I’ve been here for 7 weeks or something like that and I just started journaling like 3 days ago, maybe. And I filled up a full notebook. Not going too deep or trying to be introspective. Just spilling out the thoughts that fill up my head. Something about pen to paper really helped with the anxiety I’ve been coping with for the last year or whatever. Today, I ran out of paper, so I’m going to use google documents, but don’t think this is going to become a thing.
How am I feeling? IDK. Anxious. Cute. Clever. Nervous. Sad.
Why? Anxiety persists and just gets worse as the day goes on. I swear they gave me like triple the amount of Raisen Bran a normal person should eat. My stomach is not super happy about it. I’ll probably shit my brains out. EWWW. I hate the way my body functions. I hate the body parts I have. I feel so gross and dirty. It never ends.
Why? Today, everyone was supposed to wear a onesie. Since I don’t care much for following the crowd, I wore a long dress and my cute pink cardigan. Betty offered to help with my makeup and I felt I had to say yes, even though I didn’t want to do so. But she did even out my eye shadow. I could tell she wants to be my big sister. It’s sweet. She’s actually a very sweet lady. She’s just rich. It’s not her fault. She’s also beautiful. When I see her pink lips and eyes, I picture the young version of her, before the wrinkles. Before she was drugged and raped. Before the abuse and neglect of her husband. She was a knock-out. I guarantee it. She offered to let me borrow a short dress. I’m too shy to wear something sexy around all these girls. But the offer was sincere and I appreciate it.
However, she’s wearing a cheetah print dress and shoes today. It’s cute. We dressed up today, just in an adult way. Unfortunately, no one else wore their onesie, except Polly. I was trying to steal their thunder. If I had known it was just going to be them, I would have worn jeans and hoodie, so they could shine. I did want to steal the thunder of the tag-a-longs that follow Polly. They’re unoriginal copy cats. No hate. Just saying, I lead, I don’t follow.
This writing business has really helped with anxiety. It’s the first thing that I’ve found that actually works. I probably keep repeating myself about it, but I guess I’m just really happy that I’ve finally found something that works that isn’t a drug. The only problem is, as soon as I put the pen down or the computer away, it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave and I find myself wanting to hide in the corner or my room.
But not today. Today, I don’t mind being seen. I don’t mind sticking out a little bit. There are those here who hate it, I can tell. Like Katy. They are strange and I can’t get a read on them, but I don’t think they like me very much. It’s okay. Can’t please everyone. They are gender neutral, fem leaning. So it’s interesting. Us gender diverse folk should really band together. But I guess if you find femininity repulsive, then seeing a trans girl get dolled up is probably eww. I get it. I find masculinity pretty repulsive most of the time.
The exception is Brandon. He’s definitely masculine, but not in a Joe Rogan kind of way or anything. Just in a, “I am a man” proud kind of way. He’s strong. I like his masculine features. I like his big hands and strong arms. I like touching his chest when he touches me. I like how girly he makes me feel. I get butterflies in my stomach every time I think about it.
Two visits ago they put us in the telephone room, because there was nowhere else for us to go and we spent the entire time snuggling. He touches my side or my neck. I draped my legs over his and he held me, my head on his shoulder. It was humanizing, which is something kind of rare in a behavioral health setting. Everything else here is so rigid. They wouldn’t let us go in there on our last visit. What a shame.
I’ve been really struggling with going to group for the last week or so. Especially with the influx of new admits. Don’t get me wrong, they are lovely people. They all add something good to our unit, but it’s just a ton of new energy. As I feel things out, it makes me feel stressed and anxious. It also makes me not want to talk. Why? I guess because I don’t know them and I feel like the authentic me is too much for most people. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I definitely harbor that belief. I think they call that mind reading.
Also, Chris’s groups are hard. He hits on some really tough issues. I gabbered on about the body neutrality thing. But that’s just the beginning of it. They’re all really hard groups. I end up walking out early or running out as soon as they are over. They’re just emotionally impactful.
