I’m on my second night of consecutive not-sleeping. I wish I could say this was rare, but those who know me know this all too well. On the bright side, it is less and less common. Therapy gold star.
Lin sings to me and I see the face of my Northern Love, shining down on me like the moon did this evening. I miss that woman so fucking much. I have been spoiled with freely loving both genders, and now I need that lady. She gives me so much, all the more considering what resources are available to her. Her family embraces me with little to no knowledge of my Self. It’s beautiful how people can come together in a time where the world seems so divided.
I’m dizzy. That’s because I’m sleep deprived. I’ve been eating by the timer Liz sets, so I’m not too hungry to promote dizziness.
The System swings at full force. I am finally less sick than I’ve been for weeks and I want to do so much. I have so much to do. The OKSis is a mental blessing beyond words, but a physical burden on my nose and lungs. She slips her paw under the door and cries kitten mews like Prim’s Buttercup. I tell her that if Amanda can sleep without me, so can she. I haven’t been able to catch my breath yet this year.
I can see, with Jim’s death being thirteen years ago last month, the amount of growth I’ve made since I tried to kill myself and got stuck inpatient. In short, I fucking rock this shit. Check it. Until I pace myself, I see nothing in terms of growth. I am so behind from where I wanted to be. I’m thirty (gasp) and while my breasts didn’t slinky to my waist as the media had me expecting, but I have none of my life together. Charlie makes things look managed by comparison.
This is not a plea for compliments, but rather a grounded perspective of reality. If nothing, I hope to be a romantic realist in the way I am one and many. I have some decks stacked in my advantage, for sure. Despite my advantages, I also face my share of uphill battles. The euphemisms fall short when I try to list my ratio of pros and cons.
I am not normal. That’s a goddamn gospel fact. I’m not awful, not bad, and in fact, may be a good person. It’s quite likely, in fact. I have my failings and my dreamy skills to balance. A Libra deems me long-term-commitment worthy. And he’ll be around to keep an eye on those scales.
Tonight a woman, a teacher, a Master, a wife, a survivor, a fucking powerhouse Lady called me to feel a sense of safety.
I’m also tired.
I wrote mean things. On the Internet, where my ex can easily find and read said mean things. Mean things. I’m not nice. I’m not sorry. lol But still, goddamn. I’m not bad, but I may be close. Maybe not good after all. It’s murky in that gray area, isn’t it? The lights lead me astray and I fall into the swamps as Frodo. Gollum has melded into Smeagol, leaving no one to pull me out of the death puddle. I’m gonna drown in three inches of muddy Mississippi.
My boy held my bare legs to his chest tonight while we watched The Magical Mystery Tour. His fingertips brush against me like it’s typical to have me in his house. It will be soon. Sooner than planned.
Changing my legal status does not mean I am sacrificing who and what I am. Jared loves me for who and what I am, and would not ask me to change that.
This summer when I go to California and introduce my mother to my boy, do I reach out to Steph? I tried to call Aubrey on her birthday and was shut down, informed that my unsealed letter to my niece was not given to her. I haven’t done a thing since. I mean, I’ve cried when she updates her profile picture to her and her other maid of honor and noted the all-caps words of “best friend” in the picture caption. But I haven’t tried to talk to her.
In some situations, I’m as non-confrontational as my ex. Ugh. Another layer of gross shame to my actions.
No wonder I can’t sleep.
Hamilton wrote with purpose. He giving lessons and defense for foundations of the lives we all take for granted now. I write stream of consciousness whining while being too checked out to edit in the moment. I don’t have any right to relate.
Right when I want to lash out at age players overall, I see my friend shine through the fear I cover her with. She is strong and does what she does because she has control and can play within the rules. I was violated, deeply, at an insanely young age. Before I had gender stable in my mind I knew my dad would fuck me and blame me. I cannot separate myself from the rush of playing with a taboo when it comes to this kink. My lack of understanding does not make me bad. It makes me traumatized.
It makes me separate. Disabled. Not normal. Outside of the typical experience.
Why can’t I accept my separation?
I know I’m not worthless. I don’t need to die or even be banished to some blank room on the coast.
Just as deeply, maybe more so, I know I can’t do what Jared does. I can’t do what Niki does. I can’t do what Amanda or Matt or basically anyone I admire does. If I can wake during sunlit hours, go outside, and eat twice in one day, it’s a freaking success.
Where does that leave me?
Awake at 3:23am, apparently. Writing to no one on a blog.