SO! I took a break from LJ for just a bit, or should I say it took a break from me. Really the fear and the anxiety combined with how I have learned to channel these things (Rather constructively, it breaks my mental process down into emergency problem solving mode, the only problem being recursive patterns and a tendency to try and brute force my problems away) threw me into an utter black frenzy, mood, not my skin tone.The results are... Interesting.

     I have a full time job now, but they aren't paying me a cent till the middle of next month, that means I have to wait an entire month just to get my first paycheck. This does not save me from losing my appartment, but bodes well for the fututre.The job itself is emminently bearable, though they want to cut my pay after 14 days of working there and have a crap comission system, mostly it's decent because of the people who work there and the music. They play a lot of rock, punk, some metal, and some parody/comedy songs with just enough volume that I can't remember anything after I've left, just that I was there and the day was bearable. You can get lost in a job like that... I could but I need something that will pay better so I'm still looking.

     I have found a new place to live for half of what I am paying here now for rent and a similar reduction in  utilities, howerver this includes air conditioning. It's only about three blocks away from my current location, meaning that I just tack on about 25 minutes (big blocks, you see) to my daily walks to and from work... and shave off a similar ammount from the trip to my FLGS every week I can afford it. Of course I don't have enough money to pay that rent either, hopefully one of my most wonderful people will come through and save me though. *Crosses fingers*

     I have to clean the house today, it's going to pretty much be my only chance... I don't want to deal with any of it really... Ah well.

Tags: surviving insanity

It gave.

I never expected it to but today, after my hot water heater was replaced but not turned on so I had to take a cold shower, after another full day gone mysteriously missing, after spiraling down into depression, after wondering at the psychological impact of being constantly bitten by bugs actually is, after finally understanding that yes, suicide -is- on my list of responses...

It gave.

I realized that yes, I'm more alone than I ever have been in my entire life.

I'm starving myself, malnutrition only barely held off, I couldn't eat too much if I tried right now.

I sleep way too much, this is probably related to the above malnutrition.

I'm not exercising even half as much as I should

I only get out in the sun about three times a week, total

I'm probably killing myself

And then for no reason, I was happy again.

I think though in the end it's because my entire life I've been circling around the fact that the only way to be free is to be in freefall

This is Grace in Gravity, mother fuckers.

Watch me shine.

Tags: surviving insanity

So. I figured out I don't have mosquitos. It's mites. My house is infested with mites of the kind that bite humans, raise welts, and cause me to itch madly. I am also delicious it seems. I did not have mites before I got the second couch and my queen sized bed so it's obvious where they came from. The sad thing is that now I need neither the bed nor the couch, so all I'm enjoying is being eaten alive by bugs I can't see. It's maddening and the bites are spreading. First there were two, then four, and now... I don't... I'm just glad my body will adapt soon and take some of this from me.

I got home and tried to pay my rent. My bank had just been robbed by the time I got there and no one knew where another USBank was. I come home to a pay rent or we'll sue you notice. That means late fees. Gotta love comming home from two funerals only to have a bank robbery spoil your day then go sit in your pest infested home. It itches, I itch all over and there is no relief.

On the plus side the Yoshida Brothers are an incredible group.

I'm trying to get my thoughts together to blog about the second funeral, this will be impossible till my body stops screaming hystamine...

Oh did I mention I don't have the means to fix this?

Tags: surviving insanity
Current Mood: itchy
Current Music: Yoshida Brothers - My Heart Holds

This Post is not Based in Fact.

Cisgender (pronounced /ˈsɪsdʒɛndər/) is an adjective used in the context of gender issues and counseling to refer to a class of gender identities formed by a match between an individual's gender identity and the behavior or role considered appropriate for one's sex. Cisgender is a "newer term" that means "someone who is comfortable in the gender they were assigned at birth." "Cisgender" is used to contrast "transgender" on the gender spectrum.

Or at least that's how Wikipedia defines it. It'll do for at least this one sided discussion as well.

About two years ago a friend confided in me that growing up they had spent a lot of time wrestling with their gender identity but in the end chose to remain Cisgendered (Not that the word was used at the time) because it was easier for them to get on in life with their birth gender than attempt to be transgendered.  "It's a choice between being more comfortable and being more comfortable." They explained, and well I understood.

A few hours ago I told a friend of mine I'd be writing this post. He had the following to say. (Once again paraphrased, or in this case with some useless bits redacted): I'm afraid my knowledge of human sexuality terms is limited to the common knowledge and the stuff I got about third-genders in Native American cultures from my cultural anthro class. Not sure what there would be to write about, but like I said, not a gender studies guy.

