The Blogtastic Blogfest That Is Getmeoutofthis.net!

On Monday, my students came to class having read the wrong chapter. I wrote the wrong one on the board, and they did the wrong assignment. This kind of caused me to have to ad lib for the class that day. I feel like I did alright with having planned to talk about a completely different thing. It certainly wasn’t a huge deal, and we got over it. My schedule for the semester is not thrown off really badly. It’s just a thing that happens. A small oops.

However, it kind of destroyed me. It threw me into a huge depressive state, and I went home and hid, even though I still had things to do that day. I haven’t done that in a long time. It was really upsetting. I tried to explain this to Brer, but unfortunately for him he chose the wrong time to use humor to try to cheer me up, and it didn’t really get across. I couldn’t really explain why this was such a serious event. I guess I’m about to try here.

There were those two years of school where I got nothing done because I was so depressed. I stayed at home, hid, and played video games locked in my room. I didn’t get anything done, because I couldn’t muster any energy to. Then, I turned myself around, and focused. I haven’t fucked up since. I’ve kept a 4.0, kept up with my job and such with no issues. Even as I’ve gotten depressed, more depressed than I can ever remember being, I stuck with it. I didn’t make mistakes.

This was a mistake. It’s a mistake I could have made, even if I wasn’t depressed, and it isn’t a big deal. But it’s a mistake.

Work is kind of the last safe haven for me at this point. While I’m working on things. I don’t have time to be depressed. I don’t have time to worry. I have to complete the tasks at hand, and I do complete them. I do them well. No matter how shitty things got, my work wasn’t going to slip. I was still going to be a hard worker. I was still going to be someone you can depend on to get things done. These things are important to me. They help keep me going.

Writing the wrong number in class makes me feel like I am truly falling apart. It makes me feel like I am, slowly but surely, being defeated by all this bullshit, and that just makes me even more depressed. I can’t lose this fight. But I wrote the wrong number on the board! It’s the first glimpse at how I’m going to slip. Or so the evil part of my brain tells me. It’s frustrating and makes me want to cry.

I know I’m going to do just fine. As I said, I’ve already fixed the problem. Not a big deal. Nothing got thrown out of wack, and I’m still a good teacher. Plus, while I was so obscenely depressed, Jonathan, Spaeth, and Kevin came over to game and cheer me up, and that was a huge help. (It also taught me that, man, I have lost all skill I once had at Smash Bastards.) I’ve got great friends, and I’m a good worker. I’ve got this covered.

But that stupid 14 instead of an 11 was an omen. I wrote a poem about how it all comes down to 14. Fourteen times I fucked up and fourteen times I didn’t, and I’ll do it again fourteen times.
Bleh.

I guess I’ll write an update on how the whole “fighting with my parents over me transitioning” thing is going.

I feel like it’s going better. I certainly feel less like complete garbage. I’m not great, but it’s not bad. This has a lot to do with how awesome my friends are. Cole and Cara, Essner, Jonathan, Spaeth, Ecks, even the wolfie, and of course Brer… everyone has gone above and beyond the call of duty. I am so, so fucking lucky to have such good friends. I can’t express how lucky I am. They’ve helped me to survive all of this so far.

In addition, I think things are turning around with the parents. My mom said the other day that she is “trying” to be mad at me, but she can’t because I’m still her “child.” Maybe I’m reading too much into that… but “child” was a weird word to pick… and I feel like that means it was chosen on purpose. Instead of “son”. Which made me feel a lot better, certainly. She’s also just talking to me again in general, which is a good sign. She’s also at least slightly backing off on the kicking me out thing, which is also nice.

I’ve screamed at my parents, I’ve called their bluffs, I’ve done all sorts of things I really don’t want to do to make it clear this is something serious, and I suppose it is working. It’ll all work out. I wish I didn’t have to force my way through, though. I wish they could just get it. But this stuff is so hard, nobody really could immediately. I understand that. But I understand I can’t let that stop me from making my way forward. Things are going to work out.

It just takes a long time, you know? A long while.
It’s certainly a closer while than it used to be, though. I tell myself that all the time. Affirmations. Etc.
Yeah.

How’ve you been doing?

I’ve been doing pretty shitty, so… that’s good. I suppose.

Standing up for yourself sucks. It really, truly does. There is rarely any time when standing up for yourself makes things easier, or makes you feel good. It’s a constant battle. A constant struggle. Especially when something this huge, this big is on the line, it’s really tough.

I’ve tried to tell my parents this. I’ve tried to tell them how every dream I have for the future, everything I want requires this. I’ve tried to tell them how long this has been going on, and how much it means to me. I tried doing it by being soft, by being gentle. But they wouldn’t get it.

So I put my foot down on Monday.

