#Dad avoids talking politics with them and opposed them clearly when they started shit but I'm still mad at him for this

[deepspaceclawstation]

It's bewildering how often I get blindsided by acquaintances and relatives turning out to be bigots like I knew their political views weren't 100% golden but then they say something and it's like. OH. They actually believe THAT????

[seekercallum]

The worst part of quidditch was the parties. Al had prepared him for them before he made it to the pros, but Cal didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable at the swanky events the team was expected to attend, be it for the press or for important people who invested in the team or for various sponsors–of the team and of the individual players. He muddled through well enough, making his way through polite conversation with the people he was expected to converse with and then sticking to the sidelines as much as possible until he’d been there long enough that it was appropriate to leave. It had been a pleasant surprise when Cene and Oliver joined the team and seemed to share Cal’s feelings about the parties, giving him some easy company at the events. Not that he was disappointed when Cene made his big announcement and started bringing Cal’s old housemate along as a date. Cal was happy for Tooker, even if that was not a decision he’d ever make for himself. Cene was happy, Cal had talked to the team before Cene showed up for his first practice after coming out to make sure they were all on the same page about not giving a shit about who any of them dated–not that he’d been that worried, Puddlemere were good blokes, and they’d shown it–-and the team hadn’t lost all their sponsors (or their beater, thank Godric). So—good for Cene. At least Cal still had Oliver to chat with once Cene and Josh went off to enjoy the festivities. 

Cal didn’t really remember Oliver from school, given their age difference. He’d just known Oliver was a famous seeker’s son. And he’d been excited to meet Oliver’s dad, a prolific seeker if there ever was one, and then subsequently disappointed to discover the bloke was a huge arse. Which wouldn’t have been all that surprising, really, if Cal hadn’t spent time on the team with Oliver before meeting his dad. Oliver was a quiet kid, a bit awkward, but Cal had always felt awkward himself learning how to get along with normal kids, and he also felt like he was good at reading people. And what he got from Oliver was that under the awkward, quiet demeanor, was a nice kid. Oliver wasn’t very similar to Cal’s younger brothers, but he was Ian’s age and it meant Cal had a soft spot for him. Plus he was a hell of a beater, who Cal trusted to have his back on the pitch. He’d also stuck by Cene after he came out, which just reinforced Cal’s intuition that Oliver was a good one. Who maybe played for the same team as him and Cene in more ways than one, but that wasn’t Cal’s business. It was just nice to still have someone to hang out with at these parties to avoid people trying to pull him onto the dance floor. Cal had no interest in dancing with a girl, or really with dancing with a bloke either. He was just here to play quidditch and keep his head down so he kept making money. Oliver seemed similar, committed to the team and his game, though like most of their other teammates he seemed driven by a genuine love of the sport rather than all the gold that came with it. Which, good for him. They all had their reasons for being here, Cal just cared that his teammates were as driven to win as he was, and they were. Which sometimes meant hanging out at these parties, unfortunately. Especially unfortunate when girls started eying them and apparently decided that his and Oliver’s conversation about the pros and cons of seekers pretending to spot the snitch during a long match was worth interrupting. “I heard about a World Cup match where one seeker kept pretending to see the snitch so many times, when he actually did start diving for the real thing the opposing seeker just ignored him. But he was so tired out from all the diving and carrying on he moved too slow and took a bludger to the—Oh. Hello,” he said, when they were interrupted by two girls who clearly saw an opening where the was none, smiling at them the same way Patricia smiled at her prey and asking them how they were liking the party. Cal took on a practiced smile, no longer as relaxed as he was when he was just talking to Oliver but doing a good enough impersonation of it. “What’s not to enjoy? Good food, good company.” The company being his teammate and not these girls interrupting a nice conversation. “Good drinks, only it looks like yours are almost out,” he added, looking down at the still half-full cups the girls were holding. But before they could answer he kept going. “How about Oliver and I get you refills? Wait right here, yeah?” It was a move they’d used plenty of times before to get rid of girls at parties, so Cal didn’t check to make sure Oliver was turning away just as quickly as he was and making a beeline for the bar so they could get lost in the crowd and not have to go back to where the girls were hopefully waiting for them. It’d be really nice not to have to deal with aggressive girls tonight.

