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[sarcellereine]

Changes

I started HRT. Estradiol and Spiro. Hasn't been a week.

I'm stuck in limbo, unable to move towards working on myself, my goals, and my actual economic freedom, but time creeps ever on, closer and closer to getting out and I am now no closer than I was a year ago, it seems.

Fuck.

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Experiments in matter

The regularity of my reconciling with my less than suicidal tendencies is pretty remarkable, if I do say so. I've been depressed for what seems like my entire life but I am in a unique position in which I must accept the conclusion that I am worth...something. I have some value that others percieve in me, that I am worth loving and even a cursory amount of attention. I am routinely reminded that I relatively phenomenal at my job. I am looked up to, relied upon, and trusted as a leader and someone of integrity. These are not opinions, subjective to the whim of the moment, but facts, documented and repeated. I am a successful experiment, with comprhensive results, all proving the hypothesis that I am not a complete waste of meat and electricity.

And if that's the case, we can extrapolate that data to the masses. Which means you too, are not a complete waste of meat and electricity. Congratulations human. You matter.

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And just like that, I come crawling back to tumblr.

3 years ago, I was officially diagnosed with “gender identity disorder” because the US military has adapted their systems to account for the DSM-V. How typical.

Still, even under the cheeto’s admin, I could transition, should operations allow. I didn’t, I haven’t, I continue to be hideous, hairy, and a “sir”. Masking my dysphoria, depression, and anxiety every single day, even as I lead my division and support dozens of other peoples careers, is the single most exhaustive thing I’ve ever been forced to do. I’m so fucking tired, y’all.

I transfer to the Best coast soon-ish, and I hope/plan to begin my transition there. It’s safer there than in the South. It only makes sense.

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Here I am. Back on fucking tumblr. Fuck this shit. What the fuck even is tumblr in 2018? I don’t even care.

I told my pill and couch docs that I’m trans. I haven’t worked out whether or not I’m suicidal. Is my thick skinned stoicism preventing me from admitting that I actually, maybe, kind of want to die instead of feel like this? My therapy isn’t going anywhere. I’m still fucked. I’m still gonna have to PCS 8 hours away. We’ll have to sell the house or figure out how to pay the mortgage without BAH, or supplement an extra $1k or so a month. I’m still in the goddamn Navy. I don’t want to be in the Navy anymore. I don’t. I only stayed for the money benefits. Fuck. Am I shitty person if I want out? I want to be medically separated. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I’m fucking dying. I’m gonna fucking die. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t. Please. I don’t know what to do and I need help. I can’t trust anyone. I’m so lost and scared. I can’t make decisions. I can’t think. I just ignore my emotions and live day to day. It’s not good for me or my family. 

I just...

I can’t. I’m trying so hard but I can’t. 

I don’t have a plan. I’m not self-harming. I don’t want to die but I feel like I’m going to.

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Goddamnit. I just want to be healthy. I want to not feel like complete shit all the time. I want to not feel like I'm trapped in some randomly generated NPC career because of "capitalism". I want to legitimately provide for my family the life they genuinely deserve without having to sacrifice my body, mind, and emotional sanctity. I come home from work or work from home and actually feel like I've accomplished something that is not only meaningful but impactful. I feel like in trying to respond and meet or exceed the perceived expectations of society and my parents, I fail myself and you guys every day. I'm an angry, sometimes intolerable human being and I don't know how to fix it. I'm afraid of medication because I genuinely can't recall with acuity what kind of person I was when I was last medicated. I want to have the courage to pursue transition and explore a part of my psyche that I've buried on layer upon layer of emotional steel. My mind is a bunker that I've built for a terrified woman and I can feel the steel buckling under the pressures of maintaining my emotional defense, that are arguably unnecessary in today's world. I feel guilty even considering separating from the Navy because of the financial strain it'll place us. I feel guilty not being myself, whoever that is, because it feels like I'm actually, actively lying to the people I care most about. I'm a wreck and I probably won't even send this e-mail. Fuck

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I’m in such a fucking state. I know that I have depression, anxiety, and am trans. These are things I know. However, I’m starting to wonder if I don’t have fibromyalgia. Normally, I’d brush this off as me being irrational, as I so often am, in conjunction with my anxiety, but the consistency of my aches and pains, along with numerous other symptoms, all seem to point that way. I’ve never thought of myself as a hypochondriac, but fuck if I don’t think about this. All the stresses of work and not knowing if I’m going to be separated from the Navy or not and being a parent, not to mention being a transgender service member in this new era of trans resentment and hate, are all piling up and I don’t know if I can hack it.

I’m afraid of being discharged. I’ll probably get some kind of disability but money doesn’t make up for taking away my job security, my career, and the health care my family and I so desperately need. My children are young and need to be seen periodically. Even these regularly scheduled visits can be mind boggling and prohibitively expensive. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, here. I think I’m cracking under the pressure.

