I know you don't want to hear me whine, but I figured I'd write all this stuff down anyway to get it off my chest. If only I could get other things off my chest by just posting on Oasis....
anyway, I'm alerting those of you now who might not know me yet or those who do but only want to see me through the easy days, this may be a hard journal for you to read.
I don't know who the 'you' in this journal is because lately, the ones that I usually would turn to, I can't. I'm nearly 10 hours away from home so I can't just walk around and know where I am. Sometimes I think I've met someone that I love but in truth its the jealousy eating away at me. Probably one of my biggest vices, I must say, is that of jealousy. Outside of my cyberworld here on Oasis, when I first meet a new girl, I mistake my complete admiration for her to be lust or love. But it isn't. As many "That's what she said" jokes I may make, I'm one of the least sexual people possible. I tend to obsess but after a small bit of time passes, I find its just that I find that girl to be amazing, an object of attraction in that I can't be that girl. I'll never be the girl to be envied for the long hair that I know what to do with it.
More often than not, I throw mousse into my hair and hope it lays frizz-less enough on my head. I never wear make-up. I bite my nails. I like to hide my breasts. I bury myself under comforter covers during THAT time of the month.
I'm not just the girl next door. I question my gender nine times out of ten. I am overly-sensitive. I'm short. I'm athletic, to a certain extent, but not someone you'd pick first in gym class or anything. I have acne.
In short, I'm a rebel of the typical, normal person. I defy every possible expectation I can. I thrive on doing the impossible. Mission: accomplished.
This last week has been rough. I've been so angry, so very angry. And depressed. I can blame it on the fact that I just got out of my period. I could blame it on the fact that winter break is almost over. But none of that is true. I don't even know what prompted this depression. But its been bad.
One of my huge obsessive compulsive disorder symptoms is that of confessions. I haven't actually confessed much lately. Surprising, I know.
My Mom's birthday is coming up and I haven't gotten her anything. She already chastised me for not returning the favor and getting her a holiday present. Seriously, I mean Come on! Gosh.
My dysphoria has been awful. I've been binding. I painted my nails bright hot pink to try and make my real feelings hide away. But now I look at my nails and I can't remember what I was thinking to make me do that. People text me, calling me Eli. Why do I feel like a liar when they call me that? I'm buying a binder. I think off and on, often, about getting surgery. I would get the keyhole surgery, I know that much. I'm rather small-chested so the incisions wouldn't be too big.
I wish I could wear a v-neck shirt without wearing my stupid chest. I wish I had bigger feet. And a lower voice. And that this hoarse, raspy voice that threatens a common cold coming on would be here with me constantly.
I find that the friends I have, I have a therapy sort of relationship with them, one where we don't hang out much, but I run toward them when I'm depressed only to have them say "There, there, I'm here for you." When the depression flees, so do they. I want a knight in shining armor. And that ruins any possible relationship I could ever have.
I don't talk to my ex-boyfriend because he creeps me out. My ex-girlfriend I find rather frustrating when she randomly gets high off smoking weed or gets drunk. Or that once at 1 am when she texted me back "I'm currently being occupied. By my boyfriend."
I'm so depressed and I know when I go back to therapy they're going to just blame it on the fact that so much is changing and that I'm changing therapy regiments. Which is not the source of my depression. I've been thinking a lot lately. I've been really sad.
I talk to my parents in a monotone, not because I hate them. But because I hate how everyone thinks they've gotten me figured out so d(a)mn well. Yesterday and today my Dad came to talk to me about my Mom's surprise birthday dinner, but it was right after he showered. He was only wearing a towel on his bottom half. And it made me feel so awful. And scared. And paranoid.
I haven't shaved my legs in a few months. And while I'm proud, I am, in fact a dude, so it shouldn't matter...I can't help but thinking I'm sick because I present as female. I'm constantly having paranoid thoughts (is that what these are), that, among other ones, that I'll break my leg or something and when I go in to the hospital to get it casted, they'll see my lack of a nice, shaved, womanly leg and freak out. Part of me wants to shave it all off, but I know I'll be mad if I do that, because it takes months to grow it back to how it is now.
Am I a freak for being this person? Sometimes, I'm unsure what I'd say if I met someone like me. If my exact persona was assumed on someone else's part, would I avoid them like I do seafood or would I take them on as someone to fix?
I don't know. But until then, I'm just me.
That's all I can be. And I'm not going to apologize for that. I am, however, going to apologize for this ranty journal. I know its not always welcome.
Yesterday, my friend texted me with some other labels because thats so often one of the things that gets me down. She called me "masculine gender bender" and "gender rebel." I think these fit. I'm not sure, though. But, until then, I'm just me. I'm Eli. And I'm sure I'm male.
By the way, the other day, I had this whole dream of me getting a male bottom half, I'm not going to bother trying to write out the word and hope to figure out how to skirt around the spam filter.
I've felt so incredibly male. And I know I'm being rather repetitive, but because its still pretty new, I feel the need to just declare it out loud. Right now, I'm proud of being Eli. I'm trans, and I love me. This is weird, especially in this past week of my depression, my anger, and my sadness.
More to come...I wanted to write, later, about my medicine and the generic brand and blahblahblah.
Anyway, sorry for not knowing how to end these in a semi-normal, understandable, and comprehensible (I can't remember the word I'm actually looking for) way.
'Til later, Oasis.
Props to those who made it through reading this. I'm surprised. And quite impressed. And you're my new best friend.