You’ve Made Your War. Now I’m Making My Peace. Now I’m Taking My Stand.

This post is a letter. It’s a LONG letter. There is a video embedded. It deals heavily with personal issues. It deals heavily with me calling out bullshit, abuse, and horrible behavior. Please use caution when reading this entry

Contains: transphobia, homophobia, “being not prejudice”, no fucks given, and mentions of abuse (mental/emotional) ~ be warned the video have heavy themes of religion, transphobia, homophobia, touchy subjects, harsh discussion, and just blatant rudeness. if the video content DOES NOT WORK, please tell me in the comments, i can work on fixing it if possible.

If you’re joining me for this ride, thank you. I hope that this helps more people in my situation to realize the gravity of how some “family” treats their LGBTQ relatives. I hope this helps you find peace of mind, and I hope that it helps you realize that it is okay to cut ties and move on.

Always be you. Always be happy.

And always remember, there’s someone out there who truly does care and love you for who you are as a person.

Let’s proceed ♥

*                        *                                     *

Before we press on, I want to make this point as clear as I possibly can. This will be the last time you hear from me. Do not call me, do not text me. Do not look me up on facebook, do not send me any emails. Do not ask around looking for me. Do not ask around trying to contact me. Don’t ask about me, don’t even think of me. Erase me from your existence. Because from what I know to be true, you already have.

Now. Let’s move on.


Let’s start with the graduation party. You have to be some kind of special ridiculousness to pull a stunt like that and not think that I would hear about it or notice. Heck, you even fuckin’ invited me in the midst of some fifty other people you know would not be nice to me. Don’t exactly know what you were trying to do there, other than probably look polite or look nice in the eyes of everyone, but it was pretty low. And that’s not even the lowest part of all that.

To the fact that you purposely placed it on my birthday is nothing short of atrocious. Back that up with you didn’t even ASK to have it at Pam’s house in the first place. Back that up even more with when asked about said party and why you all picked that day and whatnot, people couldn’t even be looked in the eyes when stammering over a “explanation”. I don’t know how you could even be okay with that, but I guess it doesn’t matter since, you know, you only have one child now and that child sure as hell isn’t me.

Which brings me to my next point. Hearing word that you have only one child and Becca doesn’t have a sibling. That’s even lower, and insanely disgusting. You told me once  that ‘we wouldn’t disown you’. Well I’m not sure what you’re calling it in your twisted little world, but I would say that’s a huge red flag right there. Hand in hand with slathering a graduation party right over my birthday like a brand new shiny poster covering up an old, tattered one left on the wall for a few days. Not only am I disgusted and can’t wrap my head around it, but nobody can. Not Bobby’s parents, not my friends, not people I’ve talked to who agree with me on EVERYTHING I am saying but can’t open their mouths about, and definitely not my therapist. Which will bring me onto another point in a few moments. But sit tight, I’m sure you’ve made it this far.

Oh. One more thing:

If you’re pissed off at my “rude tone”/”bad attitude” well then sorry too bad. I have the right to this and I’ve been quiet for far too long. Enough is enough and this ends now. I’m done being quiet. I’m actually being really polite, all things considered. I could have written worse. And you know it.

Before I get to the therapist portion, as if the birthday-graduation party thing wasn’t enough, your horribly ill-mannered reaction to my telling you I have a tumor and basically have to take treatment pills every week to combat the tumor / cancer . . . I don’t even know where to begin with that. At first, I wasn’t even going to bother telling anyone because I knew it would not matter. Nobody was going to give a flying fuck. Not like everyone else did who’d come to the house twice, sat with me, talked to me, took me out, and tried to help me forget about it. Who helped buy my $30 medication for said treatment. Who checks in on me REGULARLY both in person and messaging. I haven’t heard snippet of anyone in how long? Weeks? I don’t hear jack unless I message first and honestly, I don’t like to in the long run.

But back to the tumor conversation. It was baffling to myself and so many people that you first only commented on me flying and how could I fly with a tumor. THEN went so far as to say that surgery probably shouldn’t have happened with the tumor if they’d have found it in the bloodwork, which they did. Then didn’t comment for several seconds or minutes until you decided to say Becca had a MRI and didn’t like it. Which … didn’t even relate to the topic much at all and was totally derailed. And your favorite sentence repeated several times (“K”) and basically that was that until flight day. I merely told you out of courtesy for your guys’ health since I knew there had been imbalances in the past. But honestly? What courtesy do I owe anyone with the way I’m treated?