If you were born Cisgendered there probably isn't anything to write about in and of itself. The common state of being for the majority of people exists only in contrast to what it is not. It's a lot like anything sexual really, there is assumed volumes of things to be said about homosexuality, about normal heterosexuality? Much less, if only because you can easily assume that most people have experianced what you are talking about. But what about abnormal heterosexuality? Fetish?

I consider myself to be Cisgendered abnormal. I'm Cisgendered because while it doesn't completely fit, it fits enough... for now. In that choice between being more comfortable and being more comfortable well my decision is pretty easy. Why? Because I don't have any other options.

I am not female.

See, when I look in the mirror I don't ask "why couldn't I have been born X" because quite simply the X that I think I am? I don't have a word for it. Instead I flex and think about how I can work this body that I have better, because it's not a bad body you know... it'll do... I guess. Because somewhere in the back of my head I'm not a guy. I'm not male. Sure I have some masculine characteristics, but my gender identification is not male. It's not female either. It's also not hermaphrodititic... insofars as I know because who knows what being a hermaphrodite actually -means-. So gender options one, two, and three all fail me. Miserably.

I can't count the number of times I've heard the phrase "Well you're not really a guy." and instead of being insulted of my masculenity I just nodded and smiled, because normally that's a compliment. Also, I'm not. People can tell. I act differently, I project myself differently, I run by different rules. Oh sure most of it works, no one would gainsay me screaming "I am a mayun!" and then punching someone's entrails out. But I need another option, I need something to identify with that works for me.

And let me tell you I could use new genitalia. The shit I got aint bad, but man, it could be more interesting.

I've always been just mildly offput from manhood, just three to four steps removed. It's remote and isolating because you have a hard time putting it into words much less trying to find someone else who knows what you feel like.

I'm Cisgendered because I don't have a better option.

How about Violence? Can Violence be a gender?

Or maybe I'm a digitaly sexual person, made up of both ones and zeroes (if you catch my drift, wink wink, nudge nudge, one goes in the zero and they make a baby lol) and meant to be housed in a body of silicon and steel... or... you know... even cooler materials than that, and my problem is science hasn't caught up with my sexuality...

Here's hoping.

Tags: surviving insanity
Current Mood: Strange
Current Music: Digital Love-Daft Punk

So it's the end of the month, or very near to it depending on how you look at it. My life is in shambles, my finances are in question, my education is in question, my future is in question. I have very little, I can still fit everything I own except the furniture into a backpack and my suitcase. I have a suitcase full of someone else's clothes. I have no -reason- to get up in the morning, just a vague feeling of responsibility to do so. Once again I have been broken down to the very bottom, I have little to no recourse, the love of my life is completely out of my reach, I'm covered in mosquito bites, my air conditioner is broken and management won't fix it. I have no friends in the city where I live. There are no obvious ways out.

This is normally when I do something drastic and change my life (temporarily) for the better.

The problem is this is a pattern. This happens to me often enough that I have a set of completely normal responses to it. That is to say, I'm prepared to lose everything. I expect it. This is bullshit. I don't deserve my life to be this way. I have consistently thrown my life away for other people and made huge sacrifices that I have nothing to show for but memories. Normally that's good enough. I also consider myself lucky in that I have managed to live upon the grace of others from time to time. This is unacceptable.

I also don't know how to live any differently.

I don't know how to do anything for myself. That is to say I know how to do things, but I am never enough reason to do any of them. I don't value myself enough to expend effort on my own behalf. Sure, give me someone to care about and I'll move mountains, done it before, I'll probably end up doing it again. But that isn't good enough. If I worked to build -myself- up I would have an easier time helping others out when they needed it, wouldn't I? Or would I just have farther to fall?

This is one of the reasons I have always wanted to go into the military. I'm good at doing what I am asked to do or ordered to do or doing what is expected of me by others, I just don't seem to have the capability of doing for myself. So, not only would I be good at it, perhaps I could build up enough residual resentment that I could want to do something for me, or find out what I feel me is worth doing for. I've never wanted an easy life. Hell, since a very early age I have expected my life to be difficult, painful, arduous, and more unpleasant than pleasant. I have accepted that nothing is gained without sacrifice, and that those few happy moments do actually make the hardship worth it.

Now if only I could have a happy moment by myself, for myself, I'd probably be a lot better off.

I'm not a selfish person by nature, or at least I'm not anymore. I want, but I have no attachment to things. I have found a certain kind of center, or peace, that would be much better suited to a different time and a different place. I'm not suited for this self-centered society. Oh sure I'm an egotist, I'll never deny that, but I know the world doesn't revolve around how much I can get and even less around how much I can keep. I will not be happier with more money in the bank, I will just be more complacent. These are not the same things.

