yoi-koto

[yoi-koto]

I hate that I told people I $h because they expect me to be clean and i told them i don’t do it anymore so after relapsing I feel so alone knowing that I can’t tell anyone without being judged.

[yoi-koto]

Do yall think santa knows I cvt

[yoi-koto]

Side note. If they give her away, I'm st4rving myself to de4th. I'm not kidding. I'll go until I collapse and need to be h0spitalised, at the very minimum. Call social services on me

People in my family have a hard time understanding that their actions affect other people. It's impossible for them, really, and it's been the cause of half of my issues. I used to go to extremes as a kid. I'd mut!late myself. Get drunk all the time. Stop sleeping. Stop eating. As much as I'd love to claim I've grown - I haven't. I've made the active choice to not engage in those behaviours. I can always choose to not try anymore

I was talking about how my dad knows how much giving my cat up would hurt me, and how I feel he doesn't care because he keeps talking about it nonchalantly. As if it wouldn't ruin my life. But he doesn't care and will do it if it suits him

And suddenly it's about his cancer. Suddenly it's about how I was less upset about that, then the thought of giving up my cat. Suddenly, he needs to keep his stress down to avoid a reoccurance, and I'm causing him stress

God is he unable to admit he doesn't care about me. He can't admit he's selfish. But I'm meant to be apologetic for being selfish myself. Yes, I'm more upset about never seeing my baby again, the one I spend every day with, fall asleep next to, clean and feed and look after - moreso than a freak accident cancer that was caught early and is unlikely to come back. It was never a death sentence. But, only when it suits him, he loves to act like it was. He couldn't give a shit about me giving myself permanent nerve damage and impaired function. But, oh no, he had a major surgery and now I'm still meant to act like he's fragile glass over a year and a half later, for the rest of my life. Fucking joke. The sociopath raised a sociopath, and is shocked I'm like him

[yoi-koto]

I was talking about how my dad knows how much giving my cat up would hurt me, and how I feel he doesn't care because he keeps talking about it nonchalantly. As if it wouldn't ruin my life. But he doesn't care and will do it if it suits him

And suddenly it's about his cancer. Suddenly it's about how I was less upset about that, then the thought of giving up my cat. Suddenly, he needs to keep his stress down to avoid a reoccurance, and I'm causing him stress

God is he unable to admit he doesn't care about me. He can't admit he's selfish. But I'm meant to be apologetic for being selfish myself. Yes, I'm more upset about never seeing my baby again, the one I spend every day with, fall asleep next to, clean and feed and look after - moreso than a freak accident cancer that was caught early and is unlikely to come back. It was never a death sentence. But, only when it suits him, he loves to act like it was. He couldn't give a shit about me giving myself permanent nerve damage and impaired function. But, oh no, he had a major surgery and now I'm still meant to act like he's fragile glass over a year and a half later, for the rest of my life. Fucking joke. The sociopath raised a sociopath, and is shocked I'm like him

[yoi-koto]

Addiction is mixing substances you know you shouldn't, and waking up 2 hours past your alarm with a wet bed bcs you blacked out and fuckin pissed yourself, and white crust all over your face from where your nose ran. I'm tired.

[yoi-koto]

Crying. As always. I miss being sick so much. Being out of control, addict, cycling between making new friends, fighting with them, making more friends. I miss hurting myself and liking it. I miss sleeping with anyone to fill the void, to feel wanted, to feel attractive.

But I'm too grown now. I know better. If I was to do it now, it's pathetic. I should know better. I know healthy mechanisms, I've kept myself clean this long, and to break it now... Makes me feel like a disappointment. Because although a spiral feels like a long time coming, I've put it off this long. I can continue to do it. If I relapse, it's a choice.