Also, Polly has been on the floor painting, instead of on the couch with me. Katy sits with me now. Where Polly made me feel naturally comfortable, Katy’s energy is much more critical and dark. Not saying that she is a dark person, just her aura isn’t the fluorescent shade that Polly projects. It’s much more Chagall, I guess. Losing Polly is a big loss and I don’t think they know it. I hate feeling like someone else in my life is gone. I don’t know. I feel lost. Why? Because Polly’s energy was a guiding force for me and now I know it’s going to be gone.
We have this new patient, Lindsey Manchu. She’s a doctor. A surgeon, no less. From Miami. She’s another primadonna, so we’ll see how this goes. Not that she’s not nice. She is. She wanted to chat with me at dinner and she’s very affirming. I wonder if she does GAC. I need an FFS consultation. I’m going to dig further. Right now, she’s on the phone buying some sort of skin care product. She has ultra short hair and pretty sure she’s done a fair amount of plastic surgery. No hate. Also, her skin kind of glows, she must know her shit. I bet she can give all sorts of skin care advice. I know Drs. hate giving free advice, but she keeps talking about being a doctor, so she clearly wants me to know. She answers her phone and uses it in the group room, while we’re all in there. I guess she just has a swagger to her step, that of a south floridian cosmetic surgeon. Maybe I’m wrong. She’s a strange one though, so I naturally like her. Very tall, very pretty. Drinking her supplement when she can’t eat. She’s the first person besides me that I’ve seen doing that. I could definitely use that FFS consult. Like, just tell me if it’s worth it. Tell me the best surgeon in the U.S of A and refer me over. Do they have a payment plan? My credit sucks, but I’ll have disposable income here soon. She is texting someone again. Voice to text, very specific in her instructions to whomever she’s having to pick up her very special lotion (a Dr.’s office.) They close at 3:30PM. A local cosmetic surgeon. Things are lining up. I think I might be right. She’s broke. Her credit cards are all maxed out and she doesn’t get paid until the end of the month. No money, but asking her family member to pay for the products. Also, I guess her hair will fall out if she doesn’t get some rogaine. That’s a fucking bitch. What a nightmare. That’s like me and my razor. I get it. She’ll pay them back via wire. Not a check, not Zelle or Venmo, she’s going to wire that MF’r. That’s the mark of someone who knows how to send large amounts of cash. Bless her.
Dr. Parsley is walking by and grabbing everyone but me. I have to be brave. I have to ask about the Vyvanse. I know he’s going to be dick about it. Maybe not, but probably. I was hoping Nancy would grab me instead. She’s less intimidating. I just want my refill, is that so wrong? Fuck, I feel anxious! Why? Because I just drank a milk shake and my stomach hurts. I’m light headed and I have a sense of impending doom. It sucks. What’s going to happen next? Why can’t things just stay the same for a while.
I feel unlovable, again, today. Every time Danielle does something fucked up, it reminds me that a person that once loved me now sees me as some sort of enemy. I’m not the enemy. I’m not the bad guy. I wanted to remain friends. She couldn’t handle being friends. With us, it’s always been all or nothing. But she knows me so well and I know she’s planning something big to fuck with me. She won’t just let me go, it’s like she has to maintain control over me in some way or another. WTF? What the hell happened. I miss the old her so much. I trusted that person with every fiber of my being. Every ounce of my blood. All my heart and soul. And she’s gone. Michael may be dead, but so is Danielle. This is not the person I fell in love with, twice. She would never have allowed the Charlie Kirk text or tried to besmirch my name. She would have jumped in front of a semi truck to save me. She would never have left her daughter’s side. She came to town and cared more about the cat than seeing her child. WTF. It’s like a nightmare come true and I can’t wake up. She tried to get me kicked out of the treatment she insisted I get. She just wants to spite me. It’s such shit.
