Is it so hard to understand me?

I cannot comprehend why someone who once loved me so much could just turn around on me day and fucking despise my very existence.

Who could? Why am I expected to? How can I be expected to just make sense of that? It’s fucking stupid.

There’s a reason that fucking song has fucked me up my whole life.

As a kid, I think I somehow got it. I heard the words “will you still love me tomorrow?” And it hit me hard in a sensitive place. Why would someone even have to ask that? Does that happen? Do people just stop loving the people they love? No… it can’t be… what world is this?

Subconsciously, I must have been afraid that maybe my mom didn’t love me anymore because she left my life. Maybe I thought the same thing about my step-dad, who I naively believed actually loved me.

And maybe I was afraid that my grandparents would stop loving me if I wasn’t good enough, and then I’d be all alone.

I couldn’t comprehend it, and I still can’t. And I see that in Ivy as well. She was so fucking broken when she found out people stop loving other people sometimes. And it scared her. She broke down crying and hugged me and said “what if I stop loving you someday?? I don’t want to ever do that!”

The very thought disgusted and upset her so much. And I understand her feelings. I understand that it’s impossible to understand how someone who loved you so much could ever just one day stop.

It makes no sense to us because we are loving people. Our love is total and unconditional, and it is so hard to understand why it isn’t like that for everyone.

That’s what you’ll choose. Cause that’s what you’ve done. Prove me wrong. I dare you.

There is a feeling.

I wish I could explain.

It’s the feeling that you get upon the realization that you really have truly lost everything.

It’s that backed into the corner with nowhere to run, fight-or-flight adrenaline, mixed with the sucker punch gut drop of watching someone die in front of your face.

It’s so thick, it drowns.

It’s in the very air that surrounds you. You can almost smell it. It chokes you.

It cuts off your airflow, and whispers into your ear that nothing will ever again feel good.

Over and over.

And over and over.

Kamikaze is the only way to kill it.

Hold a grudge for the rest of my life because pregnancy fucked my hormones up and made me unstable af, but then demand a get-out-of-jail-free card for treating me like shit when you’re purposely pumping yourself full of hormones.

I made a kid.

What the fuck are you doing?

I am stranded.

Everything I ever wanted has just shattered before my eyes while I watched, rooted to the spot, helpless to stop it.

It’s slow motion now, I am stuck here simply watching all the pieces glide slowly through the air just out of my reach. All I can feel is the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, the pit of despair where grief festers. The core of my being, rotting away more and more with every loss I endure.

The more life goes on, the more it rips away the things that matter to me. Very deep, and intimate parts of me, vital parts.

Lose a kidney, you have to learn to function with only one kidney. Lose a lung, it’s the same. But eventually, something’s gonna come along and rip out the last kidney. And while you’re suffering there with no kidneys, you prey they will return and take your last lung; just finish you off so you can finally be free of the suffering.

But they don’t. They hide in the shadows, watching you writhe and squirm, listening intently as you whimper and cry. What you don’t know is that they are masturbating as they watch and they listen. Slowly, slowly, keeping an ear out for the telltale sounds of your life fading.

That is when they tiptoe out of the shadows and stand over you, stroking faster, harder, waiting for the climax. It approaches and just moments before the sound of your death rattle fills the air, they blow their load in your face so that it is the very last thing you see before the life drains from your eyes.

Your entire life, they wear you down, slowly stripping away the core parts of who you are. They condition you to feel like you are nothing but a disposable servant, living simply to give everyone else what they want, regardless of whether it is at your expense. Because you do not matter. You are a glorified vending machine.

Sometimes they might begrudgingly pay someone to repair you just enough to be able to continue giving, but once the damage becomes too expensive to fix due to just scraping by with bandaid solutions, it is easier for them to just have you sent away to rot in the junkyard while they replace you.

And that’s how my story ends.

I was never worth the effort or money to get the proper repairs done. The damage wouldn’t have gotten so bad if they hadn’t kicked me and banged on me so much when I malfunctioned. But they feel justified in their abuse because I should have just *not* malfunctioned in the first place.

Is it my fault that my manufacturer created me with a bug in my programming? I did not ask to be assembled.

But they were aware that I was defective when they chose me. They said they didn’t mind. They claimed that they would help me find someone who could fix the bug in my software. But in the end, it was just a pretty lie to convince me to malfunction in their favor as often as possible, like dispensing treats without the proper funds inserted, or “refunding” money when they were in a pinch.