[hermannsthumb]

for the summer prompts if you want you could do family reunion. it could be a fun and interesting dynamic

YES i think id like to make this into a longer fic itd be so fun, so thats why it cuts off where it is and has the long setup hehehe

13: Family Reunion

from summer prompt memes here

---------------------------------------------

"I should probably warn you,” Newt says over breakfast, after a few minutes of poking his fork into his room service pancakes (which have been steadily growing soggier) and twirling his orange juice straw between his index finger and thumb.

Hermann sets down his own fork with a small sigh of relief, and Newt has a feeling it’s not just because the unusual (for them) silence was leaving him on edge. “Oh, good,” he says. “I was about to say the same thing. You first.”

"It’s just,” Newt continues, “well, my family’s...they’re kind of a lot.” It’s important to him they go over this now, before Hermann’s inevitable Geiszler Culture Shock during the actual reunion this coming Tuesday. Give him plenty of time to prepare himself.

“I’d be strange if they weren’t,” Hermann says. “I’ve met your father, you know.”

“I know,” Newt says. “They’re just...loud. And nosy. They’re going to ask a million questions about you, and us, and our--” He gestures between them. “--Thing.”

“Our thing,” Hermann repeats. 

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Our--” He mimes something obscene. “You get me?”

There is a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. Newt would have liked to say relationship, because he was under the impression that’s what they have, and he doesn’t think it’s too much of a leap--they share a bed, after all, and occasionally get up to shenanigans in it--but they’ve never labeled it officially and he’s worried about unintentionally making Hermann uncomfortable. “I understand,” Hermann says. “My family is the opposite.”

This is the reason they’re all the way over here in some quaint little German bed and breakfast, after all, instead of going through paperwork or cleaning up old specimen tanks in their Hong Kong lab like they probably should be: Geiszler and Gottlieb family reunions, both scheduled, coincidentally, a week and a decent (but manageable) drive apart from each other. They made a two week long vacation out of it, with the first week--this past week--spent doing dumb touristy things and eating non-rationed food. They have the time to do fun shit like this these days, after all; no more impending doom, no more weight of the world on their shoulders, no more overworking themselves until they collapse into an insensible heap on the lab couch only to be discovered by the graveyard shift janitor at three in the morning. Besides. If Newt and Hermann intend to keep getting up to shenanigans in shared bed, they’ve got to Meet the Families eventually. This way is just tackling it all at once.

“No shit,” Newt says sarcastically. “I’ve met your father too.”

While their recent outing with Newt’s dad had been nice and fun and causal--he bought them dinner--their only run-in with Hermann’s, accidentally, at a banquet during the war had been anything but. Newt recalled a lot of shouting (on his own end), louder shouting (on Hermann’s father’s end), and mortified silence (on Hermann’s end). And that was before Newt and Hermann even started getting up to shenanigans together. “You certainly have,” Hermann says. “Er. Please don’t be too offended, but I don’t imagine most of them will be very polite to you. They’ll have heard about the incident in Anchorage with Father by now. And most of them--well. Most of them don’t approve of me.”

Newt’s face splits into a grin. “They don’t approve of you?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears go red. “Of my career,” he says, “my, er, lifestyle, the career of the man I’ve chosen to share it with...” This, considering what little Newt knows about the extended Gottlieb family, makes sense: Hermann continuing to work on the jaeger program even after his father publicly turned his back on it must’ve been a real shock, and Newt was, after all, Hermann’s research partner throughout it all. Hermann being gay is just the metaphorical cherry atop that. What he says next throws Newt for a loop anyway. “I was also a bit rebellious in my youth. I don’t imagine they’ll have forgotten that.”

This time, Newt full-on snorts in disbelief. “Rebellious?” he echoes. “Holy shit, what’d you do? Get straight A’s instead of A-pluses?”

Hermann’s blush spreads down to his neck. “Er. Something along those lines,” he says. “At any rate. I suppose I’m what you may deem the black sheep of the family.”

“No fucking way,” Newt says delightedly. “Man. I can’t fucking wait for this.”

They check out of the bed and breakfast the next morning and start the two hour ride to Hermann’s childhood home, where they’ll be spending the next few days. They could’ve spent the entire time in Hermann’s old bedroom if they wanted and bypassed paying for a hotel entirely, but Hermann was deeply opposed to it--his siblings would not be arriving until today either, and the thought of being alone in a house with his parents clearly made him uncomfortable. Newt didn’t even bother suggesting it as an option.

