I've been very socially anxious lately for a score of reasons. I mean, I've been socially anxious before, that's not new, but its been pretty bad lately.

I really do not feel comfortable around people. There are only a few people that I can be around and feel okay. But walking around campus, I feel terrible. I hate looking other kids my age in the eyes. I feel inferior to them. In classes, I feel like I'm always saying the stupid thing, the wrong answer, or that I'm talking too much. I don't know how to interact with people.

I may be going to the hospital on Thursday. I'll try to update you all but don't know that I'll have a chance to do so between the time of me finding out and then the time I go to get admitted and such.

Yucky.

Scary as hell.

its weird maybe but right at this very moment i wish i had different bottom parts in me. right now i really want to have one.

I wake up itchy from the fleece blanket lying on top of me. I remove it to see my legs emerging from too-short shorts. And I try and raise my head but I cannot do so at first. I remember what happened last night and my head is still recovering.

I'm going to write my thoughts in short sentences as I remember them instead of trying to filter them down and think them through to slow down my brain to write them down...otherwise the thoughts will change if I butcher the way they come to me in order to make it look prettier on a computer screen.

So, anyway, here goes:
-I've been having very strong urges to engage in risky sex with a guy.
-I was up to 45 days clean but then I broke it yesterday afternoon.
-I have one week til I next see my therapist.
-I need to talk to her about what my options are.

So Sunday night was the queer event I mentioned. I decided that I would go. It was so fucking amazing.

At the moment I will do a shorter review of it, but maybe a longer review will be coming, if interest is shown by others.

It was a big group of self-identifying queers/self-identifying punks there. So amazing.

So...trans stuff...

This morning I'm wearing a tank top and t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts from my old school. Somehow, the tank top and t-shirt actually do a pretty good job of concealing my chest. Which is strange because I just put the shirt on without trying to bind or conceal my chest. Anyway, from the side, I'm pretty sure I'm relatively close to being flat! Yay :).

The shorts, which are two sizes too big, are so comfortable...they're black mesh shorts and go down to my knees (and I wear them right at the waist).

I think I forgot to make a journal about this, but maybe that's just because I'm blocking it out--or trying to, anyway. My dog died.

Trigger alert: eating disorders

So I wanted to write a journal entry so here goes.

i havent heard from zev in a really long time. does anyone know where he is/has been and/or if he's ok?

The title of this journal entry is the name of a song from the Broadway musical RENT.

im still alive. dont know if anyone was wondering or cared, but yes. im alive.

ohhh shiz mes been p all days and worriyng bout dat latest det thats always in dem news. dem dam news. gotta fuckin shake the maraka ladies and jents. gotta clue on how 2 do? ea me to. like a panda boar andd a tube of toothpasete. gin rummy was always always alyways da ANSWER. fauck yeah. sww vVWWWA VW FOIN1 RIP S tip da botll like a drubnk.
me nose entwer aa/na yet ya fools. this shitssssssssssszzz tastin to damn fuckdaring esome. keepin kleeeen aint ze pount a live cuz dats so fucarking borenggggg mainnnnn. so y not we call it a gohead and take diz shitz togever.
see wat morow brings.

I don't need help--nor therapy, no meds. Its all a load of shit. I don't need any of it. I am not fucking depressed.
I wish people would step the fuck away from me. I don't need to see any more social workers, no more psychologists, no more psychiatrists. I don't need help. I don't need people asking me how I'm doing and if I'm safe every five seconds.

I still don't get why I need therapy. I'm the opposite of needing help...I am good. I'm fine. I'll make do. But I donn't want to have therapy or meds or help--paying for things I don't need. Gotta save up my money.

I'm blazinnnnnn and this here horses kickin beanth me is tellin me to
turn around. Camles drinking rum pretty fucking runny and. Hoarse and
you become pretty attached to the walls. U don believe me? Take a
lookc for yousself and inspect deez blueeeeeeeGreennnnnn was with
mangos coming outta dem. Have u never seen mangos and manga mixed up?
They both have the same first three letters as maniaaaaaaa and just
pops right out there infronta ya the big scary Bozeman bossman with
his brown suit nd orange green briefcase. Yes airs a case foe yer