Late November Late Night Rambling

Thanksgiving was quite nasty, and I'm still deeply depressed from it.  But I'll see if I can write something that isn't depressing.  This is being typed straight in- I didn't write it longhand before.  See? I ended two clauses with prepositions- look at me go.

I had to drop a class this semester due to various issues- chief among them being that I was so far behind in the reading.  How did I get so far behind?  I spent a LOT of time lying in bed, either asleep or staring at the ceiling.  I'm guessing the depression meds aren't working.  That said, I doubt they've ever worked.

I'm taking a break from writing papers.  I have two due next week, both 20+ pages.  One is in my qualitative research class, and the other is in my Sociology of Gender class.  I really enjoy the Gender class, as it goes right into my research.  The other one... doesn't.

I wrote a TG Forum post for last week, about TDOR here at PSU.  In it, I wrote:

I then stood to speak at “open mic.” I don’t remember all that I said. I opened with “I don’t know what it means to be cisgender” then talked about fear. Fear of being caught dressing by parents, about Wife finding out, about losing everything because of coming out. . . and then there’s violence. In Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters wrote that trans women of color are murdered, while if a white trans girl dies prematurely, it’s usually suicide. Either way, dead.

Death doesn’t scare me — never did. However, I wonder how long it will be until another person I know’s name is read at TDOR. A week doesn’t pass without word of the suicide of a trans friend or a trans friend of a friend crossing my social media feeds. Too many of us are dying. I read in an academic paper recently that the average age of death for a transgender woman is 32. I don’t remember which paper, but it was peer reviewed, so must be somewhat accurate. And none of those count natural deaths (miss you Katie!). I thought I was desensitized to loss, but as the number of dead friends continues rising. . . well, I’m not... [edit]

I remember one other thing I said — that I’m afraid that my life, or someone I care about, will be reduced to just a name to be read on November 20. And mostly forgotten by the next year.  

If you want to read the whole thing, I linked it above.  

Fat bitch reading

I've been thinking a lot of what I'll leave behind.  I have hundreds of books just taking up space in storage.  I doubt anyone will want them, like a used book store, and putting them on ebay would be more trouble than it's worth.  So when I'm gone, will they all just be thrown in a dumpster?  Each one of those books was a gift, or piqued my interest enough for me to buy them.  I'd guess 2/3 are unread- the pleasure and knowledge I sought from them wasted.  I remember all the times I'd go to bookstores with Wife and just browse, because I couldn't afford to buy.  

I miss those days with Wife- almost carefree in a way, as we had no daughter or pets.  Yes, I was still depressed, and drinking heavily, but I was young and it was Wife and I against the world.  Re-discovering my trans self in 2008 destroyed so many things.  Can I say transition has made me happy?  No.  It destroyed what little good I had left in my life.

I'm grateful for the friends I've made since that day in 2008, including some of the best people I've ever met, especially Lisa, Ally, and Linda.  I like to think I've done some good as well, but is that enough to justify all this pain?  Every single fucking hour of every day?  No therapist or medication has cured it (unless you count the fact that I'm still alive) after over three decades of work.  Dr. Osborne did the most, but then she retired.  

But back to the books in storage.  I also have a lot of games in the room where I type.  I think selling them would yield more money, especially since they'd hopefully go to a home where they'd actually be played.  My roomie/bestie isn't a gamer, not that I have time.  Nor do I have the inclination.  All I do anymore is stare through walls, watch tv, or nap.  And homework.  I have no hobbies any more.  It's been forever since I've written a story.  Or a blog entry (before this.)  And this one isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.  let's face it, I've become that boring person at the end of the bar that no one talks to because they're so depressing.  

I think I mentioned previously how I've already written the final entry of this blog- I did it five years ago.  I update it occasionally.  I think about the day it will be posted often.  I don't write here much anymore, primarily as I don't see the point.  It doesn't bring me any joy, and I'm bleeding subscribers as fast as I lose hits.  

And while I'm on that topic: Ruben Paixao, I'd appreciate it if you'd change your icon.  Nobody wants to see that gross display, and this is a family show.  

Thanksgiving passed, and it ended with me sobbing for days.  Like, still.  I try not to cry in front of Linda, as she has enough problems.  In any case, it's now the "holiday season."  I'm glad so many people find joy in it.  I don't.  Haven't in a long time.  I guess working wholesale and retail wrenched what little enjoyment I had right out of me.  Usually on Christmas, I just cry.  I've written about this so many times before, so I won't belabor the point.  

It's almost 1 am, and I'm still not sleepy.  And writing isn't helping.  Maybe I'll watch some tv or such.  I'm so fucking pathetic.  Sorry, I couldn't write something more uplifting.

In any case, thanks for reading, those who do.  I seriously appreciate it more than I say.  Makes me think someone actually cares.  

Be well.