Every time I turn around my dad tries to get me into some big discussion about politics so he can browbeat me with his views. Unfortunately, at some point I decided to form some opinions of my own so it becomes A BIG FRICKIN’ DEAL.
I have $10.04 on my card. I need at least $24 to get money out of the ATM. Thanks for not sending the child support, douche.
I know it’s terrible to talk about someone anonymously on the Internet, but… douche. Some nameless person that has left me his children somehow managed not to send any child support at all this month. On top of that, I talked to him yesterday and he said there would be money today.
Guess what there was nothing of today? That’s right… $$$.
Some people out there are probably like, “Why the hell is she so angry? Why doesn’t she just pay for those kids herself?” Well, for one thing, my budget was already super tight. For another… I willingly took on the responsibility of ONE child. Now I have TWO of them to take care of and someone snuck in and decided to eat half a loaf of bread for breakfast as toast. What does that mean? It makes it hard to make kids their lunch if there’s no bread, no juice boxes, no fruit or whatever for them to eat.
Lame.
::one step away from mental breakdown::
It’s a kind of weird thing to admit, but I think the fact that I spend so much time wallowing in depression actually adds depth to my writing. It flavors the things that I do with a touch of melancholy and I think that makes my characters more realistic.
Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I were someone else. I wonder if I would be happier if I had been born in some other life.
It’s just that looking at the people around me, I constantly think that others are happier than I am. You can’t see the misery from the outside. And I get envious.
I think that if somehow my mind was switched into some other body, with a super awesome life all set up in place… I would be just as miserable. It’s just the way my brain is wired. I have a hard time finding the good in any situation, or my innate sensibility keeps me from indulging in all the crazy adventurous things that other people do all the time. So I don’t get the memorable thrills that other people can draw forward at a whim.
Transgender people face a powerful body dysphoria that goes so much deeper than malformed genes and personal image. I think that I suffer from a dysphoria of the psyche. Even if I had no memories of who I am and had to start over… some part of me would still look around and start screaming “This is wrong! All of this is wrong!”
Maybe it’s brain chemistry. Maybe it’s upbringing. Maybe everyone is just as miserable as I am all the time, but I’m like hyper-sensitive to it or something. Whatever it is… I sometimes feel that the world is a dark and terrible place. The walls are closing in and everyone is looking at me and judging me and I get scared to go to sleep, but when I sleep I never want to wake up.
Books and music alleviate the depression, but I don’t think anything is ever going to take it away. It is an indelible part of me no matter how different I wish things could.
And sometimes I look at the people around me and I see how happy some of them are, and I wonder if I’m alone.
I am a singular in a world full of plurals. If I just disappeared… would anyone even notice?