They loved when I malfunctioned for their benefit. But when the malfunctions were outside my control and caused me to act in ways that bothered them, they were never understanding. Their whole tone changed, suddenly they hated me. Even though it wasn’t my fault, even though they promised to have me repaired and never did, still they hated me and my malfunctions.

They called me a piece of shit, a hunk of junk, a worthless bit of trash, destined for the junk yard.

They pushed all my buttons with such force, kicked me hard and banged on my glass until it cracked.

Over the years, the cracks spread. The glass broke out in places. I became dented and warped, paint chipping off, lights burnt out, until I was finally just a disfigured husk of what I once was. Still, I attempted to function to the best of my abilities, but now I was a joke to them. A laughingstock, a freak.

They brought their friends to see the crumpled mess that was me, laughing it up, concealing the fact that they made me this way. They told those friends that I was already trash and invited them to vandalize and deface me even more until I finally broke completely.

And then they just left me there, hoping someone else would haul me to the dump because they couldn’t even be bothered to do that.

I am worthless now. Just waiting for the day that the trash man will finally find me and take me to oblivion.

You know what I really find fascinating about the whole stoning me eternally for the ass I was in the past thing? It’s the double standard.

The human experience is called “learning and growing.” Maybe if you did more of it, you’d realize what downright hypocrites you’re all being. Like, most of you that come around to harass me didn’t even know me in the past and weren’t there for all of the situations that certain parties like to sling around in a hyperbolic maelstrom of one-sided, self-victimizing straw-manning. So what do you really think that you know about any of it, other than hearsay?

Did you know that we’re all born assholes? Didn’t you realize that? Babies are the most selfish beings in existence because they know literally nothing of the world yet. That’s why learning and growing is an important part of the human experience. If we never did any of that, then we’d still be lying around screaming about our discomfort, which is what a lot of you appear to still do, anyway, assuming that screaming and yelling will ever actually make people suddenly take you seriously and care about your situation.

It’s when you stop screaming and yelling and start listening and thinking that you begin to fully mature and then you learn that actually, you can just talk things out peacefully. But I’m getting off track. The hypocrisy is what I came here to talk about.

You want to punish people and blackmail them for the things they said/ ways they felt/ opinions they had when they were younger and stupider, disregarding the fact that maybe they actually did some learning and growing since then and maybe got smarter about things.

And yet, the majority of you want to erase your past so completely that you lose your entire shit and label people “transphobic” for accidentally using the name you’ve gone by your entire life until now, or slipping up and using the wrong pronoun after they’ve spent countless years thinking it was the right one until you corrected them.

The point is, you simply cannot ret-con everyone’s memories just because you have grown as a person and no longer identify with your past self. But you desperately wish you could and it hurts deeply every time someone slips up. Realize this:

It hurts just as much to be constantly blackmailed over dumb shit you did and said before you grew up and got woke. So unless you’re willing to stop harassing everyone who deadnames and misgenders people they’ve known a lifetime as someone else, then you need to stop harassing other people for having a past they’re not proud of, either.

You’re not as alone as you think. And you’re not so different. Maybe if you focus more on what you have in common with the people you disagree with and spend less time focusing on the things you differ on, you might find that you can actually make more friends than enemies.

Wouldn’t that be, like, really fucking dope if we were all just friends and treated each other with kindness and love, instead of just assuming that everyone else is an asshole who is out to get us?

Food for thought.

When I was in first grade, my panic attacks were in full swing. What I really didn’t know at the time because I didn’t have the knowledge of the words and their meanings, was that I was dealing with separation anxiety.

My grandma always listened to these tapes full of oldies songs from her era that she liked, and I loved it. I grew up on that stuff, and didn’t even listen to mainstream pop music until my mom came back for me when I was 8.

But there was one song on those tapes that for some reason just cut right through me; destroyed me to hear it. That was my first real trigger, and I would get the song stuck in my head and couldn’t get away from it. And that is what started a lot of my little panic attacks at school.

To this day, I hear that song and I fucking lose it.

I recently found out that Amy Winehouse recorded a cover of the song, which is so strange, as I’d only really started listening to her within the last year and really resonating with her and her music. I remember regretting the fact that I didn’t listen to her stuff when she was still alive. That thought led me to “I probably wouldn’t have liked her back then, anyway.”

And why? When I really thought about it, what it came down to was that I automatically reject anything that reminds me of myself in any way. I’ve been conditioned to believe that I’m just a fucking skid mark on life’s underpants, and I don’t know how to unlearn it. But we’ll get to that, I’m getting off track.

