…I can actually feel myself falling back into that old pit of feeling f**king awful? Sometimes I just imagine that this shit happens and you don’t notice but I do.

Also, I know I’m not entirely out of it yet, because I went to find a header picture for this post. I also know that I’m definitely using humour to make myself feel better because I found a picture that I laughed at and then internally said: “yup, that looks like me right now!”

When I first got put on my tablets, it was like I’d reached heaven and found a cure. Then when my parents found out and were acting like I’d be fixed and off them in seconds, or my mates/other half said “well it’s good but I don’t think they do much, they’re not good for you”, I just began to HATE them. Now, I’m not taking them. I haven’t spoken about it with my doctors, I haven’t even BEEN there for what, two months? I’m putting off the phone call to tell them that I’ve moved home. I’m also putting off going to any doctors around here because I have always hated them with a passion. Plus, as sad as it is, that guy I was seeing was like my doctor. He had seen me through the whole decline and steady rise of this shit (very steady I might add, considering he thought that moving home would be a stressor I’d be better off with meds for).

I am luckily still being entertained by books and singing along to music, but it’s THERE, you know? If it’s quiet for a while or I stop doing something, I feel completely and utterly alone. I won’t lie, sitting upstairs in my room probably doesn’t help but… I am also trying to avoid being alone with my mum.

Every time I think of messaging somebody, I just decide not to. As though they won’t even read it anyway. Or maybe I’m not important enough for them to talk to. They won’t want to hear me say I’m having a bad day. I can’t call them up to hang out every time I feel crap.

The thing is, I’m kind of waiting for this big, life-affirming conversation with my mate (be it through text, facebook or face to face) about whether he actually understood my drunk efforts to come out as half trans the other day. Please note that I say half trans because I’m still hunting my true self down! I’m more certain that I’m non-binary, but I want to mess around with names and pronouns to get a better feel for them. I am also more certain that I want a more non-binary transition, so low dose T, top surgery, but then that’s where everything blurs because I struggle to figure out where my personal line is. Maybe I will just be non-binary and outwardly f**king with people’s perceptions of what sex/gender I am, or maybe once I start presenting in a certain way or start on T and get the surgery, it will bridge, but I don’t know so. That’s quite a long thing to say for what was meant to be a “please note *two or three words that explain everything*”… I couldn’t find those two or three words to make a long story short! xD

But, my point is, I was at the pub the other day, on about three or four glasses of wine and a cider, I’d written a name tag for myself saying “MY NAME IS ROBIN (he/him/his)” and I also wrote it on my arm and I showed them some pictures of my aesthetic goals. One being Spectredeflector aka Ascher on mostly Instagram. Not with the makeup so much, but his f**king face is like ultimate goals and I feel very much ME. Yes, that face is SO MINE I will just cut it off and wear it as a mask like whatsit from that film… No, I won’t but, basically, I think looking like that is achievable for me. If that even makes sense to ANYONE but me…

I definitely needed to talk to someone, I feel much more upbeat even after just chatting shit on here! I like to think that people give a shit about me online and like, actually care about reading these long ass, pictureless posts. Or that my humour is like just the right amount of dumb lols and sarcasm and cynicism and mental health jokes to make it palatable…

Yes, I do joke about mental health by the way, but it’s normally MY OWN, or in the company of like-minded people who all suffer from various things and we are comfortable with finding awful shit to laugh about.

When did I get so P.C??!??! Probably when I started trying to educate myself actually.

Ah yeah, so.


I make myself laugh just by writing to imaginary people on the interwebs, holy shit. Ah well.

Dear Reader,
I’m sorry I ramble so much. But you see if I stop then I will just sit and stare at the walls because my brain has switched off emotionally, but my body is still insisting that I do something. I am actually like, somewhat internally shaking, I’m not PHYSICALLY shaking but I feel like I am and it makes me panicky. I’m probably having some kind of mini-breakdown but hey! As long as I can entertain you, and myself by chatting shit on a small, meaningless internet journal, my life is totally f**king fixed. For the next however long I keep typing shit for.

Yours bluntly,
like a sledgehammer to the face,

I just looked at my word count after that letter, it was EXACTLY at 950. What a Don 😀

(968 words n.i. title)

(Stay in school, kids, counting words in your work is IMPORTANT!)

(Adding your featured image is also important… I forgot mine on the first draft! :P)



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