I find myself so frustrated lately, and I do promise that I will concentrate on lighter things shortly, having all these worries floating through my head right now like:
Is my younger brother really moving backwards in acceptance in my transition? Will my mother continue sabotaging me, trying to make it harder so that I give up? Is my older brother really healthy for my trans and gay friends to be around will he accept me? Will my sister cut me off from my neice and nephews? How far will my step fathers rage go? Did I really screw up my schooling beyond any hope to fix it? How many years before my student loans debt is gone? How much longer after that will I ever have credit? Will I be fifty before I can ever hope to get a mortgage for a home? Will I be in the closet at work for the rest of my life? Will I still hate myself when I start visibly changing more? Will I be ugly? Can I trust anyone to talk to... Its been so long since I've hung around with any lgbt friends, I miss the acceptance and the use of gay in any positive sense of the word. The transgender day of remembrance was painful this year, I am stuck hiding and quiet. I keep trying to get things that I have always wanted, that I used to want, because it fit in my minds picture of what my cozy dream home would hold. As if one could collect enough pieces to complete the puzzle and solve life. I find myself having a hard time seeing into a future anymore though, I go by old pictures and old lists, pretending that they are still there. All I see when I try to look to my future is a short strip of the road left. I think of all the obstacles and how I can ever live with one of them continuing negatively and it feels like It is just a matter of time before the road runs out.
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No lies, the weekend was wonderful, it has been a long time since I didn’t hate myself every single day and had to struggle with wanting a way out over dealing with so many evil fuckers. Today I had to take care of some particularly frustrating things that tend to piss me off. A big chunk would be the constant struggle for our Quiltbag (lgbt) campus group’s fight for our funding assured to us seven years ago. Months after starting the process of explaining every dollar of our budget and where it goes and in which order it will go to things, we are still being told to jump through more hoops in hopes of getting any funding. I am a peace loving hippy, but the rage and hatred they manage to get out of me is not easily abandoned. Never have I wished people to die violently as much as I have them. I spare no applause for the new variety of ways they seem find to rape us every year. We started so strong with some lgbt in the students union executive when our group was first created and it has just been downhill from there, soon we will have no support in any way from them. Already having events has been crushed this year, first our bar nights(only queer bar scene in the city) then any other on campus events, all our resources have been lost, and now any funding. We are finding no way to rebuild what we had in the very beginning seven years ago, at least with any support of our campus's students union(which is typically where our group on a campus would get funding).
Yup, so full of Rage that it’s not funny. No, seriously, I'm a Wiccan hippy. My murderous rage is not funny it feels like my soul is being tainted by this hatred. Beyond these last few years I had never wished ill upon anyone. So, this will be my first attempt to type up what may have been the scariest day of my life. I was at a friend/acquaintances place when I came across one of my mother’s status updates that freaked me out. It was a coax to a friend of the family to come home, that everyone was getting worried that they were missing. I started texting my mom right away, having some anxiety that they might be taking off out of town and I might not have another opportunity to see them. I started calling and texting. Something felt wrong and I found out that my step father was actually driving around town in hopes to track him down. As embarrassing as it was to really bug my step father about coming with him I kept texting him. Tea club dissipated and instead of catching a ride home I felt a need to walk. I walked straight to the mall nearby. I was watching for the red car that my friend was supposed to be in. I was feeling sick and couldn’t pass a red car without making sure it was at least empty. Was he with friends hiding out so that he wouldn’t have to deal? Taking off right out of town? Or was he just sitting in the car with the weight of his problems?