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I wrote a poem, on the fly. Going to bed now. I bet it’s shit. I don’t even know if this really counts as poetry. Fuck it, no one will read it anyway. It was 1055 when I decided to write this, I’m on youtube, watching videos about my illnesses.Anxiety and depression, a go and stop life, stop gap methodology to deal with shit I can’t even approach. I get called sad panda at work because if I’m not focused, my facade dips and my face shows up and boy it ain’t pretty. A mismatched patchwork of scars and hard learned lessons. Insomniac bags under my eyes, like I just left Saks Off Fifths Labor day sale. I’m on mental illness shopping spree, you see. I’m a trans girl, Sailor Scout, veteran, Father?, and I can’t quit now, I haven’t really started. None of this makes sense, not without medication, my latest dedication, because I had to stop drinking. Still smoke like fire, because the anxiety is like walking a tight rope, a wire. Is it relief or just another form of self-mutilation? No sanctuary for me, for this mess, no cloth for this spill. Raw, hingeless, and unabridged, the sadness attaches like an old, aching wound, persistent to a fault, infected and pungent, it’s smell taints my senses, clouding my sight, I can’t see the truth and I don’t know who to believe. Maybe I do need more help than I care to admit, maybe I need so much help that they’ll have to admit, me. Inpatients not my style, I like to take my time, give everyone a chance to learn. Here comes a thought, it’s late, I got work in the AM, I should stop, I should go, go, go. Gone. 

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Nobody reads this. I'm trans, I'm in the Navy, I'm in therapy. I'm not out at large. I was going to be. POTUS is trying to kill me. It might be working.

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I have to leave for work in about 30-40 minutes. I’m freaking out. I can’t sit still, my pulse feels like it’s racing, I can’t catch my breath, and I feel exhausted. My wife returns from her appointments soon and the kids have eaten breakfast and are playing. Good things. I still feel like there are wires in my arms and legs that are pulling tight. I have to go there and I don’t want to go there. Why am I like this?

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I can feel my ransack my ribcage. "Let me out!", she screams. But I'm not ready, I'm not sure, I'm so uncertain! Work tomorrow, going in late, anxious about going in at all but especially going in late. Such notice, much embarrassment.

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When I was around 10 or 11, I was being watched by a family friend. They had a daughter who was a bit younger than I. She had a costume Belle dress, the iconic golden one. I wore it for all of an hour. I've never, not once, felt more right, more perfect. Like me. I was, for that hour, a princess. Taking it off and returning to the facade, the person they all think I'm supposed to be, was the hardest thing I've ever done. I still do it, every day. Watching Beauty and the Beast, just now, I'm in tears. Hot, real tears. I'm cursed. Forever. I don't know how to fix this.

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I’m in the process of acquiring and building up a wardrobe. I have, like, 8 t-shirts. I only wear, like, 5. I want to drop 20 pounds and start dressing more femme. I want to come out to my therapist. I want to come out to my mother. She deserves to know who I really am. I want to come out to my children. I want to be myself. My first wig arrived today. It’s wonderful. I have a new skirt arriving on Sunday. Slow and stead, girl. Too bad work is totally getting in the way.

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I'm terrified of dying like this. This way. Sad and afraid. Half a dozen people have offered to listen. I can't tell them. I can barely tell myself. Being trans makes everything so fucking difficult. If I get treatment under the new policy, I'll be unable to deploy. I know it. I'll be useless to my department and my team. A waste of space. Some will think that I'm doing it to avoid deployment. I feel guilty even bringing up the idea that I won't deploy or do something. I was supposed to travel for a surgery but I have a very good reason not to go. I'm on leave because I have to monitor and care for my wife after her surgery. A completely legitimate reason and I feel bad for not going. A completely necessary treatment, transition, would be seen as malingering by some of my peers and they'd never let me think otherwise. I don't know if I can wait two more years until shore duty. There is so much more going on and things to worry about. I wish I could talk to my mom. I want to tell her so badly. I want her to know and accept me and tell me it's going to be okay. I'm so tired, guys. I'm tired of always being the okay kid. The one who made it. I'm so not ok, right now. I'm probably going to have to tell my military therapist. Even antidepressants will mean that I can't deploy for a time. WHY CAN'T THEY JUST FIX ME?! AM I SO BROKEN?!

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How do therapy?

I had my first appointment with BH today. It wasn’t super productive, I just talked about myself. Like, a lot. Honestly, it felt like fluff, I feel like maybe I wasn’t being honest or forthcoming. I don’t know how to do that with strangers. The CPT seems nice, but still. I can’t just throw my transness out there. I’m deployable, I have requirements to meet, I can’t just drop it all. It’ll throw everything out of whack. It could cost me my career. I want to convert, but I don’t know if they’ll let me if I do this. I’m so confused.

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Valedictorian and Saluditorian literally preaching at their graduation ceremony.

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Today's terrible as fuck idea is brought to you by dysphoria and anxiety. What if I started my video game streaming career as a girl? Like wore my wig and makeup and used software to "fix" my voice? Would I be lying to my fans? Would I get in trouble at work? Idk. Thoughts.