I had strange dreams again last night. I was at my childhood home. Brandon kept trying to call me and come over. But Mom was there. Eric was there, too, and he kept threatening to out me. Mom found out about Brandon and freaked the fuck out. It’s strange because she’s been pretty good to me since I told her I was trans. She tries to use my name and pronouns. She’s been very supportive. But she’s still a southern baptist. They are among the hate groups according to the SPLC. Not that SPLC is super credible, but they can be taken with a grain of salt.
Looks like Chris’s group isn’t super popular today. Chris and just a handful of people scattered around the group room. Lily is in the group room. She’s the head of something, a middle management type. She nods in agreement a lot, but I don’t think she has much sway for making anything happen. She does seem genuine though. I want to go to group, but the anxiety is just too much.
Lindsey is still going on about the products she needs to survive treatment here. When she calls various places, she says that she’s in town for about 4 weeks. I wonder if that’s a real timeline. Has she met with any of her team yet? A month is ambitious. I wish her well though. She keeps telling her family members that’s picking up all these important products, where to get them. Like they can’t just read the text chain and figure it out.
I don’t want to take clonazepam. It will just make me sleepy and worthless. I don’t want to feel anxious and I want to participate in group. It’s just too much right now. Snacks are becoming hard, too. It used to just be the meals that I hated, but as Courtney has stacked up the calories on me, it’s made even morning snack suck. I had this milk shake. The same strawberry shake I drink every day. There are no good options, so at least it’s liquid. But it’s a gazillion calories, I know it. And our goals are just not the same. Honestly, I’m in my target weight zone. I’m at the low end of my average BMI and I want to stop here. I want to work on maintaining the weight, not ramping up the weight gain. I’ll probably start restricting again if she increases the meal plan again. If they’re fucking me on Vyvanse, then I’m done anyways. I’ll pace and stop eating completely. They’ve manipulated me into eating by holding that med over my head, so literally, it’s all they have on me. Take my meds and I’ll stop eating and stop caring. I’ll stop trying. I will have failed and they’ll either have to give me a new team or send me elsewhere. I don’t trust any of them,
What am I feeling? Distrusting. Why? Because they haven’t really shown themselves to be trustworthy to me. They keep making changes without my consent and against my goals. Why should I trust any of them? Alana was the last one I trusted, but she kicked me out of my room this week in front of the entire unit and it embarrassed the hell out of me. I wanted to cry. I still do, being honest. I told her I was having a lot of anxiety and didn’t want to be around my peers. I mean opposite action and all, but in this case, it just made me feel worse. I know how much peer group I can tolerate. The energy is high and I have low energy right now, so it makes things unbearable. I feel bad missing the group. I can see Rose smiling and trying and I am in the hallway. I’m not pacing right now, but if I stop writing, I will. What a fucking mess my head is.
There are two parts of me that want to get better. Juniper’s person is one. She misses me, I know it. I have to better about calling her at night. I know she waits for it every night and is upset if I don’t. I feel guilty. I can do better. She deserves to hear my voice. We only get one hour of physical contact per week. It’s not nearly enough. We just fell asleep holding each other this week. I wish I could hold her right now. I miss her so much. She makes my life worth living. She’s the reason for not giving up. I see her pictures and I remember to try. I ask her to do her best, I have to do my best, too. The things I’ve asked her to do since she was tiny were impossible and yet, here we are and she’s crushing goals and thriving. I owe her the same. I have to be healthy so I can be in her life. I need my brain to heal. I need to be open to what Drs. say. I have to get better, I don’t have a choice. This is do or die.
And then there’s me and my wants and needs. I got a new GAC doctor during my stay here and we briefly talked about surgery. In order to be considered a candidate, I have to be stable. Mentally well. That’s the trick, isn’t it? I can’t remember a time when my brain wasn’t sick any more. Going back to being 12 or 13, I just felt like an alien. Like something was wrong. Like I was somehow different, and not in a good way. In a way that I was meant to be ashamed of and feel bad about. I hated being a teen. I hated puberty, but I didn’t know why. I hated my body. I hated my hair. I hated my clothes. I hated all of it. I just didn’t know why. If the whole gender identity thing is just a Russian mind virus, like Elon says, then it sure does explain a lot. The thing is, the whole trans thing goes back to the beginning of time. They just didn’t have a name for it.
