oh gods, not another one.

Hahahaha. I forgot about this fucking blog. I love being able to edit comments. That’s why I haven’t taken the ability away. :D


also, I’m still alive motherfuckers!!


3 years

Huh, it’s been three years since I took that first little pill. Transition is boring. Being trans is boring except when it’s violent and hateful. There’s a reason we drop away from these blogs after a while. Anyway, I’m still alive.

Take care

Is this hell?

CN: christianity, abuse, trans stuff

Like, sometimes I wonder if I’m in hell. See, one of the things I was taught, or should I say indoctrinated into, is that God’s presence is absent in hell. And I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in gods. But maybe that’s because they really don’t exist on this plane of existence and I’m being punished. I mean, like, why else would I have to go thru the dysphoria, intense chronic pain, and all the rest. Sometimes I wonder if all the abuse is just background that’s inflicted upon me as another form of torture.

So, I don’t actually believe this is the case. I’m not that narcissistic. But yeah, I got some mental issues and hang ups left from when I was Catholic. That shit is toxic, y’all.

poem: Living with The Raven.

content note: Suicide. 

Living with The Raven*

I’ve got a note in my head
allocating possessions
attempting to explain

An apology of sorts
for my failings
and lack of strength

It changes from time to time
but it’s always been
as long as I remember

I live with this note
a reminder
of my way out

No one has ever seen it
and if they do they will cry
but I will weep no more.


*reference to Edgar Allen Poe

Guys are flirting with me. IT’S SO WEIRD.

content note: passing•, boys

Yesterday, on my way to therapy, a guy started hitting on me. And he wasn’t creepy, invasive, or harassing. It’s strange the ways that guys flirt. I’m used to girls flirting with me, both queer girls and straight girls (from the before times) flirt so differently from the ways boys do it. This was such an interesting experience.

He asked if I was European because I’m so tall. [5’11″(and I like to wear 3 inch heels, but I wasn’t that day)] He obviously couldn’t tell that I’m trans. (passing is weird) He complimented my perfume. (I wasn’t wearing any) It was so cute. Not my type, but he was kind of  a charmer. ^_^


•I define passing as a contextual thing, not a state of being. It describes the way others perceive you at the time, and how they treat you as a consequence. I know some people don’t like the language, but it describes something that is useful to describe. And it’s the language I have to work with.

College Party

Another crowded room
I don’t fit in
Twenty year olds
Drinking, Dancing
Someone else’s Paradise
Not my scene

Where is my quiet room
My books and tea
Intimate talks
Quiet friendships

Not here, with music cranked
Not here, with unfamiliar bodies
Not here, I don’t fit

I never did

Loaded Question

Pain, Pain, Go away

Come again some other day

Actually, no.

Please, don’t come back

I hate being disabled.

I look so sturdy

I’m untempered glass

Wondering which hammers will fall




That Damocles Sword named depression?

“How are you?” is a loaded question.

No one believes me anyway.