I don’t even know how to properly comprehend the conversation. If your child comes to you saying “Hey I have cancer/a tumor and this and that” . . . you don’t react so poorly. So bland. But then again. I’m not anyone’s child anymore, so I guess that makes more sense now, doesn’t it? It just simply does not matter.

I’m saving the worst (best) for last, so I’ll just move onto the therapist part.

I’m seeing a therapist. Weekly. Maybe more if I have to. To get rid of all this fucked up mental and emotional abuse I’ve stacked up over the last who knows years. And yeah, I know what  everyone’s thinking or saying already. “WE NEVER ABUSED YOU HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT?! WE HAVE ALWAYS DONE EVERYTHING FOR YOU. YOU DIDN’T HAVE IT BAD.”

Well then. Let me just pull out my notebook of receipts and take you on this ride even further.

Everyone’s living in 1991. I’m not that sick little child anymore who needs 300 doctors, has this or that, needs this or that. I’ve done so well on my own in the last few years and I’m proud of it. I’ve become healthy enough to not need the GTube. I dropped so many medications. I haven’t needed to go on multiple doctor excursions since North Carolina. I’m so tired of everyone living in the past and “you almost died when you were born”, “you don’t know what we’ve done for you over the years”, etc etc etc. I’m not talking about then. Ever. I’m talking about NOW. How I’m treated and looked at NOW. How disgusting and twisted and distorted your views on “family” is NOW. It’s honestly toxic and damaging to everyone. But of course, you’ll never see that. You’re all so perfect. You’re all so loving, polite, and caring. Let me tell you something. Bobby’s parents have been more accepting, kind, caring, and TRYING than you in the last seven years I’ve been out. And they’ve only known me shy of four years with being with Bobby. So I mean. You can’t blame it on generational stuff. You can’t even blame it on religion anymore. It’s purely personal now. And that’s horrific.

Emotional and mental abuse are real, whether you wanna believe you weren’t horrible parents/relatives or not. You may have never hit me, but that doesn’t matter. It’s just as real, and it’s just as damaging. And you will have no idea, because you refuse to believe it.

And all of this and more? Oh, it’s going to take many, many, many years to sort out and let go of and stop. It’s going to take lots of therapy. It’s going to take my friends, my boyfriend (yeah that’s right. We aren’t lesbians. We aren’t girlfriends. But you know what? That just goes right along with EVERYTHING else, doesn’t it?), and the people I’ve known for just a year that have become way more family than you have in the last seven. You know who’s messaged me in the last year? You know who’s called? Who’s come to the house to see me? Who’s helped me with food and money? That’s right.

I used to think religion was a huge factor and it is. But it’s also a mask. You use it to justify your actions, your behaviors, and your overall life and what “family” is to you. Family to you is people who have done everything for you, who X, Y, and Z. Who are forced into sticking around. Who are guilted, gaslighted, manipulated, and lied to. Your twisted senses of reality around you and what you define as family is . . . alarming. You know what family is????

  • Family are people who show up at your house when you need them to. Who want to hang out with you, who help you with monetary necessities, who take you to where you need to go, and who house you and not ask for much in return.
  • Family are people who DON’T treat you like a display or a science fair project to be “woooowwwww”ed and “i can’t even believe it” over and ask you about every little thing about yourself and gender, what bathroom you use, why you do that, when do you do this, why surgery, why that, i hope you change back and change your attitude, etc etc ; when they aren’t being educated at all, they’re just being them and looking to pick arguments.
  • Family are people you can talk to any time of the day about heavy stuff, bad stuff, good stuff, and who will carry you through every single bad and good thing and not remind you ENDLESSLY about “well when you were sick and in the hospital we did X Y and Z for you”. no. they support you in THAT time and we move on with life, better or worse. (stated previously)
  • Family is what you make it. I’ve made mine. I know who they are. I know their names. I see their faces. I know how they treat me. I know that they REALLY are the ones who love and care for me.


I  know who my family is.

I suggest that you better shape up yours.

 

Onto my next point. A video. Recorded a year ago TODAY (May 16th, 2016). Only few knew about this at first, but my god. It’s the worst thing anyone could ever lay ears on. So let’s dive a little further.

That is, if you’ve made it this far.