I don’t feel well. I feel groggy and like I’m soaked in gasoline, ready to explode with any little spark. I don’t want to have these thoughts, but these thoughts persist. Is a healthy brain even possible for someone like me? I follow all the advice. I do therapy. I take the drugs. And yet, the darkness persists. It’s not all the time or at least I don’t think that way all the time. But whenever I find my brain is understimulated, it’s overrun with these thoughts and emotions.
Here I am, in a cute little white dress and cardigan. Nearly everyone on the unit has made a nice compliment to me. But I feel like a freak. I question every day, should I have left well enough alone. But I wasn’t well. I wasn’t getting out of bed. I didn’t have any motivation. Now I’m at least motivated to be the best parent I can be to Juniper. I’m in a fortunate position where I’m going to be able to care for her for as long as she wants me around. I’m proud of that. She no longer has a Mom, her Mom is now a crust punk scenester or something. They don’t make good moms I guess. She blames me for everything. But let’s examine the facts. This non-sense started well before the transition. She was becoming mean and hateful. She was berating and criticizing me for at least one or two years before I even considered HRT. So wanted to escape, but she needed some way to make her not be the bad guy. And let’s face it, she’s a pretty bad dude. The DARVO thing is so fucking real. Projection is so fucking real. I wasn’t lying to her, she was lying to me.
Let’s talk progesterone. EVERY SINGLE PERSON I’VE TALKED TO said I did nothing wrong getting the script. They’ve all said the same thing. It was my care and I have final say. I didn’t lie. I didn’t mislead. I really did want to have a conversation about it with her, before I started taking it. I know these things to be true, regardless of what she says.
She, however, did mislead me. She encouraged me to start HRT. She found the clinic and she insisted I go to the first appointment. Even when I said I didn’t want to, she insisted. She didn’t say anything about leaving me or divorce or splitting up the family. She didn’t say she isn’t attracted to women (anymore). She said it was something I must do, because it was going to continue to be a nagging force in my life until I did it. How fucked up is that? She misled me. She’s the liar here. Despite what she says. Alana told me to challenge these thoughts, because these are the thoughts that are holding me back. Well here I am. I challenge you, THOUGHTS. I didn’t lie and I didn’t cross any boundaries simply by asking her to talk with me, again, about progesterone. That NP was super pushy and I could have been stronger. But the regime has shown pretty significant results. If she didn’t want me to have a new body, she should have talked about that with me before I went to the first appointment.
Now let’s talk about sex. We had sex several times after I started HRT. At the time, my testosterone was still in low-normal cis male ranges. So the idea that I somehow magically morphed over night into a woman that couldn’t fuck is just silly. Like, physiologically, it’s just not true. In fact, my testosterone stayed in cis male range for months after starting HRT. She’s full of shit. Period. I did nothing wrong.
I told her on the way to the first appointment that our marriage was the most important thing in the world to me. That I would never do anything to jeopardize that. In one ear and out the window, I guess. Because at no point did she mention that this could tear us apart. I thought we were stronger. I thought we could trust each other more.But it was quite clear from the beginning that this was just an excuse to get away. One more thing to blame me for and use as an excuse to push me away.
That’s the heart breaking part, I guess. Watching my love slip away. Watching my voice become mute. Knowing that the person that promised to love me no matter what now doesn’t want to love me any more. But let’s examine the facts again. She was being abusive, going back several years before the transition. Back when Janet was still part of our lives. She was being so hateful. She was becoming more and more like her father. Controlling, degrading and abusive. She only hit me on three or four occasions, but it was escalating. Maybe she knows that deep down. I don’t know. OMG! The anxiety of feeling these feelings makes me want to cry. I can feel it in my face and stomach. I want to crawl into the fetal position and bawl like a child.
