Semester No. 5

My semester begins tomorrow. I’m very anxious. My body has been tense all day…all week, really. I’m not anxious about my classes – I’ve re-evaluated them thrice now and I’ve taken my health and spoons into account so I’m only doing one in-person class (US Government), and two online classes (English 5, and Cultural Geography) in addition to my Student Government & Laney Queers organizing and my independent study (which is essentially writing down what I learn in the student senate).

I’m anxious because this is the first week of school and on Wednesday I get snake cameras and sedation instead of doing fun Welcome Week activities, on Tuesday I meet with my department chair and have my first class while on a liquid-only-diet and then get to drink the colon cleanse “juice”.

I think I’m more irritated that my first week as a senator is going to be interrupted by being sick and there’s nothing I can do about it than anything else. I’m realizing a lot of my life is going to continue to be interrupted by being sick and there’s nothing I can do about it and it’s really just…. quietly devastating.

That knowledge hangs on me like a heavy jacket twice my size. It’s with me every moment of the day. It envelops me when I struggle to put together a meal because I can’t get out of this fatigue and brain fog regardless of how long I close my eyes. I’m quietly haunted by my own ghost that I can’t figure out how to release.

I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next semester. I don’t know if my body will hold together or if I’ll have to drop out. Everything feels so precarious and I’m so so exhausted.

So tonight I managed to make myself some Gluten-Free low-ish-fodmap peanut butter energy bites so I can at least have something to munch on during the days I can eat solid food. Doing post colonoscopy Kieryn a solid.

ha.

misc

My kitchen cabinets that store dishes and food are organized and nice now.
We came back home from the park and I was like, wow, it’s so clean. It’s a nice feeling. We’ll see if I can’t stay on top of it.
Eventually I should reach the top of the fridge, but that involves a chair (as do all the high shelves) so maybe I’ll wait for my bruise to heal from when I used the chair and then failed the dismount, first. 😛 You know, so I can do it again.

I’ve been playing minecraft so much it’s invading my dreams. Seriously. EVERYTHING IS MADE OUT OF BLOCKS, and I keep finding coal (which I’m cool with because XP, woot, but dream XP doesn’t transfer dammit).
Minecraft is super fun, but also, upon reaching the 4th hour straight I start to seriously reconsider my life (as I make an inventory full of pickaxes and get back to mining) and like, why am I even? So I will probably attempt to resist the urge to mine tonight to give my brain and dreamspace a break from….mining and crafting.

I drew again yesterday and today for inktober, and fought the urge to burn them right after posting. My lines are shitty and my drawing is crap right now. It feels broken, but meh. I drew my coworkers as superheroes which was fun. This is what I get for taking a break and not drawing for a couple days, apparently. My hands just forget how pens work…which isn’t depressing at all….or anything.

Apparently “taking a break” = Kiery posts random boring shit on hen’s blog everyday.

I wrote about my recent weight gain on my fitblr, and I’ve been confused as to how I feel about it. Mostly because I feel several conflicting things at once and things I expect to feel but don’t, necessarily. On one hand, I feel heavy (because weight) and that makes me uncomfortable. On the other hand, when I look at my body, I see a human, instead of whatever I saw or didn’t see before. On another hand (lets pretend I’m like an octopi or something) when I look in the mirror I see a human body but I don’t necessarily recognize it as my own, just like, oh, there’s a person in the mirror. On yet another hand, I actually almost sort of feel comfortable like I’m at where I should be….right before I get bombarded by my mom’s voice and criticism about how she was so much thinner and tinier than me at my age and all the ages, and how she was a size 6 but should be smaller and and and….
But then earlier today, as I was trying to figure out how exactly I felt about my body and whether I felt good or bad about it today, I thought maybe it’s not either, maybe my body just is today, and it’s whatever it is. I don’t have to judge all the things all the time.
Sometimes I feel like if I’m not constantly at war with myself it means something’s wrong or makes my identity somehow less valid, which, now that I’ve written it out, seems kind of absurd. I think judging whether I, or bits of me (my body) are good or bad and having to almost decide that, stems from old fundamentalist mentality where the answer is almost always “bad”. But I don’t think everything is inherently anything, it just is, so why can’t I extend that to my body?
And, importantly: how I feel about my body (and myself in it) on any given day doesn’t change my gender identity, validity, or who I am.
Jerk brain, for some reason, doesn’t find that obvious unless I write it in a sentence. As if trying to feel better about my body + me is somehow a bad thing. Sometimes my brain is a real asshole.

