I don’t know anymore. I start crying over one thing, and by the end I’m crying over a dozen other things. I get angry for no real reason, and find myself sobbing for hours when my body just can’t contain that anger any longer. I’m fearless one minute, and then so scared I feel that my heart will shatter the next. I’m here to mind my mom, but I’m the one lying curled up on my bed barely able to breathe from panic, and from the tears that are falling so thickly that they have me guessing where the right key is to type “a”.
Ten years ago I transitioned and spent a decade working on becoming strong. But in 6 months I feel like all that strength has been leached away. I feel like a burden to those I love, not a source of joy or support. I feel that I’m selfish, hateful, ugly, horrible. I feel I deserve nothing, nothing at all. Why should I when what I feel, does such a great job of dragging people I love down
AND I WANT THE REAL ME BACK!
I want to be adventurous again. I want to be the girl who learned to make armor, “just cos”. I want to be the fearless rockclimber again, who hangs by her toes fifty feet above sharp rocks and laughs. I want to be the girl…I want to be the girl who pursues a potential love and succeeds, not the girl who pursues someone completely out of her league on purpose. Because I’m poly and should be seen being poly, and hey if the person I’m pursuing would never entertain being mine…well at least I’m not letting other poly-folk down.
I want to be brave again. I want to be able to leave my house, alone, without spending an hour humming and haaaing. Wondering if I can talk my way out of it, because it’s safer inside. I’m scared, I don’t want to end up under the Luas for real this time. I don’t want to be laughed at by anymore. I’m scared.
I want to be the girl who finds nothing but joy in my partner being with someone she loves once more. Instead of what ever the fuck I am now, this creature who sits here undeserving of her consideration.
I want to be the girl who deserves to be a fairygothmother.
I want to be the creative powerhouse again. The one who wrote a novel in 30 sessions.
I want to be able to remember what I said half an hour ago. I want to remember why I said what I said yesterday, and what I thought last week like I used to. Not this joke masquerading as my memory.
I want to stop hurting, one day without pain, please just one day. Just one hour even, fuck I’ll settle for a single, solitary minute. Please, no more pain.
I want to feel secure again. I don’t want the constant burning worry about money, my health, my family, my partner, my friends, my dogs, whether the front wall of the house will go and kill me in my sleep. (It won’t but I have a terribly active imagination.)
I don’t want to stare at the ceiling anymore, wondering if I can afford to waste 2 euro on a drawing pad, and then deciding to use it instead to make someone else happy.
I want me back. Not this shadow of me. Not this joke of me. Not this paperdoll version of me who’s dancing in a fire she kindled for herself.
I want to be Miss Amanda, Alpha to my Mistresses House, joyful polyamorist, determined lover, creative writer, adventurer through life, terrible cook, okay friend again.
I want to be the girl men crossed the street to avoid again.
I want to be me.
Am I depressed? I don’t think so.
Am I hurting? Yes, but all I want is to stop crying, to be able to smile and mean it.
(This self indulgence will probably be taken down in an hour. But right now…I miss me so badly, so if you see her send her home, she’s very badly missed.)
