Angst

fuck today.

I want to change my name.

I want to change my body.

I want to start over.

I want to feel like there is something left to discover.

I want to feel like there is something I could do.

I want to feel like life is worth living.

I don't do any of these.

I can't.



Fuck today.

I should shower.

I should brush my teeth.

I should clean my house.

I should apply for another job.

I should go for a walk outside.

I should make some food.

I should get help.

I don't do any of these.

I can't



Fuck today

I need to get help.

I need to find a job.

I need to help others.

Trying to Stay Woke

Some days I really think I need help.

Other days I think I need to help.

I can't let my mind wander without it wandering back to that ultimate thought.

The last thought I will ever have.

My survival depends on knowing it is there, but avoiding it.

So my survival depends on not letting my mind wander.

But my life depends on my wandering mind.

Without that, who am I?

...

Connecting with My Self

My ancestors mean a lot to me. They have always meant a lot to me. I feel them with me in my dreams and in my blood and in my heart. In some ways they have always been a source of pain, in other ways they have been a source of love, of knowing, of seeing. Ogsie taught me pain and he taught me pride. Babka taught me grace and taught me compassion. My grandpa taught me selflessness and he taught me humility. My grandma taught me the power of faith and taught me that our family is all we have, even when it's hard to be around them. The lessons I learned from them were just the start though, connecting to the past both in books and in my body has shown me a path towards inner peace.

I am writing this on the eve of my birthday, on the eve of completing my 22nd year on this planet. In my lifetime, the world has changed so drastically that my disorientation is all too common. Just, ask anyone who grew up alongside the internet. It's freaking weird.

The colors I bleed

IT’S IN MY VEINS

as my painted nails curl into my palm

head bowed in shame

with eyes of glowing thunder

the depths of my heart

splayed on the table like rotten meat

CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE?

my gut searches for a target for the rage

my heart knows nobody but me deserves it

so I sit alone, hurting nobody but myself

thankful for at least that

at least nobody is suffering by my hands

at least i can pretend so

for those who see something in me

there is no protection

only the me

overchill to compensate for the violence

anti-competitive to compensate with adrenaline

but these don’t counter the cruelty in my heart

there is no counter for cruelty of the heart

even when it manifests as self-care

Raised Online

I'm pretty tired of hearing about 'Millennials' and how this ~facinating~ generation is \insert_generic_critique\. There are so many opinions out there about me, about my peers, while not even really listening to what we are saying.

the violence in my blood

[This post was never finished and from some time ago. After rereading it so many times, I know it serves the purpose it was intended to.]

i am beginning to understand something about myself. something that is in my blood. something that was passed down to me through stories, genes and social conditioning in general. It was the reason i played a lot of competitively physical sports growing up. It was the reason i began, an continue to, have an unhealthy relationship with substances. It has defined my dysphoria with masculinity. It is still a part of me. It is something that I will never quite get rid of, but hopefully I can learn to live with it better.

Imagine the classic scene of the person strapped down to a chair in some evil lair. Their eye's clamped open forcing them to see what it in front of them, a wall of screens. Images flicker between split second static transitions. short videos and images reflect of the pupils of the person, as they can't help but bear witness to this barbarism.

I close my eyes sometimes, and see those screens, flashing violence and pain. Some days, I can turn this down until I go the whole day without seeing it. Other days are not so nice. The static fills my brain until the only thing left are the images, the thoughts, the feelings. Violent Painful Rage. It lives in my heart and occupies a space in my thoughts that I have tried, and failed, to quiet.

I first tried to indulge these instincts with sports, and with fighting. As a child me and my brother fought a lot. I  played soccer all year round for 6 years, and another 5 years of soccer alternated with tennis, then lacrosse. When I was able to, I played football and wrestled, the most violent sports I could find. I would lose myself in moments that felt like life or death. Regularly going up against people a foot taller than me, and much heavier. The euphoria of the fight still haunts me, I know no bliss more pure, more intense, than reversing a headlock in the 5th minute of a match against someone 3 years older and 40 pounds heavier than you. Just writing this, my palms are sweating and my heart is beginning to beat faster.

ultimately, this didn't actually help satiate my urges. Sure, during the seasons I was playing the sports I was usually too tired to feel angry, or do much of anything else to be honest. During the off seasons, or during my dreams, or in painful moments, those images still came to me. Even stronger now that they tasted the sweet nectar of rage. These moments were especially profound when I remembered back on the events my freshman year of high school. Where I was publicly humiliated for getting caught smoking weed. That's a story for another time, but it certainly didn't help me feel like the community I lived in wanted me there.

I dropped sports, suddenly and without much remorse. Not only was it not good for my mental health individually, but the culture of the teams I was on were pretty disgusting. I never paid it much mind, as I never was close to the kids on the teams who were loud, well-liked, and horrible human beings.

Next I tried to silence these instincts with drugs. First weed, then alcohol, then cigarettes, then harder stuff. They would work, but never quite like I wanted.

[To be continued when something new works]

The Male Feminist

"Empathy is not particularly elusive. It only requires an earnest quest to understand and act on that understanding. The problems women face in this world require the engagement of all the world’s people.“It’s very important for everyone to be a feminist.” "

   source

I really appreciate the simplicity of this call to arms. In this moment in time, violence against women is on the minds of most Americans. For some of us, it has been on our minds for years, or longer. There is a certain amount of truth to be said of the soundbite above, and it is enticing to those who don't know how to move forward in chaos of the national media circus. But in reality, this is not much different from saying that the only thing needed to counteract privilege is to become aware of it, and while that is definitely the first step along the way, it is easy to overlook the depth and seriousness of the issue when everybody is telling you there is an easy solution. It is easy to say that you're not of those kinds of people, but really changing who you are comes as a result of dedication and discipline.