I felt stupid, people probably think that I’m looking for unlocked cars, but I continue to the mall, but I don’t feel right, I can’t distract myself at all. I feel like I’m going to see him soon, run right into him. I would give him a solid punch to the arm for scaring people. I feel so embarrassed that I still feel sick and cant distract myself, I had stuff I should pick up but I can't. Every time I stop for a minute I feel like I’m going to throw up, I had to be outside. I keep walking, Timmies, everyone loves Timmies. No luck, I keep checking the parking lot. I walked over to the far corner of the lot where the semi's park and I hear it. “Oh my god! Someone call 911!” I ran over right away. In my mind it hit me that it was a red car, but it still felt like it couldn't be my friend. I got around to the drivers side fast as they opened the door and reached in to pull out my friend. There was blood everywhere. They kept saying his name over and over, now all of them freaking out and calling 911. They were sobbing and talking to the dispatcher while I checked him over. A few tears came to me, this was my friend, feeling like this was the only way out or at least the least painful way. The whole thing was what you would expect in a horror movie. He was covered in blood along with half the car. Thick gashes up both of his arms, deep cuts spread wide open as if someone started to use him for dissection. With throat slit and multiple arteries hit, there was blood all over the car. His arms were too much of a mess to try to start getting him clean. The best we could hope for is keeping him conscious and stopping the bleeding. We lucked out that everyone found him when we did. Most of the cuts were clotting and he managed to keep conscious. I kept track of what I could, watching his breathing, checking his pulse, and checking his skin for changes, what I could remember about my first aid training. His sister came over to watch him and I kept an eye on everything to make sure there were no changes. Once the paramedics arrived I reassured his family that I felt he would be fine and was doing good, and asked if I could catch a ride with them to the hospital, explaining finally who I was. Once I was at the hospital I just broke down. I have lost too many people I love, and almost lost him too. So many times he had tried to talk to me in the past months. I would talk to him then, but outside then I stayed away. Through ups and downs with his spouse, I felt I would only complicate his life. We had first met when he was around 14, I suppose I was 9, he had started working for my step father and was on his own already. Though I was quiet and shy he was nice to me. He became a part of our family(which tends to take in people with no family) in no time at all and he treated me better than anyone I knew. In fact, when some of my peers started taunting me when I was with him he shut them down. He started talking to me whenever he was stressed or trying to figure out life, not saying much to most of his peers. I was quiet but very observant because of it and was able to give him pretty good advice when he needed it. He was definitely considered to be fresh meat even at 17 and had quite a bit of attention. He tended to loose his shirt at parties and women tried to get into his pants all the time. I'm unsure of when but eventually I noticed him too. It was a bit odd for me that he could be so pretty. I suppose it was through having an intimacy with him of sorts that I developed my first guy interest. Don't get me wrong though, he was one of the few I could trust and never peeved out on me. My siblings and step father would try to bug me about him to see if I ever fancied him like the other girls, but it never worked on me. No one really knew that I adored him so much. He must have been about 19 when he started dating a new girl that he really ended up sticking with, this was when we just stopped talking regularly. It had been depressing to loose touch and have to be like strangers when I saw him after that. It had only been the beginning of this last summer when we had some good chats. After he tried to end his life I would wake up every day and just start feeling worse and worse until I saw him. Over those next two weeks I went early to see him and stayed late in the evenings until I had to run off to work. Its not that I thought something bad was going to happen that caused the anxiety though. It was just that between what had happened and almost loosing him it was like my heart couldn't take not being near them. As if I couldn't really function anywhere else, when they were in the room I finally could relax. They fulfilled my selfish requests and insisted I was always welcome. Over time I was able to calm the anxiety more and let them resume their life more. One day in the hospital I heard him try to recall anything from the day and he told everyone that at this one point he had felt so comforted and soothed by whoever it was talking to him. To my thrill he described when I was talking with him and he asked everyone who it had been. I kept quiet and was happy that I had actually gotten through to him, I had told him that I wanted him to hold on because I couldn't stand to loose him again. I'm happy that I was able to be there for him. As horrific as it was to see someone I love so much almost die in front of me, at least I was forced to show I really cared and we managed to reconnect. Over the past few months I have enjoyed hanging out with him and getting to know his kids. One of these days you will die. Someone I love, and hate greatly. I will never shed tears for you. After all your violence and your hate I will fight showing relief when you die. It is not my fault for hating you so much, I fought this feeling through many years. I just cannot forget, and thus, can never forgive you. I prayed often when younger that the gods would show mercy on my mother and kill you. I prayed that she would find the strength to leave you. You are a person full of hate and violence. I know a great deal of that is the only thing that you know. I know your life was full of violence before your family came to be. I had years of memories, not all terrible. You were a father to me occasionally, between drinks. But I cannot forget. Thus, I can never forgive. When the day comes you die, I will fight the relief. The violence will end with you.
