12/25/25 - Tumor of the Brain... Histrionics. I Am, I Am, I Am. Love Will Come Back. Love Can Come Back.

I had an absolutely wonderful day with my family, you know. Everything was great. I don't have any complaints.

I'm not going to complain about anything. I'm just going to examine myself. I'm going to allow myself the time to be honest.

I haven't truly delivered any penance to my heart in a good long while. This rag dried up for a bit, I thought I wouldn't need to rely on it as much. I did start seeing a therapist, you know, so I guess it makes sense.

But it happened today. I was attacked with a physically threatening pang of suicidal mania and desperation. It came so suddenly that I didn't have time to internalize it. Even now it doesn't really make sense to me why it happened so suddenly. I have some ideas.

I was late on taking my injections, because life decided to fuck me over, so my cycle is off. Hormonal imbalance for a few days. But I'm a big girl, I'm not a transmedicalist. Even if not everything goes right with hrt, yknow, even if it really isn't working and I'll never be able to meaningfully transition that way... there are other ways. I know who I am. I'll just have to finally buy that wig I was supposed to buy.

I get paid on Friday. I'll get it then. I'll buy the prettiest wig. Believe it. I am a woman. Even if it kills me.

I know being a woman isn't about wearing wigs, I'm just playing around. I'm arguing with the man in my head.

Taking some deep breaths... taking some deep breaths.

I'm taking some deep breaths. It is physically painful right now. Having aches and pains all over. I have a headache.

I am very grateful that I've grown experienced enough in my own body to learn how to socially navigate these panic attacks and bouts of anger, sadness, confusion. It was harder when I was younger. I've been blessed to have the temperance to never have a notable episode in my life. I've always had the guile to create the privacy that I've needed.

Twin was pressing for a minute, but I was able to very diplomatically communicate and separate myself from the interaction.

This is what I use all that braniac smartypants stuff to manage. This is what I do with all of that creativity and patience.

I use it all just to allow myself the chance at being capable of living. I work everyday to keep myself from losing my mind. It's not edgy, it's not cool, it's not chic. And it's not cute. It's a burden I have to take responsibility for as an adult. It is my greatest pride.

I don't feel like beating any dead horses, so I'll mention some new quantity. Faith is something I've never been able to understand. I have faith in people. In the people I love. I love who I love so dearly, and it emaciates my mind and my heart. I just can't put my faith in God. I just don't know how. He does such amazing work in my life, only to ignore and punish the most beautiful souls. I see so much pain in my life, in my little world, and God is so convinced that we need it. I'm arrogant enough to believe that I don't need to be afraid. God should be afraid of me. Because if praise is what he wants, he needs to do more. I have enough. His good works are not finite in their stock. He could do more. He doesn't want to.

God is selfish, selective, cruel, bitter, and unworthy of the power he never chose to wield. I believe that God is just like us. He didn't choose to be God. He didn't choose to be born. He's stuck like this.

God isn't like a humanoid or like a being or anything. God is just... matter. Bozons. Quarks and Nuons and Gluons. Gravity, electrons, amino acids, sugar, molecules, RNA. God is stuff.

None of it had a choice. The universe is, whether we wanted it to be or not.

I am. I didn't get to choose. And I won't let the "sense" kill me. It would make sense to kill myself, but I won't. I'm tired of the system. I don't play the game of the world around me. No... I don't believe that I was born to be anything. I don't believe that the people in my life want to see me succeed. I'm going to succeed anyway. I know it.

Part of suffering from a psychological illness... no, hold on. We won't make it clinical. I don't self diagnose anything.

My therapist appointment a few weeks ago was the first time I had been psychological/psychiatrically analyzed. In my entire life.

When I was younger and I was suffering from hallucinations, panic attacks, paranoia, depression, suicidal thoughts and actions, my parents told me that God would fix everything. That I just had to believe harder. They didn't believe that I needed to have anybody look at anything I had going on. They were very old school, you know...

I love my parents. I'm going to stop. This isn't a place for waxing bitterness.

I remember, you know. They told me they argued with the doctors about how I wasn't autistic. I don't care anymore. Who cares what I am. I am what I am as an adult regardless. I'm not gonna get a chance to start over, I have to move on.

I'm so sorry for writing such a negative and sad blog post before the happiest day of the year. This is very arrogant and narcisstic of me. I've been looking into getting a diagnosis for Histrionic Personality Disorder. It's the kind of disorder where you constantly make problems and create drama in order to draw attention to yourself. Yknow, like, you can't handle not having people dote on you and focus on you, so you have to be combative and attention seeking.

I don't have any real evidence to support my feeling that I have this. Other than the fact that I feel the need to be an "extrovert."

I don't know any extroverts. None. It's part of why I think maybe my temperament is an aberration. Who knows, whatever.

