This blog is another coping mechanism. One which only sort of works sometimes.
I’ve tried as best I can to write honestly, but to write logically. I have laid out things I’ve done, things I’ve thought, and experiences I’ve had. I consider each of these meaningful, and I am pleased with the format so far.
But depression is not logical, not even remotely so. Hell, matters of the mind seem to rarely be. Ironic, isn’t it?
So sometimes, I can only write through my emotions. This is going to be one of those times.
I’ve read about gender dysphoria for well over a decade: more than half my life. I’ve looked for cures. I’ve looked for causes. I’ve looked for anything.
The research I find is always changing, developing. It should, otherwise it wouldn’t be very good research. But my symptoms stay the same. And sometimes, I struggle especially hard to keep them in check.
Maybe an emotional post like this will be good for me. I haven’t cried in weeks, and I continue to feel dead and disconnected from everything around me, so maybe this is as close as I’m going to be able to get.
Time drags at an absolute crawl when I am feeling this way. Minutes drag by, and there is no way to speed them along, because all the things (hobbies, video games, etc.) I typically occupy myself with have no flavor. They just feel like work. Everything feels like work.
I want to just curl up and sleep forever, but unfortunately, that makes time go by even more slowly.
I just want to feel. And I don’t want to be scared anymore. Struggling with depression like this is just no way to live.
I want to make it go away. I want so desperately to make it go away. But there is no cure for what I have. The only agreed-upon treatment is of the symptoms, through HRT, transition, etc. The option that will destroy everyone I love.
I don’t consider myself suicidal in the sense that I have never actually attempted suicide. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t struggle to keep suicidal thoughts in check every single day. Trailing thoughts, like “I don’t want to…” or “I can’t…”.
Sometimes, when things are particularly bad, I finish these statements. That which I often leave unspoken is never good.
I’ve got to tell someone. I’ve been trying to, since starting this blog last week. But everyone else already struggles with so much in their own lives. And I’m the consistent one, the happy one. I listen, and I help when I can. I love being able to do this for people I love.
I can’t burden them with knowing what I know about myself. And if I’m honest with myself, being with others, having something to distract myself with, being forced to put on a good front: these things all help me cope, because I have no choice but to.
But when I’m alone. When I am by myself for hours on end. When there is no future in sight for myself.