~A warning that this gets detailed and very violent from here on. This is where Connors, Whit and my birth father (though highly unlikely to ever read this) specifically need to stop reading if you ever get to this point, because I know these things will honestly make you physically ill. If my sister or brother(again quite unlikely) ever read this, it is up to you whether you want continue, I am sorry however if you ever do even get this far, this will put the pieces together for you as well and its hard understanding what was going on. I love you guys.~ If you wish to continue onto part II, the just click the Read more button right....below................Here......... One of these days you will die. Someone I love, and hate greatly. I will never shed tears for you. After all your violence and your hate I will fight showing relief when you die. It is not my fault for hating you so much, I fought this feeling through many years. I just cannot forget, and thus, can never forgive you. I prayed often when younger that the gods would show mercy on my mother and kill you. I prayed that she would find the strength to leave you. You are a person full of hate and violence. I know a great deal of that is the only thing that you know. I know your life was full of violence before your family came to be. I had years of memories, not all terrible. You were a father to me occasionally, between drinks. But I cannot forget. Thus, I can never forgive. When the day comes you die, I will fight the relief. The violence will end with you.
If I must not speak ill of the dead, then I will speak of the violence now and (hopefully) be done with it. How would I ever tell anyone then? To not worry about the tears and sorrow, that there is one less abuser in the world. How would I ever tell my sisters or brother, my nieces and nephews? They will all see me coldly not grieving. I will just lie and tell them I’ve lost too much over the years to shed any tears for the dead. When the abuse started my mother let her love of him and fears of my little brother losing his father hold her there. She somehow felt that a screaming alcoholic rapist was still a father. Even before the drink he would yell and scream at us every day. I was not use to it and it affected me most. My younger brother pretends that it never bugged him, but he grew up with hate in him and it twisted him for many years. He never learned how to treat people; it took him until he was nearly 17 to make a friend for himself. When our father wanted to yell at you, you cannot escape. If you feared him and tried to hide, we would kick down doors to scream at you. Worthless little fucks like us need to listen. Don’t look too far away from where he is but don’t make eye contact. Either will cause him to fly into a fit of rage. He would drink and fuck anything around. I believe that all of the kids caught him at least once. My sisters friends dangerously looked up to him, I still don’t know if he ever did one of them too. My mother wrecked his chances when she would catch him hanging out with them. ~A warning that this gets detailed and very violent from here on and so you know when I refer to my ‘father’ from here on in, it does not mean my birth father for my mother did not ever stay with him. It refers to the man that has had a deal of time in our family and was given right to be father figure. You cannot undo what you will read and know if you do read the rest of this blog post. Most of my friends I have resisted telling because I feel that once known that no one can look at him without hatred, that it makes my siblings look uncaring and ignorant, and because the hatred it can cause in a person could cause someone to seek out ending our fathers life. If someone did do that, it would be because they couldn’t stand to know such a person would be allowed to live, and because of such, I wouldn’t want them to go to jail for it. This is where Connors, Whit and my birth father (though highly unlikely to ever read this) specifically need to stop reading if you ever get to this point, because I know these things will honestly make you physically ill. If my sister or brother(again quite unlikely) ever read this, it is up to you whether you want continue, I am sorry however if you ever do even get this far, this will put the pieces together for you as well and its hard understanding what was going on. I love you guys. To help with curiosity, In a nutshell, my ‘father’ is a very bad person and my mother has taken the brunt of it.~ If you wish to continue, the just click the Read more button right.............below.........................Here......... So I hear that this whole rape thing is a problem. So I decided to look online to see if I could find some advice, some preventative information, that would help out. I found some persons interesting list of Tips to help end Rape. I hope you find it useful.
