I caved! I got Tumblr and actually it’s more fun just to look at the pictures than read things, but I posted a few bits of writing (seeing as I actually have the app on my phone) and now I really want to put them on here. I feel like it would be repeating stuff I’ve said, so here they are combined into one post if you fancy reading them. 

I know it’s sad…

But I genuinely just feel so alone again.
I’m not on my meds due to weeks of overworking. Forgetting them.
I don’t have an appointment because of said work, I’m covering for fucking everyone and yet nobody can cover for me.
I want to cry because every person I see reminds me either of what I am, or what I’m not.
The emptiness is coming back.
The urge to cut is coming back.
The constant discomfort with noises, hairstyles, tops that are too tight under my arms, not being able to find my keys, the noise my fucking phone keeps making because it’s stupid fucking charging
The fact I cant fucking type every two fucking seconds.
Today I was supposed to be happy.
My cousin got married, we were at the reception. I just felt like I couldn’t do anything because I was in a dress, I kept being referred to as someone I dont identify as anymore, I saw the straigt couples dancing and just knew I didn’t want that for myself but I want it with a guy who might not even want that with me because I am not the girl he said he fell in in love with at the start anymore.
I want tonight to be over.

I’m back…

On tumblr at stupid o clock in the morning. This time there is no alcohol in my system, but I have just got in after catching up with my mate.
Feeling nothing really is creeping back in and it should make me worried but that part of me is switching off thanks to all the other things I’m already worrying about.
I miss laughing and being able to keep smiling for minutes, even hours after. Now it barely lasts a couple of seconds.
It’s amazing how getting so far along in your recovery helps you to notice these things, and yet the slipping you feel just makes you wonder why you carry on. I know I’m slipping. Do I want to stop it? Not really. Do I want to switch off from all my worries? Yes.
Will it make anything better?
Of course fucking not.
But I am so fed up of taking tablets, of being expected to be okay now because of them and off them by tomorrow. I am fed up of all these things that make me hate myself and I can’t see any other way to stop them than to just let myself slide back into that pit.
I just want to give up.

Fancy a stress-free getaway?
Because I really do.

I feel like my mum is trying to out me as *not entirely sure* trans and it is driving me insane.
She has gone on at me so much today about the scent I’m wearing, the “bra” I’m wearing, how shaving my legs “isn’t like me”. Then she is all “do you have anything to tell us?” And trying to get me to tell my sister about her stupid comments on my binder.

The thing is, if you can see it ruffles a lot of feathers, leave it alone. I’m answering her with shorter and shorter replies, leaving the room almost immediately after she says these stupid things. Why push it? I clearly don’t want to talk.

My mum already pushed answers out of me with my tablets – more prying into my things – and when I was in tears and already set to leave, my dad said “so you don’t want to talk about it”. I said no and that was it, I just left.
She followed me up the stairs, trapping me in my bedroom with her until I spoke.

I refuse to have that happen again. The point of leaving things be is so that I can talk to my friends and test the waters. Prepare myself for if and when I am certain and want to tell my parents. Coming out is something that I should be able to do in my own time when I feel safe and confident enough in myself, not because my mother is prodding and prodding until I snap.

Okay, whatever, “it means she cares” or other generic bullshit, I DO NOT WANT HER TO FORCE IT OUT OF ME WHEN I AM NOT READY.

The more time I spend in this house, the more I feel I am becoming trapped in my room and my own head. I am starting to get picked on for every little thing I do when I get dressed, when I sit down, when I stand. I am not that fucking girl anymore. I am not entirely sure what I am but it is not a fucking female.

Having my own flat again would mean all of my choices would go unchecked. Freedom.

Fuck this cage that is called home. I know better than that now.

Next time, if I write on Tumblr instead of here, I give you guys permission to virtually slap me with a fish… ^_^


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