 

I can also account for several different occasions to where this isn’t the only time in the last two years. The first time I decided to dress less than feminine, I was told that I wouldn’t be taken out in public “looking like that”. At the time, it’s ironic, that you had stood up for me saying it was “just clothes”. But as soon as I find my true self and come forth with it, it’s a problem. It’s not just clothes anymore. Now it’s some huge ordeal and issue that I need to snap out of and go to therapists and church for. It’s kind of laughable.

The summer we went to North Carolina for the first time to meet everyone? I remember the one thing that was said to me was “If you’re going to be together and chose this life, why does one of you have to be the boy?” Can’t shake that one off, and you can’t argue that one, either.

When I came out as lesbian first, and was dating Sam and all of that stupidness happened? The one thing I remember that was said to me, again, was “You know what the Bible says about that.” I lived in fear of going out in public with you guys, around church people, around Mark and everyone else the years following that until I was able to move out and be my own person. The time Julie ended up sending you emails and causing unneeded chaos after I really did (sort of) come out as trans? That was the end of it. It was one of the reasons, yes, I did move to NC. It was one of several reasons.

More recently, when I was living back in Poland last summer. Nobody wanted to take me out in public. Nobody wanted to take me to the store, the movies with them (which prompted the argument in said video because Becca didn’t want me to go to the movies with her), camping, etc. I was barely talked to or engaged unless it was for dinner, to argue about something stupid, or ask me questions about this or that. Minor things, whatever. Not the point. I was an embarrassment to everyone, and it was made very very fuckin’ clear to me. Nobody had to say anything. And the only reason I had to come back was because of all that bullshit with Shauna and Zack. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made that choice on my own. Brings me to my next point:

Not only that, but I’ve pretty much been couch hopping and homeless for the last two years (since I left Poland in Sept 2016-now). Because I refuse to step foot in that house or even in Poland for that matter. I refuse to be around this . . . toxic environment that’s been created. Not only surrounding me and my life, but literally everything else that has been going on. It should say something to you that I would rather have the stress of not knowing where I will be tomorrow or even the next months or weeks than be there. That should speak volumes. But I doubt it will. Since you all seem to be such upstanding model citizens and “family”. Still, it should at least make you think a little.

Really, though, the thing that broke it all for me and is the end all to be all was the whole graduation party debacle. That and claiming that you only have one child/she’s the only child. That’s really . . . dense. I don’t know how you can act like that, then still claim “we love you no matter what”, “we don’t support your life, but we still love you, you’re still family”. That’s not family. That’s not human. That’s disgusting. And I’ll say it again and again, whether you get it through your heads or not.

You’ve created such a toxic hole in the floor that people are literally going left and right to get away from it. Like I said, don’t be surprised that I’ve heard things. That I know what’s going on. We’ve always been drama seekers/starters/involving ourselves in each other’s business and causing problems. I just can’t believe that someone would stoop so low as to literally throw me away like I don’t exist. Not only from one person, but from several. This is not an isolated incident. And you can’t claim it otherwise. This has been going on for a while. And you can’t say it hasn’t.

Nobody should go to this length to make sure that they are embarrassed about their child/family member. Nobody should take such drastic, dramatic, argumentative, horrific measures that have been taken here. Nobody should be that ashamed of their child / relative PERIOD.

And I know that not a one of you are going to see it that way. But of course I’ll be in the wrong. Because of course ‘you’re the one living this life, so of course you’re not going to see it’. At this point, it’s far far far beyond any excuses and any stupid reason you have for behaving this way. It’s personal at this point. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have totally erased my birthday on purpose. And Becca wouldn’t mention that she’s an only child. This is too far gone and I have no reason to press further into trying to mend any form of relationship at all. I shouldn’t have to feel pressured into talking to anyone because “we’re still family”. I am an adult, and who I chose to keep in my life is my choice alone. Releasing toxicity and negativity is something I’ve learned to do. And I’m doing it now. No more silence, no more appeasing you, no more tip-toeing. I’ve had it and I’m ending it here. I’m sick and tired of playing nice, and I’m done.

