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I’ve been thinking about doing a No Mercy run.

When I was younger, I would write a lot of self-insert Mary Sue kinda stories. I don’t think that’s particularly weird? I’m sure all writers start there. All characters are your weird little children born of bits and pieces of you. But I can remember, in late grade school and junior high just filling notebooks with these probably awful stories about me. I would go on scout trips and everyone else would be doing manly man stuff and I’d be sitting there writing about kissing in this notebook I wouldn’t let anyone see.

The thing about these stories, though, was that I was always the villain. Or if I wasn’t the villain, there was someone who was “me” with a different name, and the person with my name was the villain. I would cast my friends as heroes, fighting against all odds, and myself being those odds. I’d create little versions of myself that might be a hero, but pit them against me. I was normally a very reluctant villain at least? I’d apologize for what I was going to do before I’d try to kill people, or kill people. But I was always bad. I was the problem.

I guess it’s not really that surprising, given where I was as myself. I was deep in depression (it got worse, but it was there) and couldn’t help but think of myself, my real self, as anything but a problem. The idea of me existing was one that my parents and even my best friend at the time pushed back extremely hard against. I was a problem, a roadblock, to their happiness. I was a villain, or so my depression told me.

I remember in high school having this revelation where, if I was always going to be awful, a problem, a villain, I could at least raise people up while I crashed down. If I was doomed, and at that point I thought about killing myself basically constantly so it seemed likely, I could at least help others not be doomed, and be better. I could be a catalyst for raising people up. So I started to approach personal interactions this way. I put others before myself not in a “how nice, how helpful” way but in a self destructive way, most of the time. I made myself miserable doing it. I made a lot of mistakes. But just like in those stories I wrote, where I was the evil in the world, I could make others shine. There’s no light without dark, right? I did evil in those stories to make those important to me look better, looking back on them. And I did the same thing here.

Ironicus, on a podcast, talked about the No Mercy run of UNDERTALE as interesting because it lets you see the same characters in a different situation. It lets you be the villain, and see how everyone else would stand up to be heroes. I’m not doing too well mentally recently, and I find myself once again brushing up against these “anyone else but me” self-destructive tendencies, as I often fall back on when I’m not doing well. And I put on the UNDERTALE soundtrack, and I hear all the songs I didn’t hear because they’re not for Mercy. And I think about the tidbits I’ve picked up about all the fights, and all the things that happen in a No Mercy run. And I find myself thinking, what IF they were the heroes? What if all these wonderful characters I really, truly love didn’t need me, because who am I? Why do I get to help SAVE the world? What makes me so special? Wouldn’t it be better if I helped prop them up, and saw them shine?

It’s an appealing thought.

The problem is, of course, if I played No Mercy, I’d have to win, on character after character. I’d have to kill. I don’t want to do that, and I don’t want to put Frisk through that. I don’t want to put anyone through that. But it’s necessary, to be the villain. To see a True Hero. Isn’t it?

It’s a silly thought, and I know I won’t do it. But I keep thinking about it.

I worked really hard to see myself as the hero in my own story. I still work on it, every day, this idea that I am worth having a story. I am worth being something. That I’m interesting, and capable. It’s really important to do, and I wonder how much other people struggle with that feeling. Or if they do at all. I’m going to keep working on it, and be the hero, don’t worry. I mean, it’s a real fucking weird story I’m the hero of, but I’m going to keep on it. I can be the hero, AND help my friends. I can have a good life.

But I don’t know if I’m ever going to shake that feeling of being the villain.

I don’t know.

Hi.

This is hard to write, and a part of me doesn’t want to. I spend a lot of effort on the illusion that everything is okay, and that I am happy, and when I pull that mask off, I tend to fall apart in spectacular ways. It’s scary, to be honest. But all this building up a facade is not solving the problem. Another year has passed, and I still struggle with all this garbage, again and again. I should face it head on, and I should be honest. And if you’re reading this, you’re almost certainly my friend, and I owe it to you to be honest.

When I say that, I don’t mean I’ve been lying, exactly. You’re my friends. I’m not lying to you. It’s not a lie, the things I talk about and do and care about and get excited about. I am all those things, no doubt. But I am often throwing them up in front of you as a distraction, making them more public than I perhaps should, and praying that you don’t see the depressed ball behind the curtain. If I do lie, it’s only by omission, and it’s only about this stuff, really. I’m sorry if that’s painful to hear.

So last night, for hours, I basically argued with my boyfriend. I was going to kill myself, and he needed to promise me he’d take care of Mr. Q. He wouldn’t promise that, of course. Not while I was like that. But we talked and fought and finally I tired myself out and went to sleep. I woke up today not much better, though I’m getting stuff done, I suppose. I think back on last night and it is just… I am horrible for doing those things. For thinking them, and saying them out loud, and making them real. I shouldn’t have. But there it is.

