Tonight feels like it will be a hard going until I finally crash out. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but my head is refusing to turn off a shit ton of worries.
When the real masculine side of me comes out, it f**ks me up. I can’t sleep without lying my hand on my chest sometimes and when I try to get settled, all I can think is how much I hate myself for having breasts.
Then my mind just goes on its own little trip. I have been trying to train my voice so it’s lower recently. My binder seems like it will become an every day item of clothing. Robin will make an appearance.
Sometimes I wish Maria didn’t exist. I even hated having to write my email address to log in just now. I wish I wasn’t seen as just a girl. Eurgh. Even the word girl disgusts me right now. Maybe it’s because that’s a tad childish. I wish I wasn’t seen as a woman. That’s not so bad, but then it kicks in.
Being called Josh’s girlfriend is also slowly driving me insane. It’s pushing me back into this little box. I feel like I have to be this image of a girlfriend everybody expects but I can’t do it. I really can’t.
Why does the masculinity hit me so hard? Being feminine takes days to fully manifest and then fade out, feeling neutral is around for a while and I felt pretty much there today. Now, before I go to bed. BANG. I want to chop of these stupid lumps on my chest. Want my voice to drop from its pathetic girly whiney shit. Want the world to call me Rob. I already feel certain I’m going to work in my binder tomorrow. I know what I’m going to wear actually which is a first! A genuine first, knowing the night before what I’ll wear tomorrow, no questions asked.
The worst thing is, after all this, guess what wants to make a comeback? That relentless tingle that runs along my thighs and wrists to call me to hurt myself has awoken from its slumber.
Tonight is truly awful. I don’t know now whether to stay talking on here or take a tablet. Ride it out and crash or prevent it now. I worry that the second I put this down though that I’ll just do it.
Thanks life. I know this isn’t the worst you can give out, but I hate you all the same.
I’ve learnt how to recognise the signs now. I’ve already caved to them once when I thought I was past it, I don’t want to fuck up but I feel even resorting to those emergency tablets is a fuck up. Like I can’t deal with one bad night.
Am I even going to post this? I don’t have a clue. I already feel like my brain is telling my legs to shut the fuck up. But then it’s like, well, you think that now, we’re still waiting for you to leave your little distraction… sadistic fucking tingles.
Taking a tablet is not failure.
Taking. A. Tablet. Is. Not. Failure.
Like I’m leaving(!)
I think that actually I will post this. Forget those stupid pictures about what depression looks like, what self harming is like, what recovery looks like.
This is recovery. Talking to yourself and imaginary people who can’t read this yet so that you don’t cave. So you don’t fucking hurt yourself like a stupidhead because for fucks sake you’ve made it this far, why start again now?
I just want to sleep. I did yoga, I changed my bedsheets, had a shower. Made sure I’d done the washing up so maybe I wouldn’t be up all night. I wanted to get a good nights sleep because I have work in the morning.
Even my eyes are like, bitch go to sleep, we’re starting to dry up and hurt, why are you still staring at this Goddamn phone screen?! But I just can’t stop thinking that if I stop I’ll just pick up the scissors that I took from my parents because.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Do not think like that it doesn’t help.
For any confusion I have caused, I’m sorry, but I was just about to explain how beautifully sharp those scissors are, and how they made the best cuts on my thighs with almost minimal effort and there I go, romanticizing a pair of scissors. Self harming is a fucking sick thing to experience. And I do not mean the good way. The shit you start thinking. I hate it. I hate it but when you hit that low all you can think of is damn, that isn’t bleeding enough.
I need to stop.
I have like, tears waiting in reserve behind my eyes.
When that sick self- sadism, (which may or may not actually be described as masochism, I don’t understand the term) fades or I stop letting myself think like that. Then I cry. That’s when I sit down and just think why the fuck am I so stupid.
I was about to say stupid girl. Then I mentally gagged. Stupid fucking strange gendered person. That’s better.
I need to sleep.
Need to sleep and remind myself of a few things.
Taking a tablet is not failure.
I forgot the others.
Don’t be a twatface.
Call Josh when you wake up. You will sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Go to fucking sleep, don’t fuck up.
Stop typing. You’ve got this. You. Have. Fucking. Got. This. Shit.
Good. Now go to sleep.
On my count, you will fall into a deep sleep.
I just smiled at myself for being such a crafty motherfucker. Then I was like ah, didn’t fucking stop the tingling.
I am so sorry to whoever reads this. Unless maybe you’re an ace fucking mental doctor, psychiatrist person. Then maybe you can tell me why I like talking so much shit to people on the internet like they either care or read it this far.
That just opened a whole other load of shit about “LOL! who the fuck cares about me enough to give a shit at twenty to two in the morning cause fuck me, they won’t wake up for shit.”
I’m a sarcastic and cynical fuck, I really am. A sarcastic and cynical fuck who needs to go to sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.
Good. Bloody. Night. If I fail to sleep. Expect a new post in about… two minutes. Make sure you time it, won’t you?
WHY IS TYPING HA! SO MUCH FUN? IT ACTUALLY
OKAY THAT’S IT. BEDTIME.