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Monday, 7 July 2014

Not keeping up

I'm still very slow on the whole getting-back-to-writing-with-some-regularity. I'm not keeping up with any of this very well anymore, am I?

I had a dream a couple of days ago about my little one... It involved the possibility of curing her if she had only survived one more day. Like, somehow, that proved she was strong enough to go on and survive the procedure that would rid her of the tumour. Waking up to that one was heartbreaking and I not only woke up to it but had dreams where I told mum about it and dreams where I still blamed my parents and their cheapness for her death. I miss her. I don't say that enough. 

This is a depressing one, I'm sorry. Things are not going so well. I find myself to be completely unmotivated to do anything worthwhile. I'm not doing nearly enough to work on the maths textbook, or the problems, or the one problem the nice professor gave me. I have not even attempted to contact him and the more time passes by the more embarrassed I am to try. I have not e-mailed the ex group member and I'm afraid to find out how long ago I received her e-mail because it will tell me exactly how long I've gone without talking to the nice professor too. I have not done much to secure a job I can no longer get because we're too close to the beginning of the next semester and I have not the heart to ask Pf2 if I have a job for Autumn. I haven't updated my résumé. I haven't been keeping up with the blog. I haven't been taking very good care of myself. I haven't sown the dress I ripped because my butt is too bloody big to fit in it and I still tried to wear it. I haven't gotten over the heartache of wanting a relationship that can't be. Of wanting several relationships that cannot be. I have not been in the mood to write for the longest time and I'm afraid that the longer I go without writing the less there is left in me to write about. Like I'm slowly letting go even of that one last bit of me that still cared enough to keep track of things.

Of what things? Of the fact that Thursday night I could. not. bear. the thought of being around Nd. That day I'd had enough of their bad table manners, their inconsiderate nature and the way they disrespect personal space. I'd had it. I tried talking to EBF about it (stupid me) and he came up with the theory of the four humours, for psychology. According to him, something modern psychology absolutely uses and is totally valid, especially in the setting of big corporations that use it to analyse their employees. Goodness. I don't know what prompted me. I had wanted to talk to EBF about feeling like a piece of meat and about utilitarianism in human interaction. He'd agreed to talk to me and then kept fucking silent. I was so desperate I reminded him of this and started the conversation I was talking about earlier. What is the matter with me?

Besides not having friends, that is.

Oh, I don't have friends.

Make-up playing plans with Md got cancelled, re-scheduled and turned into a trigger I'm now to stay away from.* I can't say a single nice thing about Nd. Not even if I try hard. I'm worried about Md and not being able to do enough for her, partly because I'm a little afraid she might develop feelings for me and because I don't care nearly enough about her. I really needed to have that conversation I tried with EBF and I have nowhere to have it. I don't even want to bring it up in therapy and I've found myself increasingly quiet, deliberately wanting to have nothing to say. Even if and because it makes me a bit of a wallpaper flower.

I had a dream last night where the wind swept me away as I stood on a very tall pillow pillar. I tried wobbling it around as I sat on top of it and I think I remember trying to wobble it around as I tried to land somewhere. I knew I was safe riding the air currents and yet I was afraid I was not going to land, ever, and I desperately tried to get myself to land safely. 

* After I'm done talking about it, I mean. And I'm not quite done. Md is a trans girl. I thought make-up was something that cheered her up because it made her look more like the person she really is. Having no experience with gender dysphoria, I tend to imagine it much like any other "hating your body" scenario: feeling too fat, disliking your stretchmarks, the shape of your toes, your too sparse and too thin hair. And yet it's not something I'd ever cry about, like Md today when I was doing her make-up. In attempting to cover blue shadows on her face, wanting to make them vanish before her eyes to make her happy, I succeeded only in making her acutely aware of their existence and causes. Score one for dysphoria, zero for the cisgender ally. It was all I could do to offer tea and hugs. To be too honest, when she's feeling dysphoric I sometimes feel bad for being cis so in her face. I feel bad for the clothes I'm wearing and how they fit me, the way I wear my hair, what make-up I'm wearing, my nails, whatever parts of my body may be showing at any point. I'm terrible at talking about dysphoria. I disregarded Nd's view of friendly services based on their experience because they pass as female all the time and never confuse the people providing services, hence not getting the treatment someone like Md might get. It hurt their feelings because of course they would sometimes like to present masculine. The problem with that is that, though I simply apologised and said noting more, I was willing to challenge all of their discourse. I often think they only assigned themselves a non-cis gender to fit in and seem more interesting. I sometimes wonder how many of their traits are dependent on wanting to impress others. I fear there's nothing much more to them than their awful manners. I'm sometimes a horrible ally and a terrible friend. 

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