“I can’t believe you grew up on a farm,” Newt says when they finally begin to pull down Hermann’s long gravel driveway. Because it is totally a farm--huge property and rolling fields and all--and Hermann has, conveniently, neglected to tell Newt this.

“It’s not a farm,” Hermann says. “Er. It’s--farmland. There’s a difference.”

They drive past a cow.

“It’s totally a farm, dude,” Newt says, waving hello at the cow. It doesn’t acknowledge him. “Did you have chickens, too? Pigs?”

“I had a cat,” Hermann concedes, and then Newt forgets all about pestering Hermann about the cow because the farmhouse finally comes into view behind the tall trees, and wow. It’s big--at least enough for each of the Gottlieb kids to have their own bedroom, Newt’s sure--with a wrap-around porch and a spacious yard. After craning his neck around, Newt spots more cows meandering through a fenced-off meadow nearby, and more excitingly, a large pond a brief walk away. There are ducks on it.

“A farm,” Newt repeats. “You grew up on a farm. Wow.” He thinks he can be forgiven for being a little incredulous about it all: the little Hermann’s shared about his childhood made it seem like he lived out his days chained up in some sort of drafty gothic castle before he eventually fled in the dead of night for uni. This beats the first six years of existence Newt spent in a shitty Berlin apartment by a mile.

Hermann parks their rented car in an empty bit of grass further away from the patch of gravel where another half-dozen-odd cars are and switches off the engine. Then he stares at the windshield for a very long time.

“I haven’t been here since I was a teenager,” he finally says. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. “Even before that--it was mostly only summers. I went off to a boarding school when I was quite young.”

“Summers must’ve been...nice here,” Newt says cautiously. He’s worried he might strike a nerve without meaning to; it’s very easy to do that with Hermann, after all, especially when it comes to talking about his childhood. Newt used to do it all the time without meaning to. And sometimes, when he was pissed at Hermann, he used to mean to do it. He doesn’t feel very good about that these days.

“I would take my telescope out to the field,” Hermann says, “or up to my brother’s treehouse, on days when I could manage the ladder.”

His eyes dart down to the keyless ignition, and his index finger twitches, as if he’d like nothing more than to press it; Newt reaches over and places his hand on Hermann’s arm in a way he hopes is soothing. “Hermann,” he says. “We can leave now if you want. We don’t have to go in.”

Hermann worries at his lower lip for a moment, then his whole body seems to sag. His hands drop into his lap. “No,” he says. He works his jaw. “We’re going in.”

Newt nods. 

They go inside. Newt can tell, instantly, which of the people milling about are related to Hermann by blood as opposed to marriage: they have Hermann’s fine cheekbones, his funny stick-out ears, his dark hair, and some--only a handful--have eyes almost the same warm brown as his, though without the little crinkles at the corners and Hermann’s delicate, fanning eyelashes. Unless Newt’s just biased in Hermann’s favor. A few of them nod tersely in Hermann’s direction; one older-looking woman outright avoids eye contact and speeds up a little down the hall.

Newt shuts the door behind them and gives the foyer a brief once-over. High ceiling. Neutral-colored wallpaper dotted with small roses. Neutral-colored carpet. A single vase of flowers on a pristine wooden side table. “It’s nice in here,” Newt lies. 

“Hm,” Hermann says with obvious distaste. Then a strange look flits across his face. “Bastien,” he says over Newt’s shoulder, slightly louder. “Hello.”

Newt turns. Walking stiffly towards them down the hallway is a guy who looks unsettlingly like a taller, less pointy, and far more stylish Hermann. He stops a good foot away from them and nods just as stiffly. “Hermann,” he says, and Newt half expects them to exchange a firm, professional handshake. He knows Hermann’s not big on hugs, and he must’ve gotten that from somewhere, but come on. “I’m surprised you came. It’s good to see you.” His eyes sweep over Newt once. “Are you Dr. Geiszler?”

“You can just, uh, call me Newt,” Newt says. His mouth feels weirdly dry. He didn’t expect to get this fucking nervous.

“I’ve seen your photograph online,” Bastien says. His accent is thick, thicker than Newt ever remembers Hermann’s being on the rare occasions his learned pretentious English one slips and gives way to his natural one. It makes sense. He never left the country like Hermann did. “Hermann has mentioned you once or twice in emails.”

