I don’t like feeling weak. I suppose nobody really does.
I’ve spent a lifetime trying to be someone else…to be strong like I’m supposed to be.
It’s wild. I really have nothing to say anymore. I just start writing in the hope that maybe there is a process at work. This tough work of my redemption. Seriously, this is intended for nobody. – Alli
I’m not strong.
A friend of mine told me that she had advised HR at her company that she would be coming out. This is so beautiful and amazing. She gets to be herself.
I woke up at 3AM and knew I was in for a rough ride. Just the simple thought – imagine not having to hide anymore.
I lost it. Sobbing in bed beside my wonderful and beautiful girlfriend. I stumbled to the bathroom before I woke her. Lit a joint, inhaled deeply, repeat… I sobbed in rythym with the simple thought as it washed over me again and again – imagine not having to hide anymore.
Eventually it passed. I crawled back into bed. My girlfriend wrapping me in her loving arms as I curl into her love, warmth, softness…
I try to push the thought away – imagine not having to hide anymore. I fail. I start to sob again uncontrollably in her arms. She holds me there until it passes.
Imagine not having to hide anymore.
No. I can’t fucking imagine.
I can’t. My logical mind simply cannot comprehend this low-percentage play.
I don’t want anyone to read this. I don’t want anyone to ask if I’m okay anymore…I’m not. I’m really not okay at all. I just need to state this pain somewhere…somehow. Act like it matters at all.
I don’t want this hurt anymore. I’m stuck. I want out of this life but I can’t go.
It’s the wanting that I find troublesome…or the type of wanting. No longer the realm of hysterics, now just the cold mathematics of it all.
Dying makes more sense. A simple binary decision.
I am not likely in this (or any other) reality to be able to mitigate my gender dysphoria to anything resembling a manageable situation. I’ll never have $100k to fix this.
Ergo, it makes no sense to pursue a course of action that is not likely to yield even a marginally favourable outcome. I could do it all and still want out.
I wish I could keep taking HRT, but some non-existent type that only works on the mental aspect. I can’t keep letting my body change…but I don’t want to let go of what I have gained in heart and soul. Every time I take estrogen, I wonder if it’ll be my last. Inevitable.
I want to heavily censor my words so I don’t cause worry.
But seriously, fuck it. I can’t handle me and the people close to me deserve so much better. I want to die. I’m sorry. I’m so sad all the the time. No more. Please…no more of any of this.
I won’t take my own life.
Even worse though, I’ll stay alive in this absolute hell.
Every quiet moment, the dark place awaits me. This horrible groundhog day of heartbreak where I die over and over again inside.
There are no distractions so all-encompassing, no drugs so perfect, such that I can get away from myself.
I need to find a way to forget this all. Maybe have a funeral for her (I’m crying as I type this). Allison…deadgirl. Some wicked ritual that would make me forget…me.
What absurd courses of events and states of mind that led me to see hope where there most certainly is none.
To have been sad my whole life and just now see that it can be so very much worse. To see no end to it all…
I should have taken the blue pill. Now it’s too late. I’ve seen the truth.
I wish I hadn’t.