I wish I could say that was uncommon, but honestly, it’s really not. Last night was especially bad, yes. Normally I have suicidal thoughts, but I am not motivated to go through with them. Last night I had nothing like that holding me back. But I have these sorts of nights, moments, periods, or what have you, fairly regularly. I often call them panic attacks, or just attacks, but I don’t know what they are, perse. Maybe there’s a specific name for them. I don’t know. They’re often triggered by my anxiety (I’m always anxious about everything) getting out of control, often because a plan or a schedule I have set up doesn’t work out or is otherwise changed. I know it’s going to happen before it does, usually. I can feel myself start to fall apart. There’s a pressure in the back of my head a lot of the time, or I just get really tense. If I can, I go to bed when this happens, to quarantine myself, and because when I sleep it’s normally gone after. That’s not always an option. Sometimes I try to read, to refocus. This doesn’t always work, but sometimes it helps me hold off until I can go to sleep.

When it happens, I lose a lot of control. I shiver and shake. I often can’t talk. I repeat words and phrases over and over again when I try. Some common ones are “I’m sorry,” or “I’m awful,” or “No,” or “I can’t.” I can sing though, and I often sing songs about how happy everyone will be when I’m dead and how much I deserve it. If I can talk, I am normally constantly mumbling about my many imagined slights against the world and my own uselessness. I twitch my hands constantly, contort them hard, kind of painfully, because it makes me feel like I have some control. If I’m hiding a hand behind my back, I am probably doing this. I cry over nothing, so hard that I can’t breathe, and panic even more. I often try to bash my head against the wall out of some strange belief that this will make me calm down. I succeed more than I should, especially when I think I won’t get caught. It doesn’t normally calm me down for more than a few seconds. I’m kind of glad that’s all I do, because I’m sure if I didn’t have a fear of knives I’d probably do worse.

My life is a lot better than it used to be. This used to happen almost nightly, and I’d lock myself in my room and just shiver and cry. Nowadays, I’d put it at maybe once every two weeks? But sometimes I have little chain combos of several nights in a row, when life is hard, and I’ll often have close calls, where I feel it happening, but manage to calm down in time.

There’s not a lot my boyfriend can do when this is going on. He tries. He puts up with a lot, and I owe him a lot. I do a lot better because he is there, and I have something to focus on, and he has basically figured out when I am going to have problems and will just tell me I should go to bed before things happen. He’s often notices me mumbling, or my breathing messing up, before I do. I can’t believe he puts up with this, but he does. It means more to me than I know.

When I’m around people, I hide this. Even if I am having a bad day, I bury it, most of the time. I can’t let myself be seen out of it. I want to be someone who is not a burden. This stuff will make my friends sad. It will make them upset. I have to keep it together around them, so they don’t know. I have no problem acting. I will be panicking, be around someone and seem perfectly fine for hours, but the moment I’m alone again, I will go right back to panic. I don’t know what that says about me. Maybe that’s a really bad sign that I can do that, and hide everything so easily.

But I need to be honest. I need to be honest about my problems.

I’m not really okay. Not as often as I should be. It’s not all the time, and I stopped it from controlling all of my life a long time ago, and that’s why I’m here today. But I’m not okay a lot of the time. I wanted you to know. You’re my friends. I love you.

I’m not going to give up, and I have wonderful people here in person to support me. You don’t need to worry about me, I promise. But I just wanted to remove one more mask that I used to need to survive, but does me no good now. One more coping mechanism that has persisted, but probably has no place in the life I’m trying to build. I hope that’s okay.

Again, I love you. Thanks for listening and caring about me. It means more to me than I can say.

So here’s a blog about some really potentially awkward stuff relating to, you know, sex. Not that I’m going to get all graphic or whatever. But if that’s not something you want to know about me, this isn’t the blog for you. But this is a thing I’m trying to think out, so I write about it, so… uh, anyway…

You alright with everything? Sure? Alright, cool.

For awhile now, basically all my sexual fantasies have been about women.

Now, I mean, sure, that’s not weird. I mean, you know, I like ladies. Ladies are a thing I like. And there’s nothing wrong with having a sexy daydream now and again. But it’s just kind of getting to the point where it’s bothering me. I find myself wandering off in these thought processes when I have a lovely jackal like 3 feet away who would throw me onto the bed and do so many nice things with me if I even vaguely mentioned it. If I’m horny, I have a fantastic solution. But my head never seems to click into that. It clicks into ladies. And this frustrates me because, again, nice boyfriend jackal I would like to be intimate with more often, but my head isn’t cooperating.