“He has?” Newt says, because that’s news to him, but Bastien’s already turned his attention back to Hermann.

“Father is in the backyard,” he says in a low voice. “If you were wondering.”

Hermann’s visible distaste returns. “Ah. Thank you. I’ll be sure to avoid it then.” He allows himself a tiny fraction of a smile. “It is nice to see you.”

"Bastien is only two years younger than me,” Hermann explains once he and his brother have nodded at each other once more and Bastien’s retreated back down the hallway. “I was always closest to him, out of my siblings.”

“I can tell,” Newt says, and, probably lucky for him, Hermann doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

Hermann takes him on a brief tour of the lower level of the house. It’s weird; for all the charm the outside has--from the vines creeping up the sides, the ancient shutters, the sagging porch, the beautiful hills--the inside is pretty, well, bland. There’s a pristine dining room. A pristine kitchen. A pristine living room, with couches more out of fashion than Hermann’s sweatervest and a fucking gorgeous piano that looks practically untouched. (Newt whistles when he sees it; “I took lessons once,” Hermann says, “I wasn’t very good.”) 

The main point of Newt’s interest, though, the thing that really makes him stop dead in his tracks, is the single family photo resting atop the fireplace mantle. All six Gottliebs are lined up in a row: Hermann’s father, a woman Newt takes to be Hermann’s mother (she has his eyelashes and his wide mouth), a teenage, and much shorter, Bastien, two twenty-somethings that must be Hermann’s older brother and sister (all three with Hermann’s ears), and--

“Holy shit, Hermann,” Newt says, snatching up the picture frame for a closer look. “Is this you?”

It is, which Newt is sure of even before Hermann flushes beautifully and turns his eyes to the ceiling--there’s no mistaking that scowl or cane. The Hermann in the photograph is leaning against a wall, a good foot away from the rest of his siblings, and can’t be any older than eighteen. He’s got an undercut twice as severe as his current one. A cigarette dangling from between two fingers. And--Newt realizes with a jolt of something that might be called elation, or it might be called horror--an earring in one ear. “Ah,” Hermann says. “I did say I was--”

“This is the best day of my life,” Newt says. “I want a copy. I want three copies. I want to carry one around in my wallet. I can’t believe you had an earring!”

“He did it himself,” a woman lurking near the doorway with a drink in hand and Hermann’s cheekbones says. “With a sewing needle, wasn’t it?”

“A safety pin,” Hermann says miserably. “Hello, Karla.”

“Hermann,” Karla says. They exchange stiff nods. (This family is fucking weird, Newt thinks. Maybe Hermann really is an alien. It would explain a lot.) “Who’s your friend?”

Hermann touches Newt’s arm. “This is my...” He trails off, and Newt starts to wonder if he should jump in with a lab partner when Hermann finally coughs and says, “My Newton.”

Newt gives Karla a nervous little wave. The once-over she’s giving him behind her wire-frame glasses is twice as severe and scrutinizing as the one Bastien gave him earlier--far more Hermann-esque. Specifically, Hermann when Newt’s fucked something up and is doing a very bad job of hiding it. “Your Newton,” she says. “The biologist?” Newt and Hermann both nod. She looks satisfied. And a little disapproving. “You didn’t say he was coming. You may have to make up the guest room bed for--”

“There’s no need,” Hermann says, and a small blush blooms on his cheeks. “Newton and I will be sharing my bed.”

“Sharing?” Karla echoes. She narrows her eyes at Newt again. “Hm. You are his type.”

“Karla,” Hermann hisses. He looks mortified.

“Hermann was always bringing home boys like you,” she says to Newt. “Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos--”

“Karla.”

“All because he knew our mother and father hated it, of course,” she says. “That’s also why he--” She tugs on her earlobe, the same earlobe Hermann has pierced in the photo, and takes a sip of her drink. “He was always so difficult. And now, a,” she says the next word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, “biologist.” 

Newt feels, vaguely, like he’s entered in a parallel universe, where Hermann Gottlieb is apparently some sort of bad boy rebel without a cause and not, in fact, Newt’s stuffy, uptight, stick-up-his ass lab partner who one time yelled at Newt for being too cheerful at work. “Difficult?” he says faintly.

“She’s exaggerating,” Hermann jumps in quickly. He tugs frantically on the sleeve of Newt’s leather jacket. “Newton, we should--”

“He used to stay out until three in the morning,” Karla interrupts, with something akin to glee on her face, “and come roaring in on the back of some boy’s motorcycle--”

“Holy shit,” Newt says. 