Ten rape prevention tips: 1. Don’t put drugs in women’s drinks. 2. When you see a woman walking by herself, leave her alone. 3. If you pull over to help a woman whose car has broken down, remember not to rape her. 4. If you are in an elevator and a woman gets in, don’t rape her. 5. When you encounter a woman who is asleep, the safest course of action is to not rape her. 6. Never creep into a woman’s home through an unlocked door or window, or spring out at her from between parked cars, or rape her. 7. Remember, people go to the laundry room to do their laundry. Do not attempt to molest someone who is alone in a laundry room. 8. Use the Buddy System! If it is inconvenient for you to stop yourself from raping women, ask a trusted friend to accompany you at all times. 9. Carry a rape whistle. If you find that you are about to rape someone, blow the whistle until someone comes to stop you. 10. Don’t forget: Honesty is the best policy. When asking a woman out on a date, don’t pretend that you are interested in her as a person; tell her straight up that you expect to be raping her later. If you don’t communicate your intentions, the woman may take it as a sign that you do not plan to rape her. (Rape prevention tips Posted by Leigh Hofheimer) Key part: When in doubt, DON'T rape. We know we are in a sick world when we would rather blame the victim and ignore it. Rapists end up going free and it is shrugged off as a lesson in life. What is the lesson exactly though? That it is only a matter of time? I wish my mom, my nana, my neice, my sisters, my friends could be safe. I wish that every rape was treated seriously. That way maybe it wouldn't be just a matter of time for them. This list reminds me that I am not going insane, the world has screwed up views that need to change. No one asks to be raped, from those who have experienced it, living after such an experience is often described as a fate far worse than death. Like your very soul has been violated and abused, leaving a sick filth left that you cant seem to remove. I figure that this may just cause people to start any sort of debate on societies views of sexuality and gender, but I am always up for that fight. Online that is, in person I may get sick of it and potentially push you into traffic while you tell me that anyone was asking for it. Cause you would be asking for it. I have seen the pain, and felt a great deal of it myself, when many fantastic women and men I know have tried to deal with being victims of such violence. I was looking at some 'slutwalk' photos and saw a sign that remind me of a few friends fears. I can relate, by 12yrs I was very aware of rape and molestation and it saved me quite a few times. I was lucky that I managed to say all the right things and they took the bluff and left, but it was never guaranteed that it would work with the next one. It failed to work for one of my best friends and they were attacked repeatedly, while others looked the other way, because they didn't want to listen. They didn't stop, they kept adding victims, and I just kept praying for their death. Praying for a gun and meeting them in a dark alley. At 12, I could only see the darkest parts of the world and was disgusted by people, my world was only black and grey. I was outraged that people would know what these people where and did nothing, people with far more power than me to do something about it. I was outraged that my parents would allow them to keep going on in life and not be locked away to keep them from attacking again. For the ones I faced I just got to be more disturbed and hid more. That doesn't seem right. Anyway, here is the signs message: "I'm scared to ride the bus. I'm scared by myself. I'm scared at night. I hate men. I think they are violent and out to get me. I'm scared to walk alone. I'm scared to dress nice. I'm scared of being in relationships. I hate to be touched by men. I cry when I feel threatened. The biggest fear I have is to be raped. I feel like I can't trust anyone of the male gender. I am paranoid! I am the product of a domestically violent father and the culture that excused him." Don't think that just because society likes to sweep it under the rug that it ever fixes anything. No one, no matter the genders involved should be allowed to do these things to another person, no excuses should ever be made. “How come all the Cool Chicks are Lesbians”
