sooooo i've deleted my last blog on this, BUTTTTTT

i've started thinking about it again.

and i don't really know how to describe it.

i haven't felt much like anything ever in my life. man. woman. other. whatever the fuck is supposed to be in between.

but this isn't exactly new.

ANYMAHOO 

wayyyy back when i was maybe eleven or twelve, i started binding. 

i wanted to be a boy. i wanted to be a boy so fucking badly that i'd take medical bandages out of the little first-aid kit and make makeshift binders out of them.

i hated being a girl. i hated the idea that this was the body i'd been given and that everyone had already decided what that meant about me.

(which is weird, because i LOVED being little fairy princess lee at age 3. but that's a 9 year difference, so maybe it's just exposure to other stuff in those 9ish years that changed my outlook of stuff then. BUT IDK WAIT THE TRAIN'S GOING OFF THE TRACK.) 

rerouting... 

(can trains even do that? idk. i'm a bass guy. not a train guy.) 

(of course, i was 12 and simply thought of it as "i don't like these parts". because most 12 y/o in conservative households do not get the concept of gender shit.) 

THEN, somewhere around thirteen or fourteen, i grew out of it. maybe i just got tired and bored. it was covid then, so that probably had something to do with it. idk. ANYMAHHHOO i stopped binding. i stopped trying to make myself into something else and kinda just... existed as some fat, sad, sloppy invertebrate. 

eventually i just started existing as a girl because that was what everyone saw when they looked at me.

and i didn't like it, but whatever yk.

at fifteen, i was dealing with body dysmorphia and being generally fucking miserable. like honestly, i WAS NOOOOOT happy at all. AND NOBODY NOTICED! LIKE WTAF??? 

"you have no reason to be unhappy" yeah okay. whatever. 

sixteen was WAY worse. like i was actually losing my fucking mind. standard stuff when faced with a generally conservative environment i guess. 

but what do i know? 

self-harm. stealing booze. whatever else i could find to fill the space where a normal sense of self was supposed to be.

like i was showing genuine signs of psychosis and nobody noticed lmao. 

it's actually funny to think about now, but back then??? like... brother.... omfg. 

maybe i WAS too much. maybe i WAS actually doing the most. like no normal person stalks around and writes their crushes names on their scars. 

like what in the actual fuck was that? 

doing too much for people who honestly probably didn't care as much as you did. 

anyways, nineteen was... okay, i guess.

not good. not bad. just okay.

i was medicated for a majority of the year post-psych ward. 

(i think??) 

(well, most days... when i remembered to take whatever the doctor people prescribed me.) 

and then twenty.
this year. 

and somewhere along the way, i stopped caring. stopped my meds cold-turkey in january because disgnoses be damned, i've never felt more numb IN MY LIFE than on that shit. i am what They think i am.

i have a face that shifts its shape whenever it wants to. i look in the mirror and sometimes i don't recognize the person looking back at me, but i still know 

it's me.

some days the face belongs to me.

some days it looks like somebody i've loved.

some days it looks like somebody i've hated.

some days i look like everyone who came before me. my bisnonna, grannies, my mother.

 (i don't count the men mainly because i don't look like any of the men from my family. ig the women's genes were more dominant.) 

(wait, i'm actually glad about that. my bio dad DEADASSS looks like a leathery sunburnt gollum. #sorrynotsorry you left first man.) 

wait i'm losing the train of thought. hold up. another blog for another day. whichever that day may be. 

BACK TO THE TOPIC AT HAND. 

maybe that's why i've never been able to settle on one shape.

i'm made of impressions. 

needles, thread, patches that don't quite really fit together but also do... somehow??? 

there's some lace here, and rough, raw, untreated leather there. polyester and cotton and plastic and glass and ivory and silk and flesh and fat and hair and fur and metal and wherever the fuck else it fits in my ragdoll body. 

i'm made of a mix pure filth and piss and vomit and viscera, and bleach and toothpaste and angel feathers and rainbows. 

i wear the faces of everyone before me. 

(wait didn't i already say that? idk and idc this is my train of thoughts, NOT YOURS.) 

my face is jelly. it's moldable. soft enough to become anything and hard enough to hold whatever shape it's been left in.

i can be anything and everything and nothing all at once and that's the strangest part to me.

i don't know if i'm even looking for a gender anymore. i don't know if i ever was.

maybe i just wanted to exist without having to be one particular thing.

maybe i wanted to be a boy. maybe i wanted to be neither. maybe i wanted to be everything and nothing and anything inbetween. maybe i just wanted to look in the mirror and see somebody who felt like they belonged to me.

i don't know. i don't think i ever will. 

i'm twenty now. i've spent almost half my life trying to figure out what the fuck i'm supposed to call myself. and lately, i'm starting to wonder if i even need to.

i don't. i didn't ever need to.

but goddammit i want to. i want to SO FUCKING BAD. it's not even a joke anymore. 

i WANT to be cookie-cutter perfect like the others my age. 

i WANT to be shaped the way everyone else is. 

but i was always taught "'i want' doesn't get" 

so i guess i'll have to just be. 

i guess i'll just HAVE to make peace with the weird bits and pieces and clicking limbs. 

end of rant. 

XO - L