“Newton,” Hermann says. “Upstairs, please.”

Newt places the photograph back on the mantle and scurries after Hermann as he clacks, furiously, from the room and past his sister (who merely nods at both of them again). Hermann doesn’t stop his furious clacking until they make it all the way up the creaky staircase, down the upstairs hallway, and through a door that he shoves open unceremoniously.

This is where Newt stops. He’s not sure what he expected Hermann’s childhood bedroom to look like, but he wasn’t expecting this. It’s undoubtedly Hermann’s though. The bedspread is dark blue, patterned with little white spaceships and orange comets, but looks recently washed, at least. There’s a model of the solar system hanging in the corner, clearly homemade. A heavy layer of dust on a desk in front of a window, where several advanced mathematics texts are stacked up. More spaceships on the faded wallpaper. A few perfectly straight and even posters, one of the phases of the moon from 2006 tacked to the back of the door. A messy bookcase.

Newt was expecting--more neutral colors, maybe. An ancient-looking abacus. Victorian schoolhouse chalkboard slates. He smiles. “This is your old room?”

Hermann eases himself down onto the edge of the bed. “Yes,” he says, and pats the bedspread. “I imagine we’ll fit here together tonight without a problem.”

“Yeah,” Newt says, and sits down next to him. He has a million things he wants to say: your family is fucking weird, what’s so bad about being a biologist, you weren’t lying about being a black sheep, huh, but what comes out, along with a wide grin, is “So. I’m your type?”

“Oh, don’t start,” Hermann says. “Karla was only teasing. She always teases.”

“You used to ride around on motorcycles,” Newt says, “with boys. Plural.”

Hermann darts his tongue out, nervously, over his bottom lip. “With one boy in particular,” he concedes. “Ah. A friend from school.” His blush returns. “He had a tattoo of a sparrow on his shoulder. He was my first kiss.”

Inspired, Newt leans in and kisses Hermann’s cheek. “Dude. That’s adorable.”

Hermann hides his face in his hands. “He had freckles,” he says.

[evelyntransitions-blog]