“Leessbeeannn. Lesbean. All the cool chicks are Lesbians,” My little niece read. I was going through some boxes of jewellery when I heard her reading it out. She can read quite well and takes pride in the ability. She was holding onto a little rainbow pin that I first got from Ian after I came out as a bi at university. I looked down at it and smiled. She looked down at it and smiled too, admiring my handful of pins that I had stored in with my jewellery. “That’s one of my favourite pins, I didn’t make that one, it was a gift from my friend” I told her. “That can go with the rest of my jewellery that I’m taking home.” She smiled down at the little rainbow pin and read it again and again. “How come all the cool chicks are Lesbians!” She looked up at me smiling happily. We continued to look through boxes as I got my stuff organized. The phrase stayed with her as she played through some of my select things. She held onto it for hours, every once in a while, rereading it out loud. Eventually, as I was packing up things, she decided to run it upstairs and tell grandpa about the pin she snitched from me. She came back down the stairs and came up to me with her hands on her hips. “Its not allowed, papa said it was inappropriate.” She said matter-of-factly. I just rolled my eyes. Anything along an lgbt topic and he would tell me to shut it. The kids started a new game of tossing back and forth the new word. “How come all grandmas are lesbians!” “All the hotdogs are lesbians too!” “How come men are all lesbians!” the giggled as they went back and forth. My nephew stopping for a second in mock horror at the last phrase before breaking down into giggles for the next five minutes. Then as they were calming down she finally asked me, “What is a lesbian?” “Its not a bad word, papa was being a goof, lesbian is just a type of girl, or what a girl can be, like girls can be tomboys.” I said. “Oh.” She said, confused by my dull answer, and ran off to play with her brother. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hours later after spending the day hanging out with the kids they headed home. Given the chance to think I thought out loud :“Crap, she held onto that pin for hours, I never got it back, the little thief must have taken it.” I laughed a bit. “Oh, no, he threw it out.” was the reply from my mom in the living room. “What!?” I said, standing there a little stupefied. “He threw it out,” my mom repeated. “Of course I did,” he said, “That’s completely inappropriate to give a kid.” I was still a bit stunned and grasping for words. “She took it from me obviously, she liked it, I didn’t give it to her.” I said as I hurried into the kitchen and pulled out the trash. Having to dig through it I felt humiliated. The pin was surrounded by grime and grease. Thrown away and discarded. “Ian gave it to me years ago.” I felt the heat and frustration rise to my face. “What the hell dad! Seriously, throwing something of mine out like that. And why is it inappropriate? Why would you say that to them? Like it’s a bad word? Something that we aren’t allowed to say? Something dirty? Why would you teach them that? That’s what they did you know. After you reacted like that, they came downstairs and tossed it around like it was a new swear word. Don’t you understand what you are doing?.” I could tell he was fed up and going to stand by it. I felt tears start to run down my cheeks. “Fuck Christmas. Fuck Family. I cant stand this.” I left the room, grabbed my stuff and left. I managed to be okay in the car ride home with my brother but the moment I got to my door I was in tears again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the last couple months my mothers been amazing. She finds out about some of the bad policies or issues that lgbt people have to deal with and are fighting right now and tells them to me, asking if I heard the latest news on it. My brother amazes me every time with an understanding and acceptance that really fills me with happiness. Sometimes my mother says something and my bro rolls his eyes at her and tells her how its stupid because of such and such and tells her how it is. She listens to him, they talk about it and she gets told by him about how she has some silly stereotypes. She laughs it out and I just listen with honour that my little brother is telling her how she believes too much TV. Though there are stereotypes, all it seems to take is some talking about it to fix things and they have both realized so much on their own it really helps me feel at home. I have been involved in the LGBT collective on campus for 5 years. I am one of the most out people in Brandon and proud to be. I have been working my ass off trying to help people and create a good space and comfortable friends to help people come out and deal with everything that comes with it. I have helped numerous people come out, and shared a lot of tears and shared a lot of happiness they felt about the reactions of their friends and loved ones. I’ve been told numerous painful stories and joyful ones, the painful ones always stick with me. Dreams of being a teacher crushed as they watched their schools parents petition to remove a gay teacher from their school until he finally couldn’t take the harassment anymore and quit. Loosing your best friends to coming