The song is called “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?” by The Shirelles. And you’ll never guess what it’s about. I don’t know if little 6-year-old me could even process the fact that the song was talking about a fear of being abandoned. It just sounded sad. But I felt it in my soul. That kind of pain just transmits through the airwaves and I hurt for the woman singing.

Thanks to Amy, there is a version that I can listen to now that is kind of a segue into being able to listen to the original and maybe process it and do my own cover, if I have time.

But I just don’t want to stay any longer than necessary. Because I think I figured it out.

I can’t win. I can’t do right. I’ve always tried to do as much good as possible, but it will never be enough. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

Even going specifically out of my way to try not to hurt the people I care about, they still get hurt.

Like I distanced myself from my ace mate during an episode because I didn’t want to burden it with my bullshit or accidentally explode on her.

But after a day and a half, it texted me pissed way the fuck off because she thought I was ghosting it. (I’m mixing pronouns because she says she doesn’t mind female pronouns, as long as it’s not all the time, and sorry, but I’m paranoid of sounding transphobic now so using it/its pronouns makes me very uncomfortable.)

And even though I explained that I wasn’t intentionally ghosting and after apologizing profusely for being so quiet, I still got an even further verbal beating. It didn’t understand that I was trying not to hurt her, and it took a while for it to cool off.

But the damage was already done. To both of us.

I didn’t think I did anything wrong. All I did was not be the first one to text, and I did that because I didn’t want to add to her stress on a day when she was already spiraling, and I certainly didn’t want to accidentally snap on her while I was in scared animal backed into a corner mode.

She could’ve checked my Twitter to see what was up, but she said it’s not her responsibility, so. I just.

I can’t understand. I don’t know how to be. I do wrong, no matter what I try. I’m never valid, there’s no excuse for me. I’m just not enough. So the best thing I can do is vanish forever.

But it puts me in a fucked up position, because of my daughter. When I say that I understand her better than anyone, I mean what I say. She can’t like the things she used to love for a variety of reasons. One being that she connects it to a trauma in her mind, and two being that she was told she wasn’t allowed those things while in foster care, which she perceives as her having done something wrong. For example.

I understand her. I know how to identify when she’s having an episode and I know how to calm her.

And I don’t want to fucking abandon her the way everyone has always abandoned me, but… if it’s the only way I can prove that I’m sorry and guarantee that I’ll never hurt anyone again, then… I just have to do what must be done.

I’m simply not a good person. I was never meant to be here.

Recently, someone said something to me that really dug at the core of my soul and I couldn’t get it off my mind. I can’t remember the exact phrasing, but it was something along the lines of “you’re always at the end of your rope,” or “you lose all hope so easily.” And “you’re up and down a lot.”

I think this is why I keep getting diagnosed bipolar, when I don’t really think it fits.

The truth is, I’m just really broken.

It’s not that I lose hope easily, a lot of it has to do with the deeply ingrained conditioning that I’m wrong and bad and I just mess things up. So it really only takes one person telling me I’m trash to make me feel like it’s true, and sometimes (like this week) I get to hear it from multiple sources and when I get in that headspace of “I’m trash, I mess everything up,” it is really, really hard to pull me out of it. I feel like I need to apologize for my entire existence and sometimes it feels like the only way to truly atone for it is to just get rid of myself. So it probably looks from the outside like I keep being on the edge and needing to be talked down, but those are actually pretty few and far between. I don’t reach out until I’m really deep down in that hole and I know that if I get any deeper I will hurt myself. So it’s like the one little tiny spark of self worth I possess surfacing just enough to reach for help. Because if I reached out before it got that bad, I’d be reaching out way too often and people start to get annoyed or feel like I’m seeking attention, so I just keep to myself for the most part until I’m literally at the edge.

I can’t help it, I just care too much about what others think of me.

My existence on this earth is not my experience alone. It influences and affects everyone who comes into contact with me. So I try very hard to be extremely conscientious about how others perceive me and I am always learning and growing and striving to become better. And I feel like that’s how everyone *should* be… like the thing about the really long spoons and feeding each other. If everyone put others first, everyone would feel loved and cared for and wouldn’t have to hurt others in the pursuit of self-care.

But few people are actually wired that way. And it gets so exhausting to keep it up, but no one notices when I’m bleeding myself dry to help others. They only notice when I run out of energy or get backed into a corner like a scared animal and start to show my teeth.

And that always just comes off as me being a terrible asshole, when it’s really just that I tried as hard as I could for as long as I was able for everyone around me with little to nothing in return, not even the slightest appreciation.

It is a thankless existence.

I am constantly being used up and then discarded. It is the only real constant in my life.