I wouldn’t normally be writing about all that, but recently I came up with a theory as to why, so I thought I’d run it by you.

I want to do the sexy times with ladies instead of my man because some subconscious part of me thinks it is safer.

When I do things with my boyfriend, there are a lot of things I cannot do that I desperately want to do. I am physically incapable as I am now. Hopefully someday that will not be the case, but for now, it’s just a fact. He’s lovely, and he’s sweet, and he makes me melt and get into this quite subby mode most of the time. And I sit there, squirming and making happy noises and stuff. And my brain… starts thinking about what I want to do. Which are things I cannot do. But I want them. I want them so bad. But I can’t do them. And this works me into a sort of panic. When the time comes to do the things I can do, often this will set me off and I’ll start crying and generally be fucking lame. Overall, this stuff is worth it. I am so lucky I have a partner who will take it slow and understands my issues here. I am so fucking lucky, for serious. But it’s disappointing every time I break down like that, and it keeps happening. I don’t want that disappointment. Preferably this would happen with me getting over my stupid self and just, you know, enjoying myself. But I’m so wrapped up in mental bullshit, that’s hard to do.

I feel like my body is trying to keep me away from that. Generally, with women, I am much more dom. I am in control. When I am in control, anything I don’t want to happen or I’m worried about clearly won’t happen. And so, my subconscious goes, if you were having sex with a lady, you wouldn’t be having these issues.

I don’t really believe I wouldn’t be having similar problems. I know I would, in fact. Hell, I do take a more dommy role at times with my jackal too, and while I do tend to keep myself under control more, I still freak out. If that’s all it is that’s supposed to protect me, I can do that now, if I wanted to, and do, from time to time. Still, problems are there. Since I’m not in a “sex with a lady is possible” situation right now, I can’t PROVE that I would have similar problems to the little voices in my head, you know? So they say I wouldn’t. And I fantasize about that. And here we are.

Basically, my mind and my body are the lamest goddamn things. Maybe now that I’ve rationalized why I’m thinking the way I am, I can move past it and get back to enjoying myself. I hope so.

Yesterday, I felt horrible. I was so constantly nervous I was sick to my stomach. I didn’t feel like I could interact with anyone. I felt useless and awful and wanted to no longer exist.

This morning I feel perfectly fine. Not happy, perse. I mean, I’m up early to work and I have to get going to work soon. Hard to be super pumped about that. But I’m functional. I don’t feel like garbage. I’m fine.

Hormones are scary shit.

The theory on why yesterday was such a horrible situation for me revolved around me forgetting to take a pill the day before. See, most of my pills I take in the morning. I never forget those. I take them when I get up with a little breakfast. But one particular pill I have to take twice a day. I’m supposed to take them with food, so I always try to wait until dinner, but often I’m out of the house, or doing this or that, and I totally forget. Most of the time I end up taking them late, but I still take them, and it’s not a huge deal. (Mostly, because that pill is a diuretic, I have to get up in the middle of the night for a bathroom break if I take them late, but that’s the only bad side effect.) The day before yesterday, though, I was so tired and burnt out, I just went straight to bed and didn’t take them at all.

Then yesterday happened. I didn’t put two and two together. The pill in question is a testosterone suppressant. Testosterone is supposed to make you angry, not depressed, right? Plus, most of the rare times when I miss those pills, I do feel a little down, but nothing near this bad. Then again, that night before was kind of a shitty night, and that morning I broke my cell phone, so those things probably compounded to set off a depression attack.

Basically, it honestly just kind of scares me that such things can fuck me up so much. Like, I know, on an intellectual level, that these hormones and things run this stuff in my body. I do get that. But it’s still really disturbing to look back at myself, a mess, and realize that it was a stupid little pill so small that I could fit like 3 of them on a penny that was the culprit. I mean, I know my body SHOULD be taking care of this stuff without help, but it doesn’t, so here I am. And I’m silly. And I forget. And then horrible hide in bed suicidal day occurs. So shitty.

I’m going to do my best not to let that happen again.

Okay, blog, I’m going to vent a bit for now. Sorry.

I wish I knew what was up with me.

For like, forever, when I was younger, I was miserable. I basically spent all my free time thinking about how to kill myself, and had to force myself to do things like have fun with my friends, go to class, or whatever. It really fucking sucked. So I got me some therapy and transitioned and then I felt no less than tons better? Seriously, it was like “Oh, this is what being happy is.” It was pretty great!