You can take with this what you will. I know everyone’s going to get pissed off about it and say every little bad thing about me. That’s fine. Say what you want. If you want to make me out to be this bad person over and over and over again by saying things that are fucking 100% true, then that’s your problem. If you wanna say bad, nasty, mean things about me and call me out, then do it. Just know I won’t be around to hear it, so it’ll fall on deaf and also manipulated ears. People will take your side, sure. But I know very well who’s on mine. Video was proof enough to my friends, to Bobby, to just about anyone who’s seen it that this is exactly the way I am treated. And it’s gone on long enough, and it’s not one isolated incident.

I don’t have to excuse or forgive anyone. Have it your twisted Christian way, sure, but I don’t have to forgive my abusers. I don’t have to subject myself to “well they were nice sometimes”. Sometimes nice and sometimes supportive and sometimes doing things for me doesn’t excuse behavior. It never will, and I don’t have to kneel before you just because of reason X, Y, Z, done this or that for you. It was done out of ‘well I have to’ , or more or less so  that you looked like the pretty, polite, kind family you so desperately want for the world to see. Sure, before you did things for me because you loved me once. But recently in the last, oh, seven or so years? Not so much. It became routine to just do things for me, talk to me on holidays only, and respond to messages only when  I engaged first. It became robotic. And for a while, I tolerated it. For a while, I thought it was something. Now it’s just . . . intolerable. It fucking hurts, the way everyone’s did me wrong. And if you want to deny it, then fine. But I’m not going to be expected to hold on much longer. I’m cutting the rope, and I’m dotting my last i and crossing my last t.

Maybe someday you’ll change your attitudes. And then we can talk. But if not, then I don’t know what to tell you or what to say to you.

Life’s funny sometimes, but I know I can at least do something about some of the things that are happening. This is one of them. This is my first step into a lighter future. Lighter, happier, and real. I’ve only met a handful of my friends since last year, and in addition to Bobby and his parents. They all have done so much more for me, loved me, and supported me than that I’ve had in the last who knows when from any of you. I’m shocked at the overwhelming amount of . . . love and hope and support and family that I have found and made my own. It’s so much more than I could have ever thought possible. Even though it’s been a shit two years for me, I’ve had fun. I’ve had experiences I never ever ever would have dreamt I could because of your anti-world, anti-lgbt, anti-everything way of thinking. I have more friends than I ever had growing up. I can go places I never knew existed. I have community. I have life. I have family. I don’t need your twisted, destructive views on what family is.

So think about that. Think about what I said. Think about how I’m feeling. If you even want to. Think about how twisted and sad this all sounds. Really look at yourselves, if you can. You have to have some sort of humility. You have to have some kind of little voice in your head that is fucking telling you that you are very wrong here. You gotta have some kind of conscious to even have made the decisions you have made and said the things you have. You may think I’m being rude and have a tone and I’m attacking you, but listen. You have got to know even just a little bit in the deepest, farthest, darkest reaches of your mind that you’ve placed in a little box. That I’m right. And that you hurt me far more than you care to admit. You’re all human here. Strip away religion, ways of life, personalities . . . we’re all human. You have to know that. And if you don’t, then I feel sorry for you.

As I said in the beginning, this will be the last time you’ll hear from me. Maybe if everyone shapes up their attitude in a few years, we can sit down like adults and talk. Maybe I can forgive you, maybe not. Maybe nothing will be restored ever again. Whatever the case may be, and whatever happens just know that I did this for me. I had hoped for seven plus long years that things would change. That maybe I could salvage something if I worked harder at it. If I talked to you more. If I came over sometimes. If I invited you to come say hey. If I messaged you. If I called. Everything began to fall on deaf ears. And in between giving bland fucks about the tumor situation and the graduation party, and claiming that there was only one child????

Well. That was probably the push I needed to get to this point. I had hoped, maybe another year to try. And I could work on either just letting go quietly, slowly, and politely. Not so much, sadly. You’ve picked this battle, and I’m sorry that you think so lowly of me as you all do. I’m sorry that you had to go this route of destruction and hate. And I am sorry that you chose this.

I was, at one point, willing to work with everyone. I was willing to try and be nice. I had been nice, in fact. Which is why I argued so strongly in said video and tried to help people understand left and right. Just treat me like a fucking person. But no, you couldn’t even do that. So I’m done being pushed around, questioned, being silenced, being hidden, and being afraid. You may tell people there’s only one child, but they’re not stupid. I’m out there still, (and I really hope you haven’t told people I moved away, ran off, died, or some other horrible cover up story for saying “I’m an only child”, “I only have one child”, “I don’t have a sibling”. You could have fashioned any story at this point. Unless you truly are dumb enough to tell people you have disowned me for good. But people would probably applaud you for that ANYWAY) and you can’t hide that. You cannot hide the fact I am alive, I exist, and I am loud. You cannot dim this light, and you never will. I want you to remember that. I want you to live that.