I’ll get to that in part two: abandonment issues.

Getting back on track, though. It is very easy to push me to that point. It really only takes one person being especially cruel while everyone else is conveniently unavailable to back me into that corner. And of course, the more people shit talking me, the worse it gets.

But in order to reverse those effects, it takes a lot. I require patience, compassion, affection, attention, and affirmation. Appreciation.

But I rarely get that.

Even still, I am very quick to forgive because I don’t like to hold grudges and have bad blood with anyone. So it may seem like I bounce back really quick, but I actually don’t. I’ve just gotten better at sitting with my hurt and putting it on the back burner in order to create peace in those situations and halt conflicts.

But inside, I’m still shell-shocked and taking mental notes about how I fucked up and what I should do differently in the future. Even if I really did nothing wrong, or was justified in my actions.

Empathy is not weak. You have to be one tough motherfucker to have empathy.

And I’m a goddamn cockroach. I keep coming back no matter how hard life tries to kill me or how very seriously I try to kill *myself.*

So I’m sorry to those who really would prefer me to die. If you really want me dead, you may have to squash me yourself, because I’m apparently immune to even the most toxic pesticides.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that if you care about me at all, I need your patience, understanding, compassion, and affirmations. What I specifically don’t need is for my past shortcomings to be continuously brought up and held against me for the rest of my fucking life. I already do that to myself 24/7. Plus, it’s called learning and growing. Everyone does it.

Everyone is an asshole in their youth. It’s science.

There is a reason we make mistakes. You can’t learn without them. And maybe I am still learning, but at least I’m actually putting forth the effort to be better instead of just giving up and turning into a grouchy old bitch who just says fuck everyone.

Maybe, like, appreciate that.

Y’all call yourselves leftists, yet you act in the exact ways that you yourselves abhor. You lash out at total strangers and tear them apart and completely invalidate them. And you do this because you choose to just read the propaganda fliers about them and believe the first thing you hear because you’re too narrow-minded and lazy to actually seek out both sides of a story and educate yourselves before just recklessly casting stones.

So now that I have something of an idea of the kinds of lies being spread about me, let me shine some light on the subject.

First off, Robin only has one kid, and that kid is half mine. I’m the one who had two kids, and after my son passed away, she’s the one who tried and succeeded in taking my last living child away. So whatever bullshit you may have heard about me “trying to take her kids away” was just that: bullshit.

All I’ve been doing is trying to get my daughter back because she and I both want that, and Robin doesn’t care. She can’t care. She’s made it very clear throughout our entire relationship that the only one she cares about is herself. And that’s why she’s holding onto my daughter with claws. Because she knows that she can be used as a pawn in continuing to have control over my life even after she chose to walk out of it.

Secondly, the whole funeral thing that everyone keeps losing their goddamn minds over had nothing to do with fucking transphobia, and if you want to keep calling me transphobic, then maybe you can ask my trans partner how transphobic I am. For actual context, see previous entry. I’m not fucking writing that shit all over again.

Thirdly, I don’t owe these explanations to anyone. I’m only giving you my time of day because I’m getting a little sick of the harassment and random attacks from people who don’t know anything about me other than anecdotal stories from another person, which is probably the absolute worst source of information about anyone. The best way to get information about someone is to get to know them yourself and see what kind of person they are.

Otherwise, you’re just school children bullying other kids because someone started spreading rumors to create drama, knowing that everyone would just believe it right away because kids aren’t mature enough to have learned not to take everything they hear at face value.

So I’m just going to start assuming that every one of you dweebs who come after me to harass me about shit that’s between Robin and me and is none of your goddamn business in the first place, are simply minor children who are too young to even have access to the internet.

And since I’m not comfortable talking to little kids online like a freak, I’m just going to link you to my blog and then block you.

But if you’re not an immature little tot, and you actually want to have an adult conversation with me and be educated, I am always willing to be open and honest about myself and the things I’ve been through in my life. I don’t lie and spread misinformation about others for my own gain. That’s not who I am. But I do know someone who enjoys doing exactly that because they have a mortal fear of ever being wrong about anything, especially when it involves who they are as a person.

Pro-tip: if someone ever seems too perfect and never talks about the things they did wrong, they’re probably not actually a great person. Here in this blog, you will find many entries where I bare my shame and regret actions from my past in the natural human way of learning and growing.

So if you’re ready to learn and grow, then welcome to my blog. It’s the best place to actually learn about me as a person.

One man’s trash is every man’s trash. Worthless garbage. Invalid waste.