Fear
After writing my first post yesterday I was struck with immense fear, doubt and self loathing. I guess this is doing what I want it to, and makes it real, something I have to look at in the way I intended.
For the past few weeks I've been really hyperfocused on everything about this possibility. Reading memoirs, learning about processes and technicalities, paths and steps. There are a lot of things that are really scary, horrifying even, but I had an excited and urgent fervor. This isn't something to rush, but I think about my age, and the potential for missing even more time of being truly happy...
After I made this blog and the post I chattered about it excitedly to my mother. About how it's public but secret, actually me but not connected to me at all. She knew what I meant but I still haven't gotten to actually talk about it much. I'm blessed to have such a supportive mom, truly, but yesterday was a hellish day apparently.
Context, I moved back in with her because of an upheaval in my own life, and to help facilitate her divorce and initially help care for her mother. It's been probably been tremendously helpful for me to work on sorting out my own feelings and brain to have the stability of her support. For one thing God only knows how and where I would be living without the dual income. The last place I lived by myself was literally a shack and it cost way, way too much just for that much.
Anyway... After I wrote yesterday's post and settled into bed I found myself unable to sleep, thinking way too much. I started questioning everything I had been so excited about for weeks before... What if I just kept trying to work out, maybe I can force myself to feel happy in my body if I just keep bulking up, sweat the dysphoria out... You just haven't been trying hard enough... Surgery is so scary, you can't take that back what if you DIE. If you add enough muscle it'll be good enough and you won't have to deal with any of that. With your luck you'll be bald.
Well regardless of any of that I'm still working out like 10+ hours a week because the little changes do give me little happy boosts.
This started to morph into me focusing on regrets. A lot of things from points in my life where I had no control, and no means once I did, which ultimately means still no control. I thought of these things and felt so sorrowful that I cried myself to sleep. Things that I've always felt guilty and sad about, but never more that thinking about it really. The past... 5 years or so I haven't really cried at all. In general I think I've just been... Muted. I would assume I was trying to protect myself. The past few weeks however has been extremely emotional... I cried while reading The T in LGBT, He/She/They and Gender Euphoria , not that I was happy or sad, I can't really pinpoint it I just got so emotional ... I wonder if it's because I haven't been looking at myself, not looking at anything. Just in a permanent state of dissociation...
I'm gonna be honest, my train of thought has completely vanished suddenly so I guess is all for today. If it isn't apparent I am not a writer at all, and this is a lot of flow of consciousness. Trying to just get it out, maybe it'll tidy up as I go.
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