To end this, there are points below. I don’t care who read this entire thing first, I have some small words. So here we go.

Tracy: Most of this was for you. So if you read this first, then I don’t have anything further to say.

Ajay: Good luck to you, honestly. I mean it.

Becca:  I don’t even know what to say to you. I’m hurt, mostly. That’s mostly what I can say.

Pam: Keep doing what you’re doing.

Everyone else: I’m sure you’ve all read this by now in full. Most of it was for you, too. If you’ve watched the video, I’m not sorry for it. I needed to record it. I needed people to see what was happening. I needed to document what garbage it all was. I needed to show my hurt. I’ve nothing more to say here, either.

So that’s it. I’ve said what I had to. Now it’s on your shoulders. It’s up to you what you do from here. But like I said, I’m cutting the ties right now. I’ve had enough, and it’s time for me to move forward. This is the final word, and I will have the final word here and now. You can argue with everyone else about this, you can say what you want. But I will not and do not want to hear it. I will not subject myself back into the endless cycle I so desperately tried to get myself out of. I’ve crawled here, fought here, and managed to get this far. Writing this was anxiety inducing because I know exactly how the reaction is going to be. But it was a push in the right direction from my therapist, my friends, and more importantly to myself. I’d been lying to myself for so long about trying to make things right. I ended up hurting myself over and over again. Now I’m fed up and hurt even more.

All I can say is it that it was the right push.

No need to thank me. It’s what you wanted, after all, isn’t it?

So you’re welcome.

-Jeremy

 

The Trapeze Act Was Wonderful

I’ve dealt with depression and suicide since I was 16 and I will never forget the day it happened. It was terrifying and it seemed to have only gotten worse from there.

I’ve been hospitalized a great many of times for suicide attempts and threats. I’ve self harmed. I’ve thought about death in and out everyday. I still do. It’s one of those things that I can’t control. Even on my good days, it’s still in the back of my mind.

Sad to say things haven’t changed much for that line of thinking. It’s become worse some days. Being trans altered that a little more than I would have liked. But it’s not a blame. If my home life was a little more loving and accepting, maybe it wouldn’t be so much so. Not only that, but daily struggles. Medical situations, the constant feeling of people don’t want me around, they just tolerate me. The ugly fucking stuff that happened all of 2016 in and out. What people spread around about me and say to my face. Not that any of it should matter, but it leaves a mark regardless.

I think about it still a lot. If I wasn’t around. What would change, what wouldn’t change. How people would think, how they would feel. It’s scary to think about sometimes but more often than not I believe that it wouldn’t make much of a difference if I was here or not. And I hate that because it makes people cross with me. As if they don’t care and I don’t believe they care or love me. But that’s the thing. I’ve always felt that way. I’ve always been that way. My mother used to chastise me about thinking and feeling that way. ‘You have a family, you have everything you want. There’s no need to be sad all the time and feel so unloved like nobody/we don’t care. I don’t understand why you think nobody loves you all the time and we’re the worst people in the world.’

Funny. And that’s one of many things you don’t say to someone with major, manic depression and suicidal thoughts day in and day out. That just makes me feel worse. Makes me feel more unwanted. More unloved.

I don’t have a terrible life. That much I can say. But it’s fucking challenging and hardly rewarding at times. I’ve been chewed up and spit out so many times I don’t feel like I have much worth left. Beaten and kicked while I was down on the ground repeatedly. So much that I feel like the bruises will never go away. I’ve been wrung dry, thrown into a hot oven, lied to, lied about, told this, said that, guilted and ripped apart. I don’t know how I ever mend myself back up after all that, but somehow I do. Doesn’t mean I feel any better about myself or life in general. Doesn’t make the situations go away. Doesn’t stop the bleeding.

Aside from the suicidal thoughts, intrusive thoughts have been a new favorite friend. Sometimes they’re acted upon, sometimes I can ignore them. I was clean for a while. I’m sorry to say I haven’t been in the last two to three months. It’s a downfall I carry, but one I shouldn’t fall for shame on. Don’t judge the action before knowing the situation, as I always think. Most days I want to find a knife and stab it in my hand. Jam it down and let me bleed. Let me feel. Let me hurt. Let me grow numb. Other times, I should like to find it in the side of my head. Maybe then all the bad would just leak out and I’d be free. Other forms come in the personification of a bridge I’m steps away from.