out cause they cant deal with what other people might think. Another girls parent finding out that her daughter is dating this ‘lesbian’ girl from school and getting the teachers and principal on board for a rule of ‘the lesbian’ not being able to come within three feet of any other girl throughout high school. Enforced by everyone. Being told by your mother that you are disgusting. Hearing your brother talk about how he bashed another fags face in today and being afraid that one day he will find out about you too. I went through years of harassment. Years of bullying, of teasing. I was the fucking dyke. The stupid butch. The beast. Even my friends would hurt and tease me. I would walk home without fear, despite the things people would say to me. They would tell me they would teach me all sorts of things how it was suppose to be, to teach me how to like cock, telling me how they were going to cut me, how they were going to slice me open, telling me how they were going to fuck me up. They pulled out a knife, and I told them how it was a good thing they brought one cause it gave them a better chance to win the fight. I was filled with frustration, it fuelled me. I felt so caged, so backed in a corner and threatened that I could lash out with words of my own. Bless my stupidity, because intimidation saved me. No one stabbed me, no one beat me, they feared that a knife wouldn’t stop me from hitting them right back. They feared my spirit would hold up. Years of girls putting my clothes in the garbage’s during gym. Of taking my binders and pencils and throwing them in the cafeteria garbage. Of Fucking Butch or Stupid Dyke being scrawled on everything I owned the minute I left to go to the bathroom. Of pop being poured in my hair. Of being shoved around in the hallways. All the rocks. All the spit balls. All the snowballs. All the ice. I spent my high school life as trash. “How come all the cool chicks are lesbians” In a sea of hate. Disgust. Of being the punch line of every joke. What does the word butch or dyke feel like to you? This one time its positive. This one time there’s a shred of acceptance. There’s flattery. Pride is such a relief, such a happy time to reclaim ourselves. You say its biased? You say its telling girls that its only cool to be lesbians? In what world? Our world surrounds marriage, something a huge percentage of people feel is wrong between women. The media and world surrounds straight people dating and meeting the perfect man. Straight people having families. Which parent bothers to say the positive things about LGBT people or their struggles when explaining anything to their kids. How much hate is out there. How much teasing? How many derogative things to call us. So why, in this world full of negativity is this a threat? One shining gem of acceptance through all the painful years. We all hear the shit being said. We hear people calling each other fucking faggots, butches, cock suckers, carpet munchers, fudge packers, fairies, or a fucking queer. Its something said to straight people to tease them, to taunt them, saying they are the creeps of society. Just like us. People stay silent, they wont talk, so we get to live in a world dominated by the only people speaking being the ones who hate us so much that they cant shut up about it. That’s why I couldn’t hold back in the end, that’s what caused me to say something. Everytime you tell me that I have to find different friends. Cause mine are not normal, cause mine are all queers(by the way, they aren’t, it was never a requirement). Everytime you tell me that that is the end of discussion cause I mentioned that I liked girls. All those times you cut me off from talking, the times you turned up the music to train me that the minute I mention something LGBT that you wont listen. Everytime you told me to shut up about it and any issues I had to deal with involving work or discrimination. Its who I am. Its who I date. It’s the discrimination I face and fight. Its my job. Its my thesis. Its my friends. I would rather say nothing than have to censor my entire life. This that you are putting me through, weighs down on me. Everytime you do it. I started university with a social experiment, I dressed as a goth but managed a smile on my face most of the time when walking through the hallways. It was easy to do once I realized that NO ONE wanted to actually maintain eye contact. After a decent length of time doing this I managed to find only three people who smiled back. Everyone else instantly averted attention elsewhere when they saw my attire. The three people were a cool dark chick(whom I never could find on campus again O.o), a tall guy and a short guy whom we can call Big Slimey and Little Slimey (B.Slimey=6’4“? whom I ended up having my soc class with) (L.Slimey.=5’6”? whom I ended up having my psych class with).
