You're here to see where I've been: I haven't;
You want to know what I've done: i didn't;
404: I do not exist;
my echo remains, my profile rots
my body erased, my rights erased, my mind
my mindmy mindmy mindmy mindmy mindmy mindmy mindmy mind
my mind.
I am not well or happy and the things I have to say are very reflective of this:
proceed with self-care;
I feel distinctly and often, that I am running out of time. Not that I am going to die, but that I'm missing my chance to be happy and to feel whole. That top surgery will only matter if I am young enough to enjoy it for the rest of my life; thin enough to enjoy it correctly. Sometimes I am ashamed to find myself daydreaming about beast cancer, because it feels like the only way I will be prioritised. Sometimes just having tits at all makes me want to wail and heave. All of the time I am unbound, I feel the dysmorphia of age setting in - things aren't where I think they ought to be, or where they were. A childhood of pushup bras and an adulthood of respiratory problems. A childhood of pain and pageantry, and an adulthood of consequences and trauma. Sometimes that feeling that I have to exploit my own body to be worthy of support threatens to overwhelm me. I need therapy so badly but I just can't cope if money gets any tighter. I pay over $500 a month for a flat with mould to a landlord who yells at my partner. I need to find the money to learn to drive, so I can live in a van I can't afford. I can't tell my parents my name.
I am tired of being ignored and forgotten and overlooked and left on hold. I AM. I EXIST AND DO AND AM. I AM EVEN WHEN YOU DON'T LOOK AT ME. even when it's hard for you. i have been here all along: without you and not alone;
i'm sure if you knew how i cried youd be sorry for me. you get to think of it like that and maybe the passive form is a comfort so let me say it again
soemtimes i think about you and cry: not you though; if you think it's about you it never is but you never considered that. Sometimes i talk about you [even though i'd know you wouldn't like me to,, and sometimes i know you can feel it] and it makes me cry it makes me cry you made me cry by doing nothing and not talking to me and letting me disappear fade away i do not exist you made me cry BY DOING YOU MADE ME
- Violence
- Danger
- Sex
- Drugs