Let me change my prose a bit. Living functionally, amongst others, others being neurotypicals... you become aware of that base level. That coat of confusion and bitterness you see in every face. You hear it in every voice. It is impossible to ignore it, when sober. It's a loathing that coats every single fiber and molecule of the world around me. I think that God hates me, and all of his children are rightfully engendered to hate what he does not love. I'm at a point in my life where I undsrstand that if I overwhelm the barrier, I can succeed and get the platform I need even if nobody wants me to have it.

This is just mental illness talking. None of this is real, I'm all fake. I'm all conniptions and crazies.

I've learned to love it. They say that a common trait of schizophrenia is a paranoia that every person in your enviroment is scheming against you, that everyone loathes you, despises you.

I am not a schizophrenic. I don't diagnose myself with diseases. I am not anything. I'm just what I have to deal with.

I am not going to mention it again. I won't. How do I talk about this without engendering bitterness in you?

You're such an angel, you. Reader, disregard my insufficiencies. You haven't made me upset. I'm just trying hard to keep it all together right now. I'm working through what would have been a meltdown.

Let's play a game. Think of a song. Then think of a color. Then think of a first name, any language, any culture.

And keep it to yourself. Make yourself obsessed with these things. Make them motifs of your life, add them as spices into your dish. That is all I ask.

Make it fun. I want to use my pain for something good. I want to (ideally) not suffer from these psychological aberrations anymore, yah, but... this is real life. It's not going to go away, so I'm taking it out to dinner a little bit. I like to paint my nails and feel like a girl. I never get to do that. But sometimes I do.

I wish... no. We're not going to do that.

I remember Archimedes said something to me that really broke my heart. It was really mean and it made me want to kill myself when he said it, but he's a good person so who cares. I still love him, he's a good friend.

I was talking about how I don't think I'm very interesting or attractive or personable, and that it's my fault, and he said to me, "God, you are so arrogant... you're fine." And I remember this one time where he was joking with Big Texas and I didn't get it, and he was like, "Yeah, you wouldn't get. Believe me. Lmao, yeah, of course you wouldn't know."

Everybody talks to me like this and I've just decided that it can't be everybody else that's wrong. Maybe its autism, maybe it's some illness, maybe it's because I'm this or that. Who gives a fuck. I'm aware that I'm not punctuating my questions correctly, I'm doing that on purpose.

Every single thing about me in purposeful. It has to be. I don't give up. Even though I should.

Nobody in my life really believes in me. That's okay. That's what the electrons and water and gravity decided was my life. I accept it.

My sister doesnt like my music and doesn't care about my work or what I want to achieve. My parents don't support my transition and want me to stop. My friends don't support either of these things. My coworkers think I'm a weirdo fag, they don't want to include me if they don't have to, but they feel bad about it sometimes because they know theyre wrong so every now and again they buy me something so they can feel better about themselves.

I remember when I told my cousins today about me overhearing my supervisor saying I was a high functioning autistic person behind my back to another supervisor. They're were surprised I didn't say anything about it... they wouldn't understand, bless them. I don't get to do that.

Look at me. At my face. You can tell by looking at me. I'm not... right. I'm not correct. I'm not supposed to be alive. Because people worth talking to are people who make sense. I don't make sense.

But I like me.

Everything I just said it bullshit and it's all in my head but I'm typing it out regardless. I need to get out this disease in a healthy way. I don't want to keep it inside, that just makes it worse.

My family and friends love me. It doesn't matter that they don't like me. It's okay. Even that isn't true. I don't know anything. I'm not that smart, I'm just some tranny freak. That's okay. I'm good at being what I want to be. It makes my life harder, but that's okay.

This really is the worst one so far, huh. Well. That's okay! It's Christmas! I love Christmas! I love that Christmas makes me feel like this. I love that Christmas makes me feel so alone and helpless.

It means that I can still want. I still have goals.

Want I want for Christmas next year is for Christmas is for people to like me.

Vanity, my favorite sin. I relish in it's presence, oh, look at me. I'll be at the burlesque next year, watch.

I hate knowing that. I wish I didn't love anyone, or anything. It would be easier to feel so worthless. I wouldn't have so much to lose.

You all love so much, so well. You're all saints, you're all angels. You extend kindness even though I know you've got a lot on your plate. And you only do what you need to do.

I'm not gonna ask for you all to like me. Like what you like, and please, I mean this... keep love in your hearts. Don't force yourselves to suffer for anyone that isn't worth it. Don't be like me. Please... don't. I'm not saying this with any tongue in my cheek. I mean this. This is the only truth that matters in this blog.

Please remember love. Please, keep being who you are. I love you guys so much. It breaks my heart how much I think about you guys. Every single one of you. I drive myself crazy just trying to make you guys happy. It's all I want in my life.

I'll get better. I will. I'm going to be working more on getting my name out there, with my work. My music, my art. And when I'm a more useful, interesting, reputable person to know, I will not push anyone away. I won't remember how I feel today. I'll remember, but I'll forget. I will love everyone, no matter what. I won't care. I won't.

I don't know how Jesus managed to do all that stuff he did. That seems like hell. What a card.

I love you, sorry. I'll see you if you want me to.