Something to be pitied and abhorred. Something that everyone smiles at in person, out of sympathy, but behind its back, they laugh at it.
I’m so tired of my body. My character. My worthlessness in the world.
It’s a rusty needle that pierces every pore of your body, makes you hate your own fucking cells, chromosomes, DNA, your brain. It’s an ache that’ll never completely leave, I can rub it out with hormones and Tyenol, change my identity until nothing old remains but my genitals, but I can’t get reborn.
I can never give a woman a baby. I can never fit in truly with men. I can never know what it’s like to wake up with morning wood and chuckle. I’m separate, physically, a confused alien mutilating its flesh for peace. I am devil-wrecked blip of confusion and it’s too fucking much.
I don’t understand my brain half the time. Up and down but constantly separate from society. Laugh at myself from afar. This isn’t me, it’s a blank stare out of a speckled skeleton. Let me go, it’s not me, inside I’m a ruckusing rowdy testosterone-fueled teenage boy, not this strange quiet ugly thing who answers readily to Matt at school and achingly to Madeleine at home. I’m in a girl body. I’m a teenage guy in a girl’s body and no one really knows. It’s too depressing to hang out with guys, most would never take me for more than a wannabee lesbian. Girls at least matronize you, nurture you like their twisted little boy, and there’s comfort there.
I seriously want to die. There’s thirty months until I’m an adult and have medical jurisdiction over what hormones are in my body. That means thirty more periods, thirty more months of boob growing and hip widening and anger and fear and an empty space between your legs that makes you break down in public. All I can do is stare at the males in my school like a fucking freak and dream of another body haha. There’s nothing for me here. Nothing. I have no right to complain. I’m tolerated. I’m not hungry. I’m not dirty. I’m not cold. I’m not sick. I’m not unloved. All my problems come from within and I want to implode like a pathetic dwarf star. Help me goddamnit it’s too long to wait for testosterone so that I can look like a weirdly boned underjawed speckled little bearded woman. I can’t live for others. I can’t live for myself. I can’t live at all.
drowning in your flesh
rotting in a cage
constant fear of mirrors
nausea when you look in one
dreaming about slicing off bad body parts and sewing on good ones
inability to look at a cis-person
feeling like a turd when your mom tells you to suck it up and quit begging for attention
envisioning yourself as a good-looking ideal-bodied person and feeling like the shit…but then the fantasy collapses and you’re back to square one with your awkward wrong body
It’s pretty unbearable. I can’t even get hormones for probably several years since my parents aren’t too supportive. I have an appointment with a gender therapist in two months, and that’s only because my doctor recommended it for my own health.
My body is what’s causing the problems, why the hell can’t I just escape it? Huh? My consciousness is male and my body is alien
My obnoxious buck-toothed dumbfuck brothers outed me to my conservative mom. I’m a transguy. I’m still figuring out myself, and I certainly wasn’t ready to tell anyone else. Plus my mom’s in a difficult situation herself – she’s depressed, anorexic, going through a divorce, etc. So it’s really ridiculous to burden her with my situation.
She told me I was an attention-seeker who needed to pray. I told her – and tried to be firm – that I felt confident and happy, dressed as a guy. She responded that it was a false sense of confidence instilled by the devil. According to her, no one in the family believes it…everyone thinks I’m ridiculous and tacky and a royal asshole. At this point I couldn’t help it. My eyes get all weepy when I’m angry and hurt.
The next day, we went to church with my aunt and uncle. My uncle hadn’t seen me with a haircut before – kept silent, just glared at me a couple times. Made me feel nauseous inside. We used to talk a lot. I thought he was cool and funny. Anyway, the situation got even worse when the pastor introduced himself and addressed me along with my brothers as “gentlemen.” The table just got quiet. You could tell that everyone was just stewing.
I don’t have to deal with this shit all the time – I’m living with my dad, who’s accepting, thank God. It’s just…this weekend was depressing and uncomfortable and awkward and…it really set me back.
Once there was a little pinhead who became infatuated with another little pinhead. The two pinheads pinned around together and produced five mini, pathetic pinheads. The pinheads lived from lousy paycheck to paycheck, their kids miserable, lady pinhead an anorexic crying mess half the time…
Finally daddy pinhead meets a sexy blonde library pinhead and they start pinning around secretly. Lady pinhead doesn’t like this. Not one bit. She quits her job, quits taking care of the little pinheads…
3/5 little pinheads end up in institutions for various reasons. Eventually lady pinhead takes her turn in the hospital, where they force her to eat little chocolate wedges of cake and watch her go to the bathroom to make sure she don’t puke. She doesn’t come out for several months, and when she does, she cries and mopes at Mother Pinhead’s house.
Meanwhile the eldest pinhead balances schoolwork with watching the youngest pinhead. It’s difficult. The daddy pinhead’s either working or fondling his little blonde pinhead.
The pinhead kids survive on frozen pizza and weed, complementary of dirtbag friends. The littlest pinhead, just 4 years old, breaks down multiple times. He doesn’t understand this shit.