It isn’t my fault. I have to remember that. That’s what the therapists keep telling me. It isn’t my fault. She was the abuser. My responses were those of an abused person. It’s hard to believe, because society tells me I’m wrong. The police say I’m wrong. Her lawyer says I’m wrong. All of her wonderful friends say I’m wrong. Her sisters say I’m wrong. All of these people know that her brain is sick. But they still say I’m wrong. That’s a lot of people saying I’m wrong. How am I supposed to believe that I’m right when everyone and Danielle say I’m wrong. I guess because they don’t have the objective facts. I’ve shared the story as honestly and best that I can remember with my therapists and psychiatrists, etc. And they tell me that Danielle lives in her own world. That she has cluster III behaviors. Her brain is sick. The lithium was keeping her brain in check and now she’s off lithium because it was killing her kidneys. The new drugs they’ve tried don’t work. They never did. I just didn’t know what I was looking for or how to get that information to Judy. She stopped listening and trusting me, so no matter what I said, she wasn’t going to get the right kind of help. Her sick brain kept her from going to the hospital a few months ago. Maybe for the best, god only knows what she would have said. Her sick brain is preventing her from seeing how cruel she is. Not just to me, but to her daughter. It’s such a sad story, and the ending hasn’t been written yet, but it’s looking like a tragedy. Heartbreak and despair.
I feel so sad right now. Why? Because my heart is missing the piece that made it feel whole. She was my true love and she’s gone. And I still grieve every day. I grieve in anxiety and panic. I grieve in my dreams. I grieve for our child. I grieve for the connection we shared. It’s a powerful connection. And I still feel her every single day. I still feel the anger that she holds for me. The resentment and even the hatred she has for me. It’s awful. I want to close that chapter, but how can I when she haunts my dreams, night after night. When she jabs at my heart with her hateful words to others. When she paints a landscape of her world that is of another universe, where her actions are justified, but mine are not. I cry inside day and night. I want this pain to stop. I’ve been sitting with it long enough. How long must I grieve? I fear a thousand years, should i still be breathing, wouldn’t take away this pain and discomfort. This void left by lost love.
How do I feel? Broken. Why? Because I’m missing my person, even though my person was cruel and abusive to me. I still miss her. I always will. This is one part of me that can never completely heal. I am broken in a sense. There isn’t a remedy in the world that can take this hurt. I just have to carry it and push through it. I have values. I have goals. Focus on those.
I am feeling drained. Just drained. All the company, which I’ve really grown accustomed to, is really pushing at my introvert pretty hard. I just want to retreat. I want to hide. I want to go home. Why? Because “that’s just how god made me.” Too many people and too much conversation. And my friend is leaving. And I’m sad. And I don’t want to sleep, because I won’t want to wake up. I’m actually not panicking, but I do get very drowsy. I fell asleep in group at least twice, maybe thrice this week. Community is my least favorite group. Process is my second least favorite. We just had a process group that sounded a lot like community. I hate hearing everyone disgruntled. The negativity spreads really quickly and can kill the vibe on the whole unit and makes it feel less recovery focused. It’s like a cancer that eats us from the inside out. I’ve seen it happen my second week here. And now, it’s happening again.
I’m drained because my pace of recovery sucks. It’s slow. But they keep pushing me to go faster.I don’t want to though. I’m not ready, at all. I can barely choke down a grilled cheese and some cucumbers. I’m rocking and swaying like a crazy person just to make it through the meal. Rock back and forth, side to side. Starfish breath. Distract. Distract. Contexto and “Got It.”
I won contexto for the first time today. I usually get us close and Rachel goes in for the kill. But it clicked for me today. It’s not a fish, it’s something to do with catching the fix. You need: a fishing pole (two words, can’t be it), a boat (maybe), BAIT. Dr. Lindsey Manchu got annoyed at my answer, but guess the fuck what. I was right bitch. STFU. I own contexto. I used to hate it. But I’ve gotten much better at it. There’s usually a breakthrough answer that gets us close. Anything under 100 and we’re getting there. Top 10 and it’s only a matter of guesses. Rachel can bring it home most days.
