Captain, I am not

  • My not sleeping is of the ‘Freddy’s gonna kill me’ variety, not a manic one
  • Brave vs. Courage (1)
  • Hugging mostly sucks (2)
  • My house does not equal home (plus it’s tidy, but not clean. I don’t know how this connects to any of my issues, but it probably does) (3)
  • Lamictal helps me survive, but in doing so hampers my ability to live
  • My acceptance window is shut, but my tolerance window has never been closed.

1) Cousins see my Steve Rogers side, which lights up a genuine Captain America for them. For them, (and my cat, back at my parents’ house) I feel courage.

For everyone else I know, it’s bravery. They see the sexy uniform and shield, and for them that equals the Capt. The don’t care to see the Steve Rogers behind it.

2) Which is also why hugging them, even touching them, makes me feel disgusting. They are hugging what they want to see, what they think is real, a courage, but because they don’t care to see the Steve Rogers part, my actual courage quails, because they’re touching it, dragging it to light, without bothering to care about it.

Hugging strangers is better than hugging them. Strangers haven’t formed an opinion, whereas family insists on theirs, and fuck mine.

3) The ‘house not being home’ pain used to be ‘not allowed’, but now it’s, I see that I’m allowed (but that’s still hard). but the worst of it is that no one else is there. Friend, family, or lover. All those are different kinds of pain: Friend: regret, shame. Family: a young abandonment. Lover: a bitter self disgust. Plus all three have a wistful, missing them feeling to it.

PS: I got a diagnosis that makes sense, finally. PTSD, and ADD. The ADD is biological, and the PTSD, you know how that goes. I don’t know how to fix it, there isn’t a right answer. I wish I had a mentor, though, an older guy. The past six years I’ve been trying to learn ‘guy’ on my own, and before that, trying to learn ‘human’ on my own. I am a blob of ‘not raised.. at all, really’, and I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to do it alone.

Cycle of Abuse?

You know that feeling when you’re suffering from ‘sob constipation? When you needed a good cry, but there wasn’t a good spot to do it in, so you held it, and now that there is a place you can’t get it out because you were holding it? I’ve got that going on at the moment.

There was a woman who spoke at an event today, about the cycle of abuse. She didn’t say it in a textbook way, she said it in a way I could understand. I wish I could have filmed it or something, I don’t remember anything now. But it gave me sob constipation.

She talked about witnesses, and the difference of that versus observers. She talked about getting angry. How victims of abuse would think things of themselves that they’ve been told over and over.. I wish I could remember it. I’m probably not getting it right right now either. This time I did come up and thank her without being an idiot (last time she touched my arm in an ‘I care’ attitude my tongue was tied because I don’t remember the last time that happened)

My core is separate from what my family does to me. I know I like myself and my potential life, and my core is strong in that. What they do hurts, but it can’t touch that inner center where I know who I am.

I’m finally angry.

And no one listens to my anger, or.. anything I have to say.

I love my two cousins with all my heart, and the family cat (not my cat, the family one I grew up with that was ‘my cat’ there). Unconditionally. I love the rest of the family, but that sometimes seems.. heavier? More conditional in a sense? But I want to adopt my cousins and steal the cat and live like that. That aunt is the most poisonous, I don’t know what’s real or not. She’ll ignore me at the drop of a hat, so I have to pretend, so, so, hard, at being normal, to try to stay present for those cousins at least. I am so so worried at how they fare at home, and the fact I can do nothing, only change my behavior. So I change it for the worse (not in an evil sense, but a.. neutered sense) and pretend the status quo is normal, just to be even present in their lives. I don’t know what’s more harmful. I’m probably enabling my aunt’s awfulness by trying to be neutered, but I’m not there, maybe my cousins are doing okay. Not to my eyes though.

My parents feed the cat shit like Meow Mix. The poor dear weighs a ton, smells bad, and her fur looks like she hasn’t seen a shower in months, if that makes sense. She cleans herself okay, but her hair is greasy and flaky at the same time.

I wish I could take all of them, I love them so much.

The sob constipation probably started a few days ago, at group. In the middle of talking about a point, I realized another point. The reason my apartment doesn’t feel like home is.. that I’ve never had one. So mentally and emotionally my foot is figuratively outside the door. I’m on high alert, and even lounging on the couch won’t soothe it. So even though I literally have my own, safe place to stay, I’ve never had that anywhere else. Some were more extreme than others, but the one that was the worst, obviously, is that I was never safe in my parents’ house. My room was never ‘mine’. It was made clear that it was their house, I was just living in it. My ‘room’ was cleaned when it didn’t match dad’s standards, same with my possessions. If that wasn’t by my mother’s standard, it would go to goodwill. Which isn’t even mentioning how I myself am treated, which is even worse.

So, cycle of abuse? I’ve finally gotten angry enough to say something. I sent an email, and called mom, about it. That really really sucked, so never mind that. When do I.. give up.. on them? Excommunicate them and move up to Maine? I’m not going to do that, but, I need to do something, for the sake of myself.

(I tried to go to the LGBT night at a bar here to cheer me up. I got all touchy feely with a guy, and he was back, but in the end, he was straight. The entire dancefloor was straight people, the gays lurking miserably on the sidelines. So, he was straight, and I’m a cliche, hahaha )

Leave me Alone

I’ve mentioned to my parents to go move where one of my sisters lives. She’s far more attached than I am (I didn’t tell them that part), and I think they would like it there, besides.

My aunt said that she thinks that the umbilical cord between her and her mother (my gram, who passed away a few years ago) is still attached.

For me and my parents, it is not.

It burned off.

I love my family, I do, but I am no longer attached to them at all. Every time I try to be it never works, I run into a wall of flame. The fire comes from me, the ice comes from them, so I put up that wall, again and again. Something more gets burned away, every time, and I am left hollow.

This last altercation has left me in bed for two days.

I called out for help, to my mother, about someone who’s been taking advantage of my sympathy for a long time, and I was scared, and not feeling safe. My mother bulldozed over that, only seeing ‘friends! company!’ as she always does, and not seeing me. I have always been her ‘project’. When my life sucks it is automatically her fault, and I have to reassure her.

I really like where I live, but at two hours away from my parents it’s still too close. If they won’t go away and leave me alone, maybe I will.

I am living in three layers right now. At the core my brain is clear and I am passionate and true. However, the other two layers cause me difficulty. There is my depression, one, and my body itself. The improvement in my depression over the recent past, however, is that I am acutely aware of it, that it is not a part of me, that it is a disease. Before I started weaning off the medication it was a murky mess and it was all my fault and I was stuck in muck and mire.

The second thing I am running into is my body, which is decrepit and decayed from years of nonuse. I am fat, (I honestly was okay with this until quasi recently, when new med experiments, before I started going off of them, caused me to explode) and my muscles are constantly in pain. The transgender thing does not help with the body thing either, with feeling detached for both reasons. The trans thing, and the ‘body/depression, what are you doing? move!’ thing. The depression and the body thing are a deadly combination. It is like I have a pile of homework, with no idea where to start, and so I don’t start at all, and don’t move towards fixing the situation. So really still in a state of useless muckness but now I’m pissed about it.