I used to treasure hurting myself. I was 'the best' at it. I'd get up, a bandage would pull, and it would hurt so bad I'd feel nauseous. I'd nurse my stitches and tell anyone who'd listen. I know I'm too sick, I know it's my fault, but I can't change it. And now that everyone else is grown, I can't talk about it, to anyone. It's always 'I'm here for you', until they actually have to be. They don't want to talk about this. I know better. I'm too old to be sick anymore, but avoiding it and refusing to talk about it is making me sicker. Burrowing the thought deep inside that no one cares - because they don't.

I used to cut so deep because I hoped it would reflect how badly I was doing. But people get desensitised. They don't care. The first time I needed stitches, my friend booked a train to see me, straight away. The second time, the time I stopped being able to open doors or pick up bowls because I had hurt myself so much, that it still hurts today... No one cared. They didn't want to hear about it. When I told someone, that's what they said. And it's fair, it's so completely fair. But it hurt then, and it hurts now, and I never could hurt myself bad enough for someone to care. But if I hurt myself 'bad enough', I'd lose a limb. Bleed out and d!e. What does it mean, to hurt yourself so much, and still no one cared. That 'it's just a [name] thing!'. The proof that they truly have given up on you, and you truly are a hopeless case

[yoi-koto]

Offered to pack my sibling's presents, for our parents, for them. They said no, they don't deserve it. I get their childhood and expriences with them, was worse than my own experience. But by god, move on. Ive taken the time to sit with them, get to know them as people, try to listen to what they're feeling and accomodate each other. We still argue and bicker, but I understand we are all victims of circumstances, and when those circumstances will never change, it breeds resentment and unhappiness. So, yes, I cut my parents a lot of slack. I don't understand why my sibling can't do the same

[yoi-koto]

The issue with constant inflammation, is I don't know if I'm sick. I run a low-grade fever most of the time. I had a food with a little bit of gluten today, because I'm fucking dumb and until I'm confirmed celiac, I apparently want to keep feeling the consequences of my actions. And it sent me into a slumber, I've been really lethargic, but I've now started feeling nauseous. I run a fever without gluten. I don't know if this is due to the other potential autoimmine condition but... Feeling like I have cancer at this point, genuinely

My sibling was sick, and I've been spending time with them as it's hols. It's not out of the realm of possibilities. But unless I spike a 38, which they, even, didn't, I dont know if I'm sick or just flaring up. And regardless, I feel like shit and don't know how to fix it. I miss being 12 with good health

[yoi-koto]

Yall will hate me for this. But my frontal lobe finally developed in my 20s, and I now despise 'bella swan', 'monster high' etc diets

I get romanticisation is a cope, because of how horrible the disorder leaves you feeling. But yall really finding the shit young teenagers love, with pretty and sparkly backgrounds, and slap on 'yeah lads, Monday, 200 c@lories, Tuesday, 300, yeah lads, let's get it'. You are targeting kids, and this was the romanticisation that got me in this disorder a decade ago. Sick

To the teens - you deserve recovery. Maybe it's cause mine was always a control thing more than a weight thing, but it doesnt go away once you reach that magic we!ght

[yoi-koto]

Listening to love songs is... Yeah. Not doing great things to me. Every time I bring up, relevantly, that I just can't and don't date anymore, and anyone asks me why, I just say I'm sick. In no particular, specified manner. Just... Sick. I feel as if my soul itself is stretched thin and split irrevocably in places.

Clinically, I'm mentally sick. Depression/anxiety combo. Borderline personality disorder. Issues with no real name. A lack of care and empathy, sickening need to control, nauseating guilt and regret that drags me back to an inability to function and dig myself out. I feel perpetually haunted by my past, and frightened by the bleak nature of a future. I dance with self destruction, to a point where I don't notice, because the behaviour is so ingrained in me. 'Healing', to me, is not being so bad, that I can no longer damage control and keep my shit from affecting others. I never have been able to shut it all down. I think I just think too much. I've said this before, but me sharing 5% feels like it's 50% of anyone else. Always overwhelming. Always too much. I remain seemingly unchanged, despite the years of work. I no longer recognise the person I was 4 years ago, and yet it brings such sharp nostalgia. I raise my voice, and I feel 17 again. I feel volatile, unrecognisable. Then again, when was the last time I recognised myself?