We bitch and moan about the meal time shit. And it’s not because the meals are that intolerable. It’s because they make us sit and wait after we eat. “Sit with the discomfort”, they say. But that’s the worst part of the whole process. And depending on which tech is working, we wait for supplements. Usually 10-15 minutes extra. Sitting. Staring. Maybe there’s a game. Maybe not. Initials, we’re kind of bored with that one. I like Got It, but only if Polly starts the game with me. Then it’s almost guaranteed to be the most random 2 things we can think of, and maybe even a little edgy. It makes everyone laugh and some two people find a bizarre stretch of an association. It’s funny. We’ll sometimes go for 10 minutes before we get close enough to actually find the right matching word. But, that’s only when Polly plays. Some days or nights they aren’t feeling it. I’m the same. It just depends on the stress level of the meal or the day. Polly will be gone very soon. What are we gonna do? I feel like no one is going to get my weird sense of humor and no one will laugh with me. It’s so stupid. I hate change. I hate how fast they made it through this stage of treatment. I love it for them, I just hate it for all of us. We’re going to suffer. But they will thrive. But here I am and I can barely choke down my grilled cheese and cucumbers. I tried the veggie lasagna the other night and could barely eat 2 bites. The texture, the taste. All that cream and cheese. EWW. Why did I even pick that meal? Stupid. Should have picked buttered noodles. That would have been manageable. Instead I had to supplement and I swore no supplement this week. Ugh. Another failure. I didn’t restrict, but it’s almost as bad. And that shit tastes worse week over week. I can barely tolerate it now. And WTF is up with my Vyvanse. That’s literally the only reason I’m eating. Someone needs to fix this shit.
I guess I deserve a tongue lashing or something. Rooms weren’t ever locked this morning. And while I didn’t take advantage of that this morning, I did for the afternoon group. I just couldn’t do another group. Call me a criminal or a slacker. Call me whatever you want. But I didn’t want to participate in a group today. Just the environment was too much for me. I barely made it through lunch and snack. I wasn’t about to sit through an interactive session, where I’d probably get talked over anyways. That’s been a thing with the new admits and honestly, it’s fine.I don’t have that much to add anyways. The groups have become repetitive and honestly, I just don’t want to be there. I’d rather be writing or pacing or literally anywhere else.
You know what? I’ve worn this cardigan three times and this is the first time anyone noticed it. I definitely stole the thunder today. Susan changed. Polly changed. No one else even bothered to show up. Yeah! Thunder!. I wouldn’t have stolen Polly’s thunder on purpose. Plenty of days ahead without them here. So why not just wait until one of those days to be all thunder stealing. My bad. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I did it because I thought everyone was going to be in some ridiculous onesie. On Polly, it’s cool and child-like. Like letting their inner child shine through. When the others did it last week, it was dumb. Rose and Kiersi could pull it off, but Jim just felt… awkward. Like someone was holding a gun to his head and forcing him to wear the damn thing. Maybe they were. How did they get a gun in here?
Dinner time. I hope it’s not gross. I’m so tired of lifting that plastic lid only to discover something inedible. What the fuck was I thinking when I picked some of this shit. PB&J I’ll tolerate. Anything else, including a cold quesadilla just seems, bluhugh. And do you know what I’m trying to not have for dinner. Bluhugh. Do you know what I’ll probably have? Some kind of steamed broccoli or a dinner salad and a cold quesadilla. Did I mention that it’s probably going to be cold and gross. The suspense is killing me. No, the food is killing me. No, my brain is killing me. NO, I AM KILLING ME. Stop with the negative self talk, it only brings us down further.gotta stay positive. Gotta stay smart. Gotta keep moving. Focus on your values and don’t let the world bring you down. I gotta pee.
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