it? What the FUCK is wrong with me?
It's because I already know my room should be clean. Because I spend all day every day hating myself because my room is a mess and wrapping on more cotton and more gauze. So someone comes in and says "I got you this and could you maybe clean" and its suggesting that they hate me too because I can't achieve a simple task like cleaning my fucking room or buying sheets for myself
AND
It's because my stupid stepmother wants me out of here. I've bathed this room in a layer of FILTH as a protective gesture to keep her the FUCK out because I want her out of my life. She wants my room so she can use it as a sewing room. Like the room she took from me before, which is still not a sewing room.
I spend my life holed up in my room except sometimes emerging for food or human interaction and the rest of the time I stay hidden so that I'm not bothering anyone.
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