But seriously, the last few weeks, I’ve been falling back to where I was. I’ve started thinking about killing myself again on a fairly regular basis. (I never will. I’m not an idiot and I’m not about to hurt my loved ones with something so selfish, but goddamn, do I have some specific fantasies about it.) I’ve started mumbling to myself again constantly about what a waste of space I am and how much of a disappointment I’ve become. I constantly wake up in the middle of the night in panic states. It’s been pretty shitty!

I’m really not sure what has changed. Granted, I do have a lot of classes on my plate, and I am doing quite a bit of work. But it’s not like I haven’t taken breaks when I needed them, and it’s not like I’m not keeping up with everything I need to do. (I could be BETTER, certainly. I could be grading all my papers the night I get them or something insane. Overall, though, I haven’t done anything that I would even remotely consider a problem or something to worry about yet.) I’ve still got an awesome boyfriend and a super cool puppy dog who loves me. I get to do cool shit. While I worry a bit about money, I know that, overall, I’m not anywhere near screwed.

Yet it’s just oppressing. I know I used to get things done while feeling like this, but I’ve been WITHOUT these feelings for so long, I feel like I’ve kind of forgotten how to function when I feel like this, too.

Last night, we all went out to eat for my mom’s birthday, and my Grandma, as I was hugging her before she left, said “You’re a good man.” As soon as I was out of the family zone, I lost it. I cried. I’ve felt like a lot of shit ever since. Like sick to my stomach worked up. It just… bleh. My psychologist and I had a talk recently about how big things take a long time to percolate. Basically, she was saying it wasn’t dumb that I was still freaking out about this stuff, even though I felt frustrated to be having these sorts of feelings again. This is probably the biggest goddamn thing in my life. It’s not just going to disappear. That dysphoria is going to come back. It’s natural for it to.

It just really fucking sucks.

Anyway, there, some venting. I’m done.

Hi, blog. I don’t know why I’m not in bed, but that just feels wrong right now, and I feel like I’d just toss and turn and keep CJ up, so…

Anyway, we never talk any more, so let’s talk, huh, blog? Can we do that?

I told CJ earlier today that right now, the life I’m living now, is the happiest I have ever been. That’s factual, as far as I’m aware. I wasn’t trying to be hyperbolic. It just is so overwhelmingly frustrating when things break that. When I break, and it breaks that. I feel like such a fool, and a fuckup.

Look, okay, I’m going to talk about some personal sexytimes things here, so, you know, if that’s not cool with you, this is no longer the blog for you, and I understand.

I’m basically tired of sobbing uncontrollably every time I try to do something nice and sexy with my boyfriend. It’s, for whatever reason, become MORE constant instead of less, which I would have figured would have been the case. He loves me. He gets me. I have nothing to worry about. But… well… okay, so I got on this new pill… and all the sudden I’m like… super sensitive. Like seriously? And all over. And arousal is more like I had always heard it should be, more of an all-over experience instead of a centralized one. All that is fantastic, though a bit overwhelming (in a good way) at times. But I can’t enjoy it. Because CJ gets me all super-turned on, and then I know exactly what I want him to do and…! It’s physically impossible because I’m fucked up and incorrect. And this shakes me. And I try not to let it bother me, but then all my attention is on not crying instead of, you know, nice stuff, and then eventually CJ notices and asks me if I’m okay and if I try to actually speak a word I start crying. And crying. And crying.
There are so many nice things we could be doing together. So much I can do. So much I can still be involved in. But this breaks me every goddamn time.

I spent a long time trying to suppress things that I wanted, you know? And I found that that fucking sucked. That was terrible, and making me miserable. When I started recognizing that hey, I want things and hey, I deserve things, I felt a lot better. I want this. But I can’t have it. At best it’s thousands of dollars away, which I don’t have. It’s years away, realistically. Years of going to bed and failing to not be an idiot and breaking down and sobbing because my body is so fucked up. And I feel so much better now, overall, that that just feels like an impossible thing to endure. I used to be able to, because I have no choice. Now I feel like I do, and it’s hard. It’s really hard. But I don’t really have a choice. Not yet. And much like my ability to put up masks to hide my shitty emotional state, which completely broke down when I finally started feeling good most of the time, I continue to fail to find the ability to endure this and get on with my life and enjoy what I can do.

I can’t imagine what this must be like for CJ. He can’t really understand this stuff. I’m not really sure how he could help, and he doesn’t know either. He wants to show me he loves me, and he gets me sobbing for an hour for his trouble time and again for his trouble. He says he’s not frustrated as shit, but he must be, right? Fuck.

I don’t know if this actually makes any sense to anyone else, but if you did read it, thanks. I’m going to try to sleep now, I guess.
More blog soon, cause I’m sure as hell not leaving this the top blog post for long.