There were a lot of tears, and a lot of “you didn’t warn me” talk, which is silly because they’ve known this stuff for years. I only exploded once, and that was because Mom’s talking about me as if I was going to be dead after this really made me angry because it really hurt. I did my best to not waffle. I remade my points again and again. I didn’t let them tell me things that weren’t the truth, because I know the truth about me. I’m me. I know why I’m doing these things, and I know how I feel. How do I feel? Shitty. Really shitty. What’s the solution? To deal with my problems, not to hide from them. Especially not to hide from them for my parents’ sake.

I love them both so much. This is really, really fucking hard. To listen to my Mom beg for “just one more year, just one more thing to be proud of” like she will never have anything to be proud of ever again… it hurts. A lot.

The good things that have come out of this is that they will be talking to my psychiatrist soon, like they should have months ago. In addition, my dad said he was trying. Nearly in tears, he told me he was trying to understand. Trying to figure out how to help me. That made me sob. That meant so, so much to me. I don’t expect them to just get it instantly… but that he’s trying… that’s important. That’s meaningful.

Anyway, I have a class to teach, somehow… I’m going to try not to be super-depressed. I’m going to try to keep functioning. Have so far, even if it’s been a bit robotic. I’m going to get things done…

Dammit…

Today is the first day of school.

Fuck.

In Brer’s words, I have been “seriously depressed” all summer, and I’d mostly agree with that. As a result I don’t feel completely prepared for the semester to come. I feel like I’m stumbling forward into it.

Then again, I always feel that way when I haven’t done anything for a long while. I always feel lost until I’m in the thick of it, because it’s then that it’s not longer an unknown.

This semester should be less stressful in some ways. School should be less of a problem than it was last time. Much easier classes, and hopefully a much easier time. It should be way more stressful in others, though. Things are going to change. They’re really going to change.

They’re really going to change.

Looking at it, as always… scary as fuck. How many times have I written these words?

But I can do this. It begins. Life moves forward, and for the first fucking time, I am going to move forward. And at the end is my brother’s wedding, and all that jazz, and a visit from Brer.

I can do this. Just watch me.

I’m on the verge.

It’s all coming to a head.

More overused metaphors.

I’m seriously so close. So very close.

Fuck.

The moment before is always the worst, you know? Once you get on stage, then it’s easy. Once things are out in the open, there’s no longer any problem. But until then, until you make that step… it’s painful. It’s crazy. It’s tough.

It’s very tough.

I’m going to make it through this, and I am going to be the better for it. Sometimes, I just need to tell myself that. Sometimes I need to keep myself going. Keep myself from running away. Locking myself in here, with this computer, and never coming out. But no, I don’t need to do that. I’m going to make it through this.

Fuck.

When I dream, which doesn’t happen often, it’s normally narrative.

What I mean by that is, oftentimes when I dream I understand that I am the narrator of a story, and I keep the story going in a way that makes sense for the characters, whether it be people I know, or some random shit my brain puked out. I often don’t remember all of the actual dream, or even much of it. What will happen, though, is that I will wake up, slightly, and continue the story as I have been. Without even thinking about it, my mind keeps going and narrating. Until I get fully awake, it can be hard to stop this. I get some kind of drowsy need to reach a stopping point in the story.

That’s all well and good when they’re good dreams. I could keep telling those for awhile, no problem. Lately, they haven’t been, though.

I’ve been having near-constant dreams about bad things happening to me in some regard. I lose someone. I scream at someone and get really mad. I lose something and go berserk. The other night, the dream was that I got my car stolen, right before some sort of fancy concert that Jonathan and Shauna were going to that I really wanted to attend. I was dealing with something with my parents up until the very last moment before I had to leave, and then I noticed my car wasn’t there. I had to work on getting it back, and I never got to go to the show. I was so angry.

And I woke up so angry.

Dreams are just too real sometimes… I don’t know, my mood is fragile enough these days. It annoys me that my subconscious is making me wake up feeling like shit again and again. It just makes me feel stupid and weak to be so upset by such things. Then again, I guess in a lot of ways I am. I crumble and crack and fall apart again and again. It’s silly.

I mean, I’ll survive. I have so far, somehow. I’ll make it. I guess I just wish it would be easier. And that something as simple as my dreams would co-operate with my plans.

I walked downstairs, and my mother was crying. I, of course, asked her what was wrong. It turned out that she was looking at music for the Mother/Son dance at Jonathan’s wedding, and thinking about it made her cry. A good cry, certainly. The idea that her youngest son was getting married, though, was pretty overwhelming. It’s a crazy thought.

It’s a crazy thought.

I responded by jokingly saying that it was all his fault for growing up.

But you can’t stop that.

I’ve tried to stall my life for years. Hold back things that I knew I should be doing because they were so stressful. Even now, now that I’m in the thick of them, they’re so stressful that I can barely get out of bed in the morning. Yet, times goes on, my life goes on, and I have to move on. Just like Jonathan has to move on with his life, I have to move on with mine. It’s exciting, and scary, and sad, and wonderful, but it is. It’s something that is inevitable.