Apparently the autumn is at peak so we went to one of the state parks and walked around and I stepped on all the crunchy leaves.

 

Spirals

Sometimes, weird – minor, normal, human things happen and they send me into a spiral.
Sunday we tried to un-wax my ears and I’m on day two of stuffy sinus pressure and weird wax extraction cycles that involve a lot of uncomfortableness. According to my primary care doctor, I have the tiniest ear canals they’ve ever seen on an adult, which means my ears get clogged pretty easily, and it builds up and I eventually stop being able to hear as awesome and it’s annoying and getting it out involves pouring one kind or another of liquid in my ear and trying to flush it out and it just sucks.
I remember everything about me is tiny, and I remember that’s a problem. I remember that causes pain, and anxiety, and nothing good. Being cute doesn’t really actually make up for it.
It quickly descends into hating everything about myself, hating everything about having a body because I quickly remember just how foreign my body tends to feel to me.
I feel like people talk about being at one with their body – like they are their body and their body is them and I don’t understand that feeling. I feel like I’m an identity trapped in a fleshy cage that fits awkwardly and mostly gets in the way. I feel like, I don’t and wouldn’t fit in any body, regardless of gender assignment because I don’t feel like I am a gender, and maybe that’s what the problem is. And maybe that’s why little things not working and being painful remind me of it and remind me of how disconnected I feel because I am very strongly not my body, and it’s awkward.
Because when people try to tell me my body isn’t out to get me, or that my body isn’t it’s own entity, I don’t understand, because that’s all I feel, that’s the only relationship I’ve ever had with it. Sentience trapped in a cage, a cage that tends to actively limit my ability to live unrestricted than not.
It’s frustrating, because when people see me they see my body, I’m treated like people with my assigned-female body are treated, I have to work harder and prove myself more because my body is assigned female, I choose not to go places I would otherwise love to because I know how I’ll be treated because of my body.
I can’t just exist in a genderless state, even though that’s where I’m me.
I can usually keep that from getting to me too much by mostly ignoring it and, in my mind, making assigned gender as little of an issue as I possibly can by trying to not focus on it too much (but that’s hard because there are a lot of things, a lot of bad things, that affect or can affect me directly because of my body and I can’t escape that, and I deal with being a disappointment to people because I don’t respond the way someone with my assigned gender and upbringing “should”). I generally try not to bring it up too much in my work, though, I guess it’s not really something that needs to be brought up – like the one most-unhelpful judge in NCFCA when I was 13 said “my voice is too girly”.
Usually I get by okay. I hit F on the boxes because that’s what people have decided to call this body and it doesn’t get to me too much. I do what I can to feel as good about myself/this body as I can, and sometimes the gap between me and my body is less vast and abyss-like than other times, but it feels more like I’m just at terms with my identity not hinging on my anatomy and both of them existing on relatively different planes except for when they crossover and then it sucks (but birth control and antidepressants have fixed a lot of that).
Until, suddenly, I’m reminded that I am physically human, that I do live in a body and not separately from it, and my ears getting clogged will make me grumpy and there is not currently an exchange program to make it better. When I’m really low, when things like this happen, all I can remember is how having this body makes it harder for me to do what I want to do, and even the perks have disadvantages, and even if there were an easy body-swap-shop, swapping wouldn’t fix the problem – I would feel just as trapped if I had to be a man. I’m sure there’s something good about having a body…
hard pressed for determining what though. Pizza?