I... Flirted. Barely. Put my best foot forward in an interaction because he was attractive, is more apt. And I sit now, and think that I can't think of that me and me as I am now as the same person. So many acts. I'm not sure which is the act anymore. I am bubbly, and confident, and easygoing, and sullen, and explosive, and pensive, and clinical. I am every human emotion misshapen into a clay ball that, when mixed, gives a greenish brown. Artists know the one. They all exist as seperate entities with seperate experiences and thoughts and feelings and presentations, at this point. All isolated intense emotions. Finding a partner feels like lying to them. You wanted this upbeat, outgoing person, with buzzes of energy and ideas? You're going to get a rabid dog that exists in a muzzle more often than not, and bites when let loose.

I think of relationships, and I think of endless fights. Frustration. Love is so precious, and I have romanticised it so much, that I cannot imagine a reality where love so pure exists. Loving someone so deeply that you will change with each other and grow, where they matter above you but never ask you to sacrifice yourself. Where you are wanted, even on the worse of days.

This is the worst worded thing I've ever written, but I have no spark left. The things I write are never poetry, but I try to convey the emotions through images and touch and scent. How love smells like country air and tastes like fresh bread and feels like... I don't know. I feel it all intangibly, but no words come to mind. It feels like the visual texture of smoke and silk and varnished wood. But that makes no sense.

I'm also just physically chronically ill. So, that's that. My brain is badly whisked eggs. And I can't date a person when I feel so... other.

[yoi-koto]

Sometimes killing myself doesn't feel like enough. Sometimes I think I need to be erased from history

[yoi-koto]

I'm... Trans. Sort-of. And I think that comes with a lot of doubt.

Why do I not want to be a woman? I celebrate women so much in day-to-day life. I have always been a feminist, and will always be a feminist. I think women and femininity is beautiful. I think the strength of women is a wonderous thing

I find it hard to be trans, to an extent. To pretend to be a cis man and disregard the years of turmoil I underwent as a kid. Sexualisation and objectification. Unwanted advances. Assult. How my value, after I was deemed unpretty, was based purely on how many men I can outperform. Never in art - no, if a man can draw, he is the second coming of christ. No, always in things men have 'dominated'. How talented I was at maths and physics. How good I was at sports. Yet, if I cannot cook and clean and sew, if I cannot coddle men and tolerate their anger, am I really a woman? I was often compared to a man, really, and kept few female friends. I think I internalised it early, and projected the weakness men exploited in my femininity onto every woman I met. Thoughts of 'oh isn't that a lovely dress' swiftly turned into 'are you not afraid of the leers men will send your way?' Femininity, regardless of how little I associated with it, was weaponised against me, time and time again

Female friends, in fights, would criticise stereotypically male traits. How quickly I blew up, how callous I was. With male friends, it was how I was weak, and dumb. Being told I would amount to nothing because I am ugly. I am not ugly, is the sad part. Stereotypically attractive in many ways, but not sexual enough. Not sultry enough. Not willing to 'lean in to [my] feminine side'. Yet too masculine all the same

I am a feminist afraid of being seen as a woman. A feminist who wished they went through adolescence as a man, because maybe... Maybe I would have enjoyed childhood. Instead of being aware of every single stare. How easily a man could attack me. Knowing I am being gossiped about by boys because they saw a bra strap, or I grew out my hair. Or, because I started wearing trousers and cut my hair. No winning there

I try to find a cause sometimes. Sometimes I hope it's psychological, even though I experience dysphoria daily, in the hope it's 'reversible'. Sometimes I blame my naturally high testosterone. I was never 'woman' enough, and even though I never wanted to be, neither did I want to be a target. Now I fear I will never be 'man' enough. I speak softly to women, I will hold doors open, I will shout on their behalf. Which is not good feminism, to be sheltering women so, and continuing the idea that women are weak and need protecting. But every time I see a woman who is too kind, too soft spoken, too easy-going, I fear she'll go through what I did