More and more, when I think about Jonathan and his wedding, I tend to think of more domestic things. Wanting to settle down, find a steady job I won’t have to leave, have a certain boyfriend there. I think domestic. I think future. I think it’s good, because before, it was always just about transitioning. Now I am on the cusp, it’s nearly here, and I find my mind moving to other things. The sort of things I’m sure my parents would have rather me have been thinking about the whole time. It’s nice. It’s also a totally new feeling. One I worry about having. But that’s probably normal. That’s more normal than I’ve been in a long while.

I admitted the other day that “I’m rarely fine.” Brer said that that was shockingly honest. I am rarely fine. I’m depressed all the time. But things are moving forward. Things are happening. I need to remind myself that things are in motion (I freudianed “emotional” there first) that are going to help. Things are going to get better.

Time will move forward, and things will get better. Different, yes. But sometimes that isn’t so bad. Sometimes you have to cry about your son getting married to enjoy the cool stuff that brings.

I am so tired.

I don’t mean physically, though I suppose I am pretty tired physically as well. I’m just tired of being depressed, and tired of feeling like my family is against me. I’m tired of not feeling safe, I suppose. I’m tired of having to force myself to buy that I can do this. I’m tired.

I’m tired.

I guess it’s not too surprising. I get this way every once and awhile. I just want to hide in bed and never come out for a few weeks or months, so maybe I could feel better. I can’t, of course. Way, way too much to do. Always too much to do. But it would be nice, wouldn’t it? A bit of vacation. A bit of rest. It would be nice.

In the back of my mind, I know I’m things the right way. I know I’m getting closer. I know I will survive this and be happier for it. I know that many, many things are happening that I never would have imagined happening before, and that I am so damn close I should be able to taste it. It’s just so hard for information like that to make it through all that tired. I’ve been waiting for this stuff for way, way too long.

Sorry… I just needed to complain a little, I guess… things will soon be back in full swing. I’ll be working at school so much I won’t have any free time at all… but I know I’ll make it. I just wish I could convince myself of that sometimes.

I got some pretty bad news the other day.

It seems that all mental heath issues are all one illness, even when they aren’t. This is fantastic news. It basically means I’m totally screwed. My insurance won’t continue to pay for my therapy, and I can’t really afford to go every week without it. I’ve been dipping into my savings constantly to cover these costs as is. On top of that, Kohl’s has been having wonderful budgeting issues, which means I haven’t been working enough and earning enough money, either. I can’t afford to keep going and seeing my doctor about my gender identity disorder. I need better health insurance, but I don’t have anywhere to get it from. I feel completely fucked.

Needless to say this upset me greatly. There were tears. It was really frustrating. I’m getting so fucking close. I really am, and then this. Really, really frustrating.

I have plans and schemes. I should be able to afford it better if I go every other week, instead of every week. Hopefully that won’t slow me down… at least not too much. At least then I can keep going. Once school starts up again, and I’m getting paid more, things will go a little better too. I’m also, as I’m writing this, about to leave to go see the doctor, so hopefully she’ll have some ideas as to what I can do to make this work out.

I’m not going to give up. But fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I am tired of this bullshit. I just want to be me.

Some days I just don’t know what to write.

This is one of those days.

I mean, I have things to write. I watched The Road, so I could write my impressions of that, and I have IoTMs to review and all kinds of stuff I could be writing about. But I’ve been staring at the post screen for awhile now, and I can’t write about those things right now. I’m just kind of held back. So I’m writing this instead.

There are so many things I could be doing. Games I could be playing through. Let’s Plays I could be doing (Unless my mood changes a lot soon, I just don’t see it happening, which frustrates me. I hate that… but I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried and tried to force myself to do it, but I’m in such a horrible mood, and it’s not really a priority… bleh). So much I could be working on, but I’m not.

I am so tired of being depressed.

I’ve been in an awful mood for weeks now, and it’s, frankly, getting to be really fucking annoying. Mostly because I haven’t been able to hide it well. I’ve been doing things like writing “Symptoms of Depression” on my list of things I brought into work in the thief book, and not being able to answer people when they ask me how I am. I hate bothering people with my shit. If I could, I’d just handle everything without involving them at all.

But they are involved with my life, completely involved. That’s both a blessing and a curse. I’m glad people are worrying about me, but I also wish I was in a state where they wouldn’t have to. I want to be a positive force, not a stupid bitch.

So… yeah… I don’t think I have it in me to write a good post today (Not that I ever do that, really). This is the only time I have left to write this, so I felt I had to write something, but this is… not what I wanted to write. I wanted to write happy things.

I want to be happy.

I’m working on it, I suppose.

Come back tomorrow, I’ll try to have something better.