I simply just call it My Bridge at this point. I’ve written about it before, but in fic form. Slaying all my feelings and wishes onto a character. Only because I’m too cowardly to do it myself. And too stupid to talk to anyone about it. I walk across it all the time. It’s not very high, but high enough that you’d meet the water with a nice slap. It would be freezing, though. Between September and probably into April. Sometimes it’s not moving much and real quiet. Other times, it’s loud and rushing. I always look at it. I always look over the railing. I always feel the cold metal. I always think. Most days I would rather just sit on it for a while. But having it sit at a busy area, someone would for sure call on me. I don’t want that.

The worst thing about having manic depression and terrible thoughts day in and day out is that you can’t tell anyone. Because there’s no safe spaces for people like me who say “yes. I want to kill myself/hurt myself and I probably will do it later this week or something” without them shutting you away from the world for a week or less in a hospital. I hated the psych wards. They were boring, and the days seemed to last into years. You can’t be honest with therapists/psychiatrists or doctors. And I know that’s for safety reasons, but there really should be a space for people to be able to be honest without fear of being shut off from the world. More often than not, I felt worse being locked up.

I’m one of those people, sadly, who believes with 90% of every fiber in my body that I would not be missed. That I would be talked about for a week, then forgotten. Nothing would change, the days would go on as usual, the world spins on, and people go about their lives. I am nobody special. Nobody to be missed so badly that the world has to stop forever. I’m not that important of a person, and none that loved. I have friends who do care, yes and love. But am I LOVED? Am I SOMEONE? Am I unconditionally remembered, wanted, or loved? Really, really and truly? I don’t think so. I don’t believe so. And that’s a problem. A problem I’ve had for so long.  

I have issues with self love. I have issues with people telling me they care and love me. That I can tell them anything. That I can go to them at X, Y, Z hours or times of the day to talk. I can’t grasp those. And when I want to message someone to talk, I tell myself it doesn’t matter. They’re busy. They have lives. They don’t have 5 minutes to listen to me whine and cry and complain about the same old garbage. Talking isn’t going to change anything. They’re not going to know what to tell me or say. They probably are sick of hearing about it. Sick of hearing me. Sick of seeing me. I’m merely tolerated. You can brush it off. Put everything away back into your little jars, label them, and put them back on the shelf. Because it doesn’t matter, and you’re boring. You’re annoying. You’re not going to do anything. And if you do, you have to keep it to yourself. Because it’s bad. And you’re no better.

I do not say these things for any other reason than it is truth. This is how I feel. This is how I think. This is how it is literally every single day. Even on my really fantastic days. The thing about major and manic depression is that you can fake it until you’re blue in the face. And I’m the fuckin’ master of that. It’s like my own little side show. Everyone comes to see it. They pay for the time that’s spent there, and at the end of it all, the tents come down and my master act has once again proven itself for the day.

Then you get up and do it all over again the next day. Repeatedly. With some interruption of routine. But it’s always the same. Always the same precision, always the same masterful act.

It seems like on my worst days, they’re always ignored. People are busy, so I fully understand that. But on my bad and worst of days, it’s like nobody bats an eye my way. That’s how it feels. That’s how it looks. That’s how it seems. Someone else can post the same exact way I’m feeling and get a ton of support. And I get a whopping -0 of anything. And that’s because everyone’s tired of me. Tired of hearing about it and tired of me whining. It’s just how it’s become. And why I try so hard to distance myself, but at the same time try to be a part of something great. Have friends, get out there, be a community, do this, do that, have fun. I try. But then I feel like I try too hard and suffocate everyone. So I stop. I shut down. I don’t message anyone. I don’t talk about my problems. I don’t tell anyone how I’m doing. I be there for them. I put everything away, again. It’s a cycle. And I always know when it’s coming.