Little Slimey became my first love and Big Slimey became my best friend. My guidance managed to completely change L.Slimeys life around. He had been rejected and felt inadequate, and found socializing horrific. B.Slimey let me become more close to him than anyone else, but had a hard time seeing me go through the troublesome times with L.Slimey and ended up cutting me out of his life. He shut lots of his friends out of his life after that and became more political and detatched. L.Slimey ended our relationship a social butterfly and a fantastic person, but costed me my self esteem and happiness. L.Slimey said too many terrible things to me when we were breaking up for it to just bounce off me. I started to play piano, delving into a world that I previously only dreamed I could be a part of. I completely embraced music and the arts. I didnt dare to draw much then, my best friend whom I have decided to refer to as Cute Asian. Cute Asian had skills so hardcore that when compared closely next to each other it would render my artwork the equivilent of a drawing of a broken blade of grass(or it might be a tree) compared to one of gustav klimt's(<3) works. Though they drew mostly dragons. I fought hard to get into a good groove, battling depression and obsessive suicidal thoughts. I managed to find myself steady again. I decided to start constantly hanging out with a fantastic friend of mine which I realized later was a great move. At one point it dawned on me that I needed to find out if they thought I was date worthy before somebody else found them. They had a smooth body, pretty eyes, a sweet smile and a nice ass. I managed to gain their attention and got to feel a love greater than I thought could exist. I easily envisioned myself having a full future with them. I was able to rid myself of insecurities by letting our relationship shelter me from most unremedied pains. I found myself at a loss when my ex L.Slimey was chasing our mutual best friend. There was a lot of unfinished business, like them telling me that I was shit in their life to help them adjust to the idea of breaking up with me in the first place. L.Slimey and our best friend hooked up, and found it impossible to keep most of those relationships healthy. I ended up having to cut off communication with Slimey and gained some intense resentment towards our friend. I found myself slipping back into depression but that relationship and love of my current relationship kept me sane and got me through dealing with my ex's bullshit. But then it was my loves turn with the issues. They started struggling with issues of jealousy and addiction and I started struggling back. I started to see these issues as similar to my step father and mothers relationship. I started to doubt their reliability. I became horrified of how it could end up being, not knowing who they were anymore. I left the relationship and before they even left I got the blunt realization of how my breaking up with them was the ultimate betrayal in their eyes. Things would never be the same. It didn’t matter if I would just choose to be single and not looking. I found out I couldn’t keep them around no matter how much I tried. I lost them as a lover and as my best friend. With them I found myself on a level of relationship and intimacy that I have yet to find again (though I am biased, I push people away right now, I dont feel like dating). They left my life and I found myself with scarcely any good friends left. The last of my best friends at this time went through a rough breakup, started blaming me for their lives woes and I finally lost everything that I held dear to me. It was hard to deal with being so loyal to someone and putting all your faith in them, then finding out they blame you without reason. I mourned my losses of my friends but within a week, two broken people were dropped off on my doorstep for me to mend. Out of these I now have some of my best friends, but life and people laying constant demands and judgement on me kept me so busy that I didn’t even notice when I lost myself completely. I became solely about others. A shell. I finally turned 18 and started dating a just-turned-29 year old guy (mom and Dad if you are reading this, you might want to skip the next sentence or two, or maybe just the whole first paragraph). He taught me about love making and sex and I found that I was the type of person who had tastes for either depending on the night. He taught me how to feel sexy and introduced me to lesbian porn. He also gave me his permission to sex up ladies anytime I wanted to and reassured me that he would give me the space to do it comfortably. It was the first time that I gained confidence. I lost weight, kept in shape and turned my life around.
He had travelled lots and lived lots, having so many wonderful stories about backpacking across Canada and hanging out with some different covens. He had such an exciting life, with so much knowledge that he picked up along the way. But with me he found himself finally ready to settle down and have kids. I found myself finally wanting to live. To make and accomplish goals. To go places and be something. So we went our separate ways and I continued to get better. I finally started to get some chances to find out what intimacy with a woman was like after he was gone when I spent some decent time getting close with some of my bisexual friends. I surprised my parents by going back to high school, even more so when I got good grades and graduated, and even furthermore when I applied to University on my own, then decided to go back for a double shock when I got accepted, AND even picked out my courses and went. It was hard though. This was stuff that JR talked to me about, loans and grades and all that university crap, it was one of the last long conversations we had. It was like I was following in his footsteps when I got accepted. It had some comfort, but on another level it felt like he should be there, giving me advice to get through everything. I struggled with this my entire first year, it was