Hi, everyone! I’m a blogger! I blog everyday! (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding, I continue to be a failure.)

Anyway.

I think it’s interesting that my response to feeling monetary pressure is to feel amazing urges to buy people gifts. Like, I’m feeling a lot of monetary pressure right now. Kohl’s sucks, I’m not making near enough money to pay rent, etc, much less, you know, relax and have a good time, and that plus my medical bills are eating through all the money I had saved up for the summer during the semester real quick-like. I’ve been kinda panicking.

And then I, you know, realize I really need to start buying presents for people. Cara and Chris and all kinds of people. Presents! Presents. Exciting.

I mean, I like buying presents! I regret nothing, and it’s not like I’ve spent a lot of money. I’ve not been insane. But it’s still pretty silly of me, I guess.

Coping mechanisms, like buying presents or hiding from a blog or a project I’m supposed to be working on, are really dumb, I guess is what I’m trying to say.

Today we moved my desk from one side of my office to the other, a process that caused me to fall into hysterics several times and eventually cry for awhile.

No, nothing broke. No, nothing really went all that wrong, besides me stepping on a sharp thing. Yes, all we did was move my desk and a bookshelf. Yes, I am a fucking idiot.

I mean, I know why I get hysterical when there’s big changes to places where I relax and such. I have this whole history of being super ultra dependent on having my spaces being exactly the same time and again so I can feel centered and like the world isn’t total and utter shit, you know? I came to depend on that. Really depend on that. So when that gets disrupted, even when I’m in control and I’m okay with it all and everything, I still get so worked up until things can settle down and I can settle back in. It’s really fucking annoying. I shouldn’t be so stupid.

I really shouldn’t. But here I am, I guess. At least we got the desk moved.

I’m talking to this lady at work, and we’re talking about relationships for whatever reason (I think I mentioned CJ in something and she asked me basic relationship questions or something, I dunno) and she’s talking about her past experiences and I’m like “Okay, empathy time, I’m going to tell this story and relate to her situation and stuff” and then I realize that story makes no sense unless it’s obvious I’m a transsexual, and I cannot remember if she’s worked there long enough to know that about me. In fact, I was pretty sure she hadn’t, and I wasn’t going to tell her if it was otherwise, because that’s dumb. But I was also at a loss on what to say at that point without being able to relate via my story.

Later on, I’m talking with Stiv, and I go into this discussion about friend problems, and they all revolve around me being trans, which he knows. But it then occurs to me how many of my serious problems and things I really worry about revolve around me being a transsexual. Like, a lot of them do. Quite a lot.

That’s kind of depressing, right?

I just remember how refreshing it was, after I transitioned, to suddenly have “normal” problems like getting a good job and things like that. I’m like, thank goodness I can actually focus on my life now! But I never really got past all that, I suppose. I worry about these issues all the time still, from trying to figure out how I’m going to budget for future surgeries to dumb things like “that would be a fun weekend but I don’t think I can swim in my current state so I guess I shouldn’t go.” It’s just depressing to realize how much of my life is still dictated by this bullshit, and how much I still have to take it into account in everything I do.

Today I kind of realized that. That’s pretty frustrating.

Hi, blog.

Sorry I was gone so long.

Let me just kind of explain what happened, and then we can all move on with our lives.

I was in a big bad emotional place and I just couldn’t focus at all. So much shit was going down, and I still don’t want to talk about it. Sorry about that. Overall, though, I’m feeling a lot better. I feel like things are going to work out in a positive manner with everyone happy and lives moving forward in useful ways. I hope that’s the case, anyway. Either way, I’ve stopped falling into my old patterns of singing about how terrible I am and imagining my own death in very gruesome ways, so that’s probably a good sign.

In any case, I just really needed a break from this. I couldn’t fabricate something to write about that was happy, and I didn’t want to write about how depressed I was constantly. I’m sorry. That’s pretty shitty of me, I know. That sort of stuff shouldn’t be an excuse. But it was nice to relief pressure on myself in this little way when I felt so much otherwise.

I wasn’t lying about the project, though. That’s a thing I hope moves forward smoothly. It’s NaGaDeMo or something like that. I really want to make a small version of everything I have planned. I don’t know if I’m going to have enough focus to do so, but I’m going to try. Pester me about it constantly or whatever, okay? Or not. Whatever.

Anyway, daily blogs will resume tomorrow (See, this is today’s blog! Ha! I’m totally cheating and shit!) and we’ll move on to a new age of stupid blog-like ramblings. Sound good? Cool.

Thanks for understanding.