Day 39 recovering from crap

It’s been a while since i’ve posted here, mostly from depression and because a lot of lame shit happened we’ll start from the top. -Fuckin’ Kekistan ball won the battle of the balls. Mostly because the admins used a bunch of bots. Then kept making fun of all the leftist esc’ balls. Top tier trolling but kinda shitty. Don’t cheat at your own contest. That’s lame. -Speaking of anarchy I had this little debate with one of the admins, that stemed from me trying to see the good in people from all the political philosophies, and that they were misunderstood leading them to fend for themselves because of their ideal society. Nevertheless most peoples ideals come from wanting to help other people, even really die hard Conservatives don’t want a bunch of lazy people, who can’t have any faith in anything good and want to save their kids from hurting themselves or going to hell. They seem to care about their country too and hate immigrants on the grounds of wanting to look out for their family, because they believe immigrants are making things like healthcare inflate due to the mass amount of people on it. It’s fucking awful and prejudice as fuck, but they’re still looking out for their own. As terrible as ingroups are, to care about a group of people still shows some compassion. No one is truly selfish. They can be evil, but not truly selfish.  So random anarchy ball admin praises me on acknowledging how “Selfish” people become in the face of adversity and explain, that An-caps are selfish too but they don’t want to hurt anybody they just want to make money and be left alone. This is obviously false because if you do something like own a business you’ve created a hierarchy volentary or not, you’ve gained control of other peoples lives for the sake of survival. One could argue all philospohies would implement this, but business overall demands a person strip away their identity for production more often than not blah-blah-blah etc. etc. etc. That’s why people say they’re not real anarchists because they suppress a persons identity for the sake of giving others power or something like that. I actually talked to the purple and black ones, one of them gave me a long reading. Sheesh. It’s a good read none the less, but I think i’ll stick cleaning up the environment and hopefully in the future growing food for the less fortunate and giving it away for free to spite corporations and businesses that sell food or take up land. I don’t want to stick myself into a dogma though. But I digress. I try to explain that people aren’t necessarily selfish, they can do good things and this admin seems to take it really personally, and goes all out in treating me like i’m naive and says people just do good things to feel good. Boi’ you don’t know my life. Have you dealt with someone who’s co-dependent and tried to help them when you have depression because you don’t want to see them kill themselves, not because you want them around (because frankly they’re a burden to your happiness as awful as that sounds), but because you see how wonderful of a person they are and want to see them love themselves, when i’d be easier just to leave. Fuckin’ parents raise kids and make sacrifices sometimes not out of romanticization of motherhood-fatherhood but just because they care. This isn’t as common as people think, but it happens. Forgiveness within itself exists not out of feeling good but knowing it’s right and compassionate. In reality forgiveness is alturism because having to put up with someone who wronged you, and risking feeling like shit (and also feeling like shit for having to listen to them and apologize or hear them apologize) is fucking work, and annoying as piss. I have a lot of stuff to do some i’m not going to go into personal examples. Point is the guy to me sounds like he’s trying to justify sociopathy and i’m not down for that. So we argue but it doesn’t get far. I take the cheap example and go for people who risk their lives on impulse to save others. If people naturally risk their lives without thinking or wanting to feel something, they’re more naturally selfless or at least have the capacity to be totally selfless. There’s HOPE. They have nothing to say to that. Nevertheless I spent 2 days post this between volenteer work and work-work debating myself to make sure I was correct. In case this example tanked, I tried to look for another one in my life or a person and thought back to when I wronged my now best friend as a child, and left him for a girl. I remember meeting up with him and him wanting to serve me shit or tell me to fuck off, as he often tells, but he decided to forgive me. He didn’t even want people around. He wanted to be alone and to die. Maybe he secretly wanted someone, but it wouldn’t make sense that the childhood shithead (me) would be that person. I have faith that he decided to be selfless on his own accord. I’ve grown to love him, and we’ve risked our lives for each other, between standing up to oppressive people, and keeping each other from killing ourselves. We’ve had co-dependent patches when we started but nothing too insane. It’s become guiene love and we can respect each other as opposed to looking at what’s best for us. Little human sacrifices.  Faith-Hope-Love that’s what Christians, they’re clearly unto something. Heh’. Nevertheless the whole discussion made me depressed because I started worrying about the person. All political philosophy aside, if this person is that cynical, I want to know what’s eating at them. Solving that mystery and feeling good about helping them is selfish, and would probably lead to backlash, but I hope they find peace and ditch their cynicism. This  tore me up and fed my depression; me worrying about someone I didn’t even know.

-So more politics but no anarchy. This part isn’t bad but a quick note. The Libertarian party is doing pretty well and they seem optimistic. Though i’m not from New York i’ve looked into a particular candidate named Larry Sharpe. I’ve been watching his posts for a while and he seems to sacrifice a lot of his personal beliefs for what he thinks is fair and liberates the masses. He seems to hate taxes and his opponent. His opponent hasn’t said much about him so far, but seems to mean well too. He’s tried to help a bunch of people from what I gather, but has raised taxes so high that small businesses are failing and people can’t move to new locations are get their bills paid. In helping people he overstepped his shit, and fucked up. I gather this from the comment section on his posts. Generally speaking, people don’t like him on those grounds, but the ones who do only like him because he’s nice. This constant debate on how much people should help is fucking with my head. What really is best for humanity? It’s fucking with my head, but I can’t let it control my life. Personal shit/Shit regarding taking care of myself. I went to my therapist and he’s being a butt. I gather he’s worried about me transitioning because he asked a lot of questions about my presentation as a (trans) woman. The questions felt very intrusive asking why I don’t do “x”. Some of them were redundant and I felt the need to justify everything. I don’t like being put on trial, my Dad that and it fucked me up. I wanted to give him the right answers as opposed to how I felt, or just be avoidant. There was a lot of glaring and him sounding stressed. So when Mr. Therapist did something similar, it fucked me and I had an “episode” and began spewing out a bunch of information and asking him what he’s going to do, what he thinks, if he would just listen, that he doesn’t trust me and that all the doctors visits make me feel less like a woman and more like a lab rat. They feed my dysphoria. I had sort of this weird out of body experience where I was just talking but my body felt like it wasn’t there. That I had separated myself form reality to keep myself safe. It was pure anxiety and miserable. He proposed that I didn’t trust him and that I thought he was against me, but I tried reassuring him and it just ehhh. I kept going over the possibility that I might have autism (See next paragraph) considering my psychiatrist keeps thinking that because I can’t always communicate my thoughts, and it was a mess. I “yelled” a lot trying to get my points across, not really angrily but my voice was raised. He gave me a journal to write in. Even after he said our time was up, I got really selfish and glued myself to the couch wanting him to reassure me and asking him questions with what ifs. Like what if I just took estrogen, and he said he’d support my decision and root for me. This is why I think he’s decent. None the less the intrusiveness and lack of transparency bother me. The think that bugged me most is that he said he didn’t think I was ready because I had “one last hurdle to overcome” And when I asked “What?” He said he didn’t know. Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I spent the time after in my car having a panic attack and feeling numb. I didn’t even schedule another appointment. I wanted to just die but my inner voice told me to breathe, strap in my seatbelt, drive home and get some sleep. I posted on Facebook about my depression and everyone got worried. I’m glad I got good friends. I went home and got to sleep. Woke up and went out with chinese food with my roomate and her boyfriend(?).