But maybe I should try and be more selfish. That's been the plan and the goal, but I've never succeeded. Hopefully my mother will call me, I'll be in the family's debt some more, but I'll come out on top in the long run. If that doesn't happen? ... It's like the realization that you're an adult because you can eat what you want whenever you want it. I realize that at this moment I'm still just a lost kid, trying to find a reason to grow up and fully enter the adult world, because I myself have never been a good enough reason.

Tags: surviving insanity
Current Mood: Empty

The Litany of Hate is, essentially, a collection of about three hundred posts of women speaking aloud their abuse, telling what happened. It is a stunning indictment of the common sexual discourse because so many of the stories are the same. It demonstrated -powerfully- that the problem is in the deepest part of society itself. What I couldn't get over, though, was how often women mentioned that cat-calls, being groped, or lewd remarks made them feel dirty or sexually impugned upon.

That's when the trouble really began in my head.

I couldn't help thinking about the times I had been cat called by cars full of girls, and sometimes guys, or times when I have been touched by people I didn't want to be in the club in ways I didn't want to be touched (I chaperone, it's not that I don't trust my female friends to fend for themselves its just if a guy is going to try and cop a feel on someone I care for, I'd rather them grope me instead... and they have once or twice) , or the volumes of casual cruelty that men do to eachother, especially when you aren't quite straight. None of this made me react like these women did. Never once has this bothered me... at least to any extent that I could recognise.

Everyone's pain is their own. See, that's what is wrong with my thinking. I was comparing, judging, determining worth by resiliance to behavior that -should not exist in the first place-. The problem isn't with how they cope, it's that they shouldn't have -reason- to cope. but of course my wrongheadedness wasn't done.

See, I've been abused too. Raped. And yeah, it's hard to say that, but I got there. As I read over all the hate that society has generated against women and the casual, enabling, denying, stupidity of the average person it started to bother me again.

This, I thought, this is a forum for moral support for female sexual abuse victims. There is a -culture- involved with this. There are programs, litigation (really crappy though, needs so much work), and even a movement based around stopping these injustices. Oh, and what do men get? Oh you'd love to -think- that male privilage would extend to taking abuse, especially sexual, against males seriously. It doesn't. But as I sat there I realised. These women blame Men. I'm a sexuall assault survivor too, yet if I shared my story would they care? Sure, I thought, they'd care, bit not as much as they would for a woman who would have gone through the same things.

And so I seethed, and kept reading.

The only time people care about boys being molested is when there is additional scandal to go with, I thought, not remingind myself that that's pretty true about women too. No, the only thing I could think of is there are shelters for battered wives, but that I would be ridiculed for expecting the same for men. Why is my experiance invalid? I've been abused by both men -and- women, try and tell that to a normal person and they might admit that the rapist in the street was assault, but women? C'mon, you're a dude. So I kept reading.

Then. Suddenly, without any of my earlier issues being resolved, it struck me. Am I one of these men? Am I a part of this parade of crimes? Have I coerced people into sex and potentially damaged them forever? Horror stole over me, its cold embrace wracking my already flimsy mental state. I could only come to one conclusion. Probably.

Probably I had done it without my knowlege, I've had blackout drunk nights where sex was invloved (waking up with a condom on, at once uncomfortable and intensely relieving), anything could have happened. Or maybe I -had- done it intentionally. I play rough with people who like that kind of play, and that means I have a long list of encounters where I wasn't given a no, but never got a yes, and these are with people I cared deeply for and even loved. As I sat their and reviewed my conduct, especially recently, I realised that the abuse hadn't stopped with me at all, it had just downgraded some. Preying on compulsion is not consent. Then I came to my second conclusion. By this point it is nearly impossible (I'd put it in fractions of a percent my probability of escape) that I haven't damaged anyone sexually with my actions, with or without my knowledge, exactly the way I have been damaged.

So, I'm a sinner. Generally that makes me feel like a worthless piece of shit. Generally that makes me a worthless piece of shit. And then my experiance -was- invalid. Nevermind that I responded to being sexualised at a young age by seeking physical intimacy as a way of telling myself I was loved. (The patriarcy call women who do this sluts, right now I now I'm amonst their number.) And hey, the fact that my coping mechanism for abuse was traditionally feminine? That bothered me too. I look at myself and I know that despire how hard I -tried- for the past eleven years, I've failed. I failed you all. Irredeemably.

Of course feminism wouldn't include me. I'm the enemy. Like so many men, I tried not to be, but... I was... I am...

And this -THIS- is why I have a hard time not getting angsty in my blogs.

Fucking pathetic.

Tags: feminism, surviving insanity
Current Mood: morose