I can feel the wheels of my subconscious working instensly. Sleep is fraught with anxiety, past selves, and doubts. There’s something bothering me on a level I can’t acknowledge or communicate.
I feel like a failure as I wait, unknowing but feeling intensity.
I try to distract, but everything feels pointless. There is stress and a scream trapped inside, voiceless while I wait numbly to give it words.
I feel I am separate selves. Subconscious and Conscious, waiting on each other and trying to be okay.
(P.S.: I’m okay. A little down, because it’s been a long week of mehhhhhhhh, but sometimes I need to write out all the weird feelings to start feeling better)
Sometimes I learn slower than I’d like. I get frustrated because PHP isn’t intuitive and I can watch a segment and then I have to take a break and let what I learned sit there for a couple days before going back for more. On the upside, I am actually grasping it this time, but I wish I knew all the things now so I could make stuff already.
But I guess no one really learns a language in a day, and I am making progress, so that’s good.
Unrelated to PHP Basics though, I am exhausted and heavy hearted. Part of me doesn’t know why, and part of me is aware that I’m just sensing the weight of the world. I’m doing the best I can to make a small piece of it better though, and I just have to keep plugging away. I can’t focus on everything, and that’s okay.
What does it mean to belong?
I’m a part of many groups but always try not to feel attached, in case something goes wrong and they don’t want me anymore (thanks, parents).
Being actively involved in belonging scares me because it feels like a huge commitment I don’t know if I want to make.
Which is weird, right? because I’m married and that’s bigger than a group, course, or meeting.
But maybe it’s because I’m not insecure in Alex and I belonging, like I am with bigger groups.
So maybe belonging has more to do with security, and it takes a while?
2014 has been intense shit.
I’m alone for a little while, and realizing how small I am.
There’s only so much I can do.
Before the need to attend to my psyche over powers my ability to be useful to the world.
And that’s okay. I’m trying to accept that.
I don’t have to be on all the time.
I can’t be on all the time.
But it doesn’t stop the world from feeling like it’s crumbling before me.
And I’m powerless to stop it.
So I try to make things that people who are stronger than I
can come to for a respite, a break, a moment of calm before facing the storm again.
That’s what I do right now, or try to anyway.
But tell me why the world is fucked
and if I can do something to fix it.
I’ll join the fight outside
leave the support station behind
and raise my sword by your side.
Tell me that the world is fucked
and that you need a break
I’ll give you a hug
and some chocolate in a mug
and let you rest and wait.
I should do so many things.
I should write more about sexism and gaming.
I should make that ruby app I’ve been planning.
I should reboot KieryGeek.
I should be better at marketing my patreons.
I should be brave and find my voice and use it.
I should be more friendly.
I should not feel bad about not doing all of those things in lieu of taking care of myself.
I should not feel bad for being anxious and tired and overwhelmed.
I should not feel bad for feeling lost.
I should not feel useless or worthless because reasons.
I feel like the world is falling apart at the seams and going to shit and I’m powerless to do anything about it.
Between police brutality in Ferguson, shit going down in Gaza and Iraq, Robin Williams committing suicide…
It’s all just too many.
It’s too much.
It’s getting to me.
I watched the news for the first time in ages on Saturday because it was on at the car place while we were getting our mini inspected.
I was alone for 5 minutes and almost started crying.
It’s too many.
I sometimes forget how deeply things can hurt. I can sometimes turn my empathic nature off just enough to get by without feeling everything from everyone.
And sometimes, like the last couple days, I can’t.
Twitter and Facebook and news articles and snippets of conversation…like thousands of needles
and all I can think about is making blanket forts and escaping it all, because the difference between other people’s feelings and my own get blurred and I feel everything.
I can’t sleep well, and wake up stressed out and sad and depressed.
And yet, all I want to do is sleep – sleep and wake up and this will all have been a dream.
Needless violence and systemic racism, and genocide, and suicide, all just figments of my imagination – horrific nightmares.
And sleeping won’t make it go away.
And I’m just one person – one person who can barely keep henself together.
But I care, and being powerless and lost inside myself makes me feel weak and useless.
I’m one person, what can I do?
I don’t know.
But I’ll keep trying. I’ll do what I can.
I’ll keep fighting the voices in my head that say you’re worthless, pointless, and don’t matter, and try to latch on to the one that says but you do matter, and you’re not pointless.
And I don’t know if that will matter in the end, but it does right now.
When the world is falling apart and I’m a speck of stardust in one small galaxy…
But I’m alive. And you’re alive. and that matters. And maybe we can make things better together, for the ones who are still alive.
I don’t know, maybe.
And I’m so sorry.
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?
I feel like I’ve been spending the last two weeks trying to catch up from when my teef were taken out of my face. I feel like I missed an entire week of stuff – probably because I did.
Honestly, it’s been a little stressful – I’ve been overwhelmed trying to get things going, or done, or out of the middle – and I’ve been exhausting myself while doing it, which creates more stress, so I’ve lived in a stress bubble for the last couple weeks. Not as fun as it sounds.
On top of that, the vicodin negated the effect of my antidepressants, so that’s been exciting to deal with. I’ve been paralyzed in a cycle of anxiety, depression, and self-loathing because of those reasons + hormones, so yeah, that’s why it’s been so quiet. I can’t relax and everything in my brain is all scattered and overwhelmed and I generally feel like I’m made of fail.
Writing this out, I realize I just need to let go.
But I needed to see it in front of my face first.
Sims 3, tea, and candles for the rest of the day it is, while I ride this out.
So. I talked to my clinic and after two years off birth control and trying to get my body back in shape (with, eh, results) and realizing that it’s actually like, still debilitatingly painful – and painkillers don’t always work – and that I’m tired of freaking out every time I’m a day late, and it gets exponentially worse as time passes, which prolongs it because stress = more PMS and a late period – I’m going to get back on it. But not in pill form.
I’m going to see about getting….the implant. After researching it as thoroughly as I can, and listening to people talk (er, comic) about it, and finding out that it’s actually more effective than sterilization, I decided to give it a try.
This is important because there is little that I want more than to be sterilized (this has been my plan since I was 17), but I have to wait until I’m 30 to be a candidate for it, and even then, it doesn’t always take. I’m thrilled to realize that there’s an insert, that does the same thing, better, and with less craziness/surgery, and I can do it NOW and not have to spend the next 8 years paranoid.
I’ll find out this week if my local clinic offers it (they were in the process of getting it) otherwise I’ll get a referral.
I’m making progress, because I thought I was doomed to a life of painful periods and awful PMS even though the depression was out of the way, because I didn’t want to try pills again (and their failure rate just wasn’t really worth doing that to my body again), and I can’t do IUD’s. But also, I think, I felt like I deserved it – somehow I deserved the torture my body inflicted on itself and I deserved to feel it in all it’s intensity.
I don’t feel that way any more. I deserve better, I don’t need to continue to subject myself to an anxiety ridden decade, just like I don’t need to live in a constant depressed state that gets worse when my hormones change.
So yeah. I’m doing that, and I’m happy, because I feel like I’m actually in control of my body.
I win all the points! I’m only really talking about this because my insides are bleeding out currently and I still managed to talk on the phone and stutter out the question, and then lay in bed in pain all day, and cry (sob) during 13 Going On 30, drown in Pacific Rim feels, and still be generally happy and proud of myself (debilitating pain and moments of guilt due to that aside) because like, I’m fixing it! hopefully.
But I’m so moody today, my tear filter broke.