-I went to get tested for (Asperger's) Autism earlier in the week because my psychatrist seems to think I have it. Every doctor I have says one thing, while others suggest different. It’s the same with friends and family. Mom thinks I have it. Best friend doesn’t think I have it. Mom knows me at home, Best friend however has autism and has autism run in his family. Am I autistic? Who knows. I’m sure right wing neckbeards edgelords would think I am, because I respect women generally speaking. Nonetheless they did an interview sort of thing, and i’m able to go in and get officially tested. This will be when I have money. That doctor said it was a 50/50. The visit was the same as all the others XP

- After a good 3 bottles of Mikes hard practically in a row I finished that fucking English Essay and turned it in. -I was able to talk to my school councilor for the first time in months. She’s the best. I’ve had her around since I started figuring out my gender identity (I think that’s a stupid as word tbh, considering the brain is an organ, so to some degree i’m female). I gave her an hours worth of rambling and she as always responded with kindness, listening and sincere advice. She doesn’t care for my therapist or psychiatrist from what I can gather, and I already know she doesn’t care much for my parents. She did want me to try to be more honest with the therapist though, despite the panic, and just address my needs upfront. I’m not sure how capable i’ll be of doing that, but I can respect the advice, mostly because it’s her. I can almost fully trust her. She’s at like 99% where most people are at like 40%. My best friend is at 100% unless it’s making plans. He tends to fuck up with that. Oh well, nobody is perfect.

- I did some volenteer work over the weekend which was nice. Blockers/lack of energy and stiffness in my limbs didn’t fuck with it too much. It feels nearly impossible to lift boxes at my work though.  -Though it doesn’t have to do with me, some fucker stole shit at my work and got caught. It was a thing of cool whip, in which he’d do something that a manager described post arrest as “whip its” in which a person would inhale nitrogen from a whip cream can. Personally if he wants to do drugs and ruin his life that’s his own business. Sure someone cares about him but trying to prevent shit like drugs via police seems to cause more problems. Just let people voluntarily go to rehab and be there for them. I am glad he got caught for stealing though, i’m not a fan of stealing unless someone is trying to feed their kids, or themselves because they’re living in severe poverty and prices for x company are high. Even still a lot of businesses can be decent at times and if you tell them you’re poor they sometimes really help people out (been there done that). You’d think someone who prasies things like anarchy would be like “DOWN WITH THE COORPERATE GREED” you could also argue that someone who’s okay with Captalism would be like “NO THIEVERY PEOPLE EARNED THAT MONEY” there’s also the thought of “HOW DOES ONE LIKE ANARCHY, CAPITALISM BUT HATE ANCAPS. WHAT ARE BELIEFS (I’ll talk about that in another post).” Nope my reaction is that stealing is terrible for everyone because x company will just give employees less hours or jack up prices. It makes things harder on the poor. Stealing also lets in police prescence and furthers the police state. If people really wanted to piss on the government if applicable be totally obidenent and expose police violence. If people don’t believe in police and don’t feel a need for them the state would eventually defund them or people wouldn’t become cops. It’s happening in the county I live in, and it’s awesome. Hopefully one day there won’t be any police or at the very least police that are more social workeres than anything. I could live with social worker police. Some countries have that. That’s how it’s supposed to be (except in terms of major riots which may not happen due to less police, and kidnappings. Police existing to hunt down kidnappers is ideal. I wouldn’t mind private cops to do that though) That’s it, no go outside =w=