hard to ignore since he was so associated with university, thus every building and every classroom. I wondered about him, I imagined him sitting in classes, and I dreamt of him. Some days I found myself thinking back to how I used to get so pained by it that I just wanted to carve his name in my arm. Instead I imagined getting his name tattooed where I could hide it. It just seemed unacceptable to still be mourning him, so I just didn’t talk, I just listened. Before my first year of university started during that last summer at my own place I managed to get out of the house once and ended up being followed around and hit on by the usual stalkers. Using a smoke break to take off I bumped into an old acquaintance and we chatted before I admitted that I had to take off to go out walking(Cant sleep when I’m buzzed) before I headed home. They ended up joining me, even though the night was young, and I spent the next over six hours with them walking around talking about everything. It was sweet and nice, and respectfully (since I ditched the party to avoid being hit on all night) didn’t end with another proposition. They spent a decent time at the gym across from my job and apartment and managed to often be heading in or leaving when I was locking up the restaurant that I worked at. It was nice to chat with someone all summer when I had pretty much ditched most of my old friends that were still around town. We ended up hanging out at least every week, walking around, chatting, talking about working out(which we both loved and spent many hours on) and catching movies together. We both knew that when the summer ended that both of us had unfinished business in two different universities. Somehow they had whittled their way into my mind and heart. The last time we got to see each other, I had just entered my first week of university and we hit up dinner and a movie. There was so much energy in both of us until it was finally time to say our goodbyes. It would have been easier if they didn’t have such an intoxicating smile, a face so full of emotion, and eyes that just bore down inside me. There was some silence, things were left unsaid. Luckily, afterwards, when I thought about them I really shone. I remembered the connection. I remembered not having to say anything to communicate. I remembered that intoxicating smile that just made me feel so loved. I didn’t dwell on being so far from each other. I spent the last month and a half in town preparing myself to handle them leaving. They brought me so much joy and that is what I wanted to remember, I didn’t want to ever cry about them. So I didn’t …. much. My depression still got bad, so bad that in grade 11 I finally told my parents that I couldn’t control it anymore. I ended up having to go on meds. They worked but I just couldn’t keep taking them consistently. I kept being told it was a weakness to take them and that it was pathetic so in the end they stopped working because I was off and on them for too long.
Finally just after I turned 17, an opportunity to move out of the house was before me. I was starting my final year of school and working about 30 hours getting paid under minimum wage and I could barely scrape by if I moved out but I could, potentially. It turned into an internal fight(and often external) for my mother not wanting her child out so young, and wanting to get me out so that life was easier, since my step father and I fought constantly. In the end I declared that I didn’t want to leave until I was done high school, and was told from my step father since this was a choice, that things were going to change around the house now. The look on his face was full of glee, he started listing off the ‘new and improved rules’. This threat was the last straw, so I left. Money was tight, I had off and on roommates, most of which never paid rent. I spent most of those first few months pretty messed up. I was the one with a place to drink at. The minute my shift was over, it was a minute walk to smoking and drinking up a storm. I only had one rule, you can smoke it or drink it at my place as long as you offered to share with me. After a while a guy friend of ours started coming around, I got pressured by my friends into dating and eventually, loosing my virginity to him. He was verbally and emotionally abusive, and incredibly violent. In a flash of movement he went from handling something on the floor, leaned over, to smashing things against the wall inches from my face, me flinching as the debris hit me. He was full of drama and would scream at me constantly till I was crying in a corner of the room. When he was raging he didnt care about pain, if he was bleeding it just meant he was allowed to scream at me louder. I found out that one of my close friends, Beck was screwing him and I knew they could have told me before I had given up my virginity to him. I had told my friends weeks before that I was finally going to appease them and loose it. Beck declared it to me in the restaurant in front of other customers a few days after I was virginity free. There was so much happiness written all over their face, this was the way Beck defeated her friends. So shortly after while rumors were flying, I broke my hand punching a wall instead of Beck's face, and dropped out of high school. I broke up with the asshole I had been dating and his good friend started treatening to call the cops when he would come over to find him screaming at me and trashing the place while I just tried to stay out of the way. The asshole finally left but not before ripping me off, complaining to the landlord and smashing up my place and its contents. He screamed at me that he would tap out all of his resources and connections to ensure that I was tortured well before I would be allowed to die, and to expect it soon. |
Kris
I am a Bi+Trans geeky student who is all about Gaming, Music, Drawing, Writing, Anime, Comic books, and Web comics. Categories
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April 2016
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