Most days I believe I rather not be here. Not dealing with all of what’s on my shoulders. The chip I have is bigger than anything I could have ever imagined. And I tried so hard to just live for me. Be happier, love myself, look around me and see what’s good. I tried so hard. But it’s difficult to be on that path and stay there. I’m sick of dealing with all the legal issues I’ve had since June 2016, I’m sick of my relatives/parents and the thickness of air around them, I’m sick of feeling like I’m just tolerated and I don’t belong anywhere, I’m sick of fearing where I’m going to be living next month or even next week. I’m sick of worrying. I’m sick of wondering about my health and nobody wanting to take care of it or look at it seriously. I’m sick of running out of money all the time and not being able to afford things that I really need. I’m terrified for the state of our country right now and what that means for me, as a LGBT disabled person. More often than not, leaving this place seems like a grand idea. No more pain, no more suffering, no more problems. But what would I leave behind?? I don’t know. I don’t know if I would leave a mark. I don’t know if I would hurt others. I don’t know.

I used to have this thing where I would say I was sticking around for certain people. My sister, my cat, my boyfriend, etc. No longer. For a short while, it was sticking around for me. That I had too much to do, to see, and to offer. Now that fuse is burning out faster than I can try to keep it alive. I don’t know what I’m sticking around for anymore. I wish I knew the answer. Am I afraid? Probably. Is it something else? Maybe.

If you haven’t lived the manic, major depressive life then I don’t expect you to possibly understand. But I couldn’t leave these words unturned. Unspoken, and unlearned. It’s a terrible, dark, scary world for depressed people. And it’s even worse when you are LGBT, disabled, and have nowhere to go. When you’re always on your toes and on your last dime in the bank. Most days, I don’t know how I make it. Most times, I don’t know what’s picking me back up.

I don’t know how I’m going to move forward from here. I don’t know how I’ll be able to sift through all the damage I’ve been through. Therapy takes years. And it’ll take me years to learn to be okay with who I am, how to deal with my thoughts, how to accept my feelings, and how to not feel like I’m the worst person in the world. That I am loved. That people do care. That I can do good by me. That I have a reason to be here. That I can move on from the damage. It’s going to be a terrible road. Sometimes I don’t know if I want it. But I know I need it. And that’s what’s more important here.

I’ve been thinking about this write-up for a while. My moods have been quite horrific and all over the place, thanks to missed important medications. Even more so with just the state of my personal world right now, along with the world around me. The feeling of not being wanted or joined in on life or friendship. Feeling like I’m a easy piece of paper that can be tossed and forgotten for a while. Feeling like if people look at me and say they love me and I am a good person and beautiful and deserving that I should be able to believe them easily. My depression has felt like a terrible line chart. I’ve wanted to run off, take a walk over that damned bridge and just stop. I’ve wanted to self harm again and again and again until I just feel relief and numb happiness. I’ve wanted all this and yet, I haven’t done it. Because I’m afraid of getting angry at. At getting told off. Getting in trouble, if you will. I couldn’t handle that right now.

And as much as I want people to care and show it, want to go out, want to see people, want hugs, have validation, feel better, want this and that . . .  I also don’t. I do not want to be touched. I don’t want to be talked to. I don’t want to enjoy my favorite activities. I don’t want to watch my favorite shows or movies.I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to see anyone. It’s such a terrible contradiction. But until you’ve been in the same place as someone with major, manic depression, I cannot expect anyone to understand my place.

Don’t take this write-up so lightly. It took a lot of fucking balls for me to write all this out without the fear of someone reporting me. I implore you to not report me, nor my posts anywhere you see them. This is important to me. And like I said, it took a lot of fucking nerve for me to sit here and write all this out. Plain to see, and as blunt as I’ve ever been before. Mental illness shouldn’t be taboo and the negative space thinking that comes along with depression especially should never be swept under the rug. It’s why so many people do actually commit suicide. Because it’s always swept to the sidelines. Put back in jars, boxes, or whatever you put yourself in. And put away for later. Because you have to be okay in the eyes of everyone. Unfortunately being okay sometimes ends with planning a funeral.

Don’t ever turn a blind eye to someone like me. Don’t sweep them away for tomorrow or later, or next week when you’re free. You never know how someone is feeling that exact moment. And you may miss the chance to give them a hug, or ask them out to brunch, or send them a text message about something funny you saw. Be mindful, always if you can. You may not always know what to say or do in that moment, but you should always be ready. Even if they don’t want to talk, it’s important to engage. And how you engage is important and always up to you. Just don’t ever sweep someone under the rug for later. Please, I beg you this much.

You just never know what the morning will bring.