Being trans, as much of a blessing as it feels, feels like it comes at the cost of disregarding every single thing I've gone through. Forgiving and forgetting the 'nice guys' who would get me drunk and drugged, because I said no before - and aren't they so nice for respecting that - but I can't say no when I can't speak. The 'nice guys' that respect me as a person and respect my opinions, until I piss them off or they disagree. Yet I am meant to sit silent and listen to my peers talk about how they scored, or how the female professor is ugly. Not that she is unknowledgable, or bad at teaching, unclear or badly spoken. No, that she is ugly. Because if I speak up, 'it's not that deep'. Being trans - and I have seen this in all ftm friends - means embracing toxic masculinity. That is the reality for most trans men, to 'pass' socially

Tldr: people who don't believe trans people exist... I have pushed myself back in to the closet. Even before there was a closet, they clocked that something about me was just not 'female' enough. Yet, I will never be 'male' enough either, and trying to will mean disregarding every experience that has made me a feminist. Not a good one, but one nonetheless

[yoi-koto]

How does one live with their regrets for the rest of their life, when there are a half dozen life-altering permanent mistakes. How does one move on, when there's nothing to move on to anymore

[yoi-koto]

A year later. I might be starting to get closure, and understand you aren't who I've glamorised you to be. And I gave myself over exactly as I was. Maybe that's why you're ok and I'm not - picking up the skin I shed and gluing it back on, to make myself more palatable again, hurt. Like cleaning a burn that won't stop hissing

[yoi-koto]

God, existence is bleak. I wanted so bad to be mature. Or at least be seen as mature, when i was younger. I never felt like a kid, and i loathed being treated like one.

Im now as mature as I'll likely get. And it's all so bleak. My hopes for the future and independence and travel, are overshadowed by the fact that a third of my continued life will be spent at a mediocre job doing mediocre work. I'll come home every night to an empty house. Because while I've gotten pickier with time, I myself am not a catch. Im often too much, often not enough. Sick mentally and sick physically more often than not. I feel my brain getting slower, and while my personality was always something I was at least somewhat proud of... There's not much left now.

I'll come home to an empty house. I've been depressed a majority of my conscious life, so I'll likely come home to a tip. I'll eat the same thing I eat every day. I'll watch an episode of something. Read, in the silence. Spend another sleepless night in bed. Wake up. Rise, repeat.

Wait for my parents to pass. Pray I make it mentally through both. Take a few months to distance from my sister and hope she's married and fulfilled by then. And follow in my parent's footsteps promptly thereafter. I used to lay in bed and pray they loved me back, but all i feel now is guilt. Being loved is a burden. Because i still have bad days, and i hate how much they worry. How much stress im causing them.

And so, life will pass me by. My parents lives were miserable, and my sister is still miserable, and I'm sure I'll pass still miserable. God, I hope our bloodline ends with us.

[yoi-koto]

I. Fear I've thrown my life away, in the long process of trying to wade through. Which is a sentiment shared by most people who's mental illnesses appeared early and with vengeance, but I stayed out of mental hospitals. I patched myself up, and made short work of any hospital trips requiring stitches. Ive attended everything I had to, I've studied and worked. I have had a social life and a personal life... And it still feels like this illness has taken half my life from me. 15 steps forward to be able to function most of the time, and I'm considering an admission because I fear my propensity of being a danger to myself, will end with me... Dead. Not sure where to go from here

I think I'm just lonely. Without purpose. Live to 16, 18, get into uni, 20s. Now what, graduate? What's the goal after that. Try to settle down, but know you will always be too sick to. Thank you borderline. Try to advance in your career, and find the whole thing unsatisfying. Buying a house one day? What after that though. It all feels so pointless

[yoi-koto]

I hate what you've done to me!!!

...

So why do I still miss you?