One of the pinheads, 12 years old and autistic, tries to hang himself multiple times. After all, the little pinheads are alone most of the time, and the autistic pinhead gets beaten and bruised by his older brother pinhead. Finally, the autistic pinhead is sent to live with his grandparents, where he does quite well. He becomes happy and confident.
The rest of the pinheads are jealous. It isn’t fair that the autistic pinhead gets a winning ticket out of the shithole.
The remaining pinheads are obligated to visit mother pinhead. It’s a delicate job – it’s tough to support a mother who is more like a needy child. Fuck, it’s tough to take care of your pre-teen self.
The eldest pinhead comes out of the closet to unanimous praise. Ah, yes, unanimous praise.
Fuck this. This is my mediocre story. It seems so overwhelming to think about, but on paper (or in a text box), I’m realizing that I have it pretty damn good, compared to most of the world. I have food to eat, clothes to wear, and an education. 3.5 years and I’m getting the fuck out of here….can’t wait for college, job, relationship?? Perhaps, maybe…happiness? Independence? My apartment won’t feel so grey. It won’t smell like moldering wedding certificates, sad minivans, round holes in the walls, sibling beatings, death, self-pity, secrets, snobby lecturing relatives who view you as attention-seeking assholes.
I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I’m on Prozac, 20 mg/day. I don’t do alcohol or drugs or anything. I’m not even that depressed right now. But I’m seeing things…at first these things weren’t too scary, just a little annoying, like Gingy would steal my pencils and hide them. But now Gingy’s rabid. Whenever he shows up I lock myself in the bathroom. He can’t get in the bathroom because that’s where I was conceived.
What the hell am I supposed to do? He brought some of his friends, they’re outside…the doors are locked, my dad’s at work…it’s tough to even focus on school work when he’s tormenting me.
There’s four or five of them, hard to tell. You can’t see them head on, but they fade in through the window out of the corner of your eye. Most of them look harmless, except for this one skeletal blackbird creature…fuck, it’s chewing the flesh off its bones, and when it’s got nothing left, it’ll come for me, fuck fuck help please, I’d rather take myself than surrender to that freak
Sometimes you don’t know if you just hear wind or emptiness in your ears. They sound like sad little whispers
Please help, I’m really terrified. There’s no one to talk to. I’m alone until my dad gets home from work tomorrow. It’s telling me to carve things into pine wood, but I can’t, because then he blinds me and I begin carving on my thigh, since I can’t distinguish between them!!
But if I don’t listen it’ll kill me
That might seem dramatic. My mind is all sluggish and clogged, probably because it’s 12:30 right now. I don’t anywhere. Maybe I’ll try elsewhere and see if I can be born with the correct body, ya know?
This flesh cage, I can’t live in it. It’s draining to see foreign objects on your chest and nothing between your legs. Why do I have curvy hips. They don’t belong there. They need to go. Maybe I’ll slice those chest tumors off.
There are boys all around with their own sets of problems. I shouldn’t be jealous, but hell, I am jealous. I’m jealous because they’re accepted as boys and men. To some people I’m a…don’t wanna say it.
14 years in this odd fucked up body
Either live a lie or don’t live at all
Try my luck elsewhere
Have fun and eat some carrots
Let me tell you a story.
In the little town of Chaonite there are little minions called Chaonites. There is a group of Chaonites called Chrischaonites and they claim to know the one and only truth. They say that machaonites can only fuck fechaonites, and fechaonites can only fuck machaonites. Everything goes according to plan until one day, a fechaonite desides she wants to fuck another lovely little fechaonite. The Chrischaonites don’t like this, not one bit. They tie up this strange evil fechaonite and process her in their holy slaughterhouse, where the blood is drained out of her pretty body and mixed with sugar and put into little glass jars with ice cubes. The remaining dead husk of that fechaonite is stripped into little bread-like morsels, which are put into a little bag.
The Chrischaonites then mourn the lost fechaonite before drinking red lemonade and bread for their midday meal.
What to do about a depressed 10 year old? Family’s in chaos, inconsistency. Divorce pending, mom in hospital, dad drifting away to girlfriend. This 10 year old has random meltdowns where he can’t stop crying and eventually storms off. No one can approach him. Sometimes he refuses to talk to anyone. He’s all right at school, I think, but home is miserable. It’s snowing right now and he doesn’t have any distractions.
I’m worried because I see some streaks in him similar to myself. He feels misused, shut-up, abandoned, unloved, etc.
I don’t know what to do. With my dad working nights we’re at home alone a lot, and he feels claustrophobic. We have to manage my four year old brother, who really needs an adult, but hell, there’s no one until my mom gets out of the psyche ward. I take online classes, so I’m able to watch the toddler whenever my dad’s working days. It’s lonely. The house is cursed and barren, lol.
So, this ten year old tries to be responsible, pull his own weight, help around the house, keep my dad from raging, etc.
I’m not some fucking overbearing mother, don’t get me wrong. I’m a 14 yr. old closeted FTM, scared to tell anyone.
How am I supposed to help him? He can’t take the instability. He’s constantly nervous, brooding, frustrated, lashing out, crying, etc. It’s enough work already to keep him from bullying the four year old.
It’s stressful, to be honest. My 13-year old brother helps out a lot, takes care of the toddler, etc. Without Z (the 13-yr-old), we’d never survive.
Of course, it’s easier now. Thank god my 12 year-old bro is living with my grandparents now – he was attempting to hang himself, he couldn’t take it.
I’m getting off topic, this is more of a journal daydream than anything else, but this 10 year old kid is depressed and no one knows what to do. He internalizes things; I’m scared he’s going to try something just as a cry for help or some shit.
You don’t have to make your breathing stop to be actually dead. There’s this self-therapy to make you go bat-shit insane. You’ll laugh and cry until the two blur together like an ugly blur of paint colors and you won’t be able to paint a picture, no, but you’ll be able to rot in the trash. No one wants grey paint
Go to sleep and scare yourself. It works. Lucid dreaming. Frighten yourself to the point of numbness
Have you ever stared in the mirror for too long? That pale fleshy creature morphs into something twisted and grey and demonic, hollow, empty, dead!!! And yet alive…..
Last night I was chased by the lipsticked poodle who wanted my carrot sticks. That poodle insisted on happy things and happy people, and he skinned anyone who wasn’t happy with a potato peeler. That happy poodle preyed on the depressed poodles
It’s all gone now, I’m neither male nor female, happy nor sad, evil or good, I just exist. A typo on a paper already printed. Too bad, the printer’s out of ink, you can’t fix the typo!!!! I exist and there isn’t anything you can do about it.
No, I am one thing, a deranged clump of white cells
Oh, and I’m passing for a boy now, as long as I don’t open my mouth. Fuck yeah. My brother’s friends call me Matt. Fuck yeah.
I finished my research paper.
I talked to a counselor about a LGBT support group.
I took my pill today.
My grandma hasn’t called up yet to drag my ass back to her house to rot in a pious censored environment.
For the first time in 14 years on this cracked polluted smelly grey earth, I’m myself.
If you think about it, everything on this earth is essentially shit, or at least some form of shit.
FUCK YEAH. SHOUT IT. 4 more years and I’m free and gone.
I’ve got to admit, that psyche ward doctor was right. There would be a time when I’d feel true ecstasy. I remember him saying those words back in September. I stared at him, laughing, crying, itching in those red hospital scrubs. Only thing I was wondering about then was why the hell I didn’t swallow more pills. Why the hell I didn’t listen to my alarm clock and slit my existence.
Now I’m happy. I probably won’t be happy in a few days, but that’s all right too.
I’m a mediocre blip on this earth and I’M FUCKING PROUD OF IT!!!!!!!
LIFE IS A HIGHWAY
Sorry, I’m hyper
Good luck to you wonderful, miserable people. Sorry you’re struggling.
This is a pretty self-indulgent post, sorry. You people are hurting, and deserve something other than a selfish teen’s rant. Please stop reading if it’s wasting your time. It just helps to scream, sometimes. This really belongs in a journal, rather than a forum. Here goes.
I’m hurting others right now. My mother’s saddened, my grandmother’s angry, my aunt has lost respect for me. I’m dressing a certain way and it’s hurting them. My mom’s fighting an eating disorder and my guy clothes are bothering her – hell, I’m her only daughter, so that’s one more thing drifting away from her.
My grandma sat me down and told me that I was a selfish asshole. Asked me why I was dressing like a boy, why my brother announced that I secretly wanted to cut my hair off. She asked if I was gay. She asked if I was trying to steal attention from my depressed mother. Of course not, I said.
My grandma is passionate. And religious. Those two mixed together produce something quite opinionated. Don’t get me wrong – she’s a wonderful, nurturing person. She cares for others.
Tell me, honestly, please. Am I subconsciously trying to rebel against my hospitalized mother and my controlling grandmother. I don’t think I am. At least, I don’t want to. I love them both – my mother needs all the support she can get, and according to some people, I’m not helping. No matter the hugs, the visits, the thousand “I love you’s”, the legitimate concern for her – I’m still an asshole.
Should I just let it go? Just endure the girl clothes? As long as my mother feels supported, and her relatives accept me? The confidence I feel in men’s clothing is shot when my aunt says I look tacky, or my uncle mocks me.
I don’t want to lose these people. They helped me through depression. I’ve kept this boy thing a secret from a ton of people. Just recently I’m dressing openly.
I don’t want to lose these people. Sure, I feel claustrophobic around them, but they helped me through depression.
I’m at my dad’s and I don’t want to leave. He accepts me, at least.
Why the fuck couldn’t I have been born a boy. It would spare a ton of confusion and disappointment. Plus I wouldn’t feel like a freaky asshole.
Sorry. I’m really sorry. You are wonderful, albeit troubled people. I’ve just wasted your time (if anyone even read to this point).
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