Am I right? Am I wrong? Or am I just dreaming?

Maybe I’m the only one who feels like this.  Maybe I’m the one single human in the world who would react this way.  Maybe I’m a freak exception to the rule, decidedly outside of average… but I don’t think so.  I think, actually, that my reaction is pretty damn normal (and yes, I know there’s no such thing) — that my feelings are rather expected, that other reasonable people would respond in much the same way.

Her boy-toy mumbles, or talks, or sometimes even yells, while he walks around the house, or in and out of the house (slamming the door half of the time.)  When I’m sitting in my room, and I have my curtains and window open to let some much-needed cooler air through, and I’ve turned on some music to let my mind focus, started singing so I can let out just a tiny part of this storm of emotion I keep bottling up inside… well, I find it really unsettling, put mildly, to suddenly see a face right outside my window, and then before my body can fully react to the “Oh fuck! What is this? Do I need to defend myself, or run away, or WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON???” feeling, the face is gone again — and there’s a voice unseen, arguing with itself.

Am I the only one who doesn’t think that’s cute, or endearing, or refreshing, or delightful and charming? Am I bizarre to feel threatened by that behavior?  Am I wrong to call it “creepy” or compare one person walking around and  talking out loud in angry tones to nobody, to others displaying the same observable actions — namely, the often homeless “crazy people,” the ones outcast and avoided because those behaviors are not socially acceptable, and make most others uneasy?

I had hoped to let myself breathe today, to relax and let free some of the emotional weight and tension inside.  The moment I began to do so, I was startled and interrupted by the sudden flash of a face in the window, and moments later a momentary glimpse of someone there and gone again in the hall.  I’m more tense than when I awoke, I’m angry and frustrated and feeling trapped… and I have to either psych myself up for preparing to go out now, moving through the house and past the boy-toy and trying to keep the disquiet inside to a low roar instead of a banshee howl on a stormy night — or take the route I do more often: stay locked inside my room, stay in this self-imposed prison until the threat abates, until he’s gone, and I feel as safe outside as I do here (and neither of them feels particularly safe.)

This is no way to live.  When the emotional hazards from the people in my own home and the guests they invite are so great that I cannot face them directly, and my only other option is to remain self-exiled and intentionally isolate myself, knowing that what I need most is emotional and physical closeness… I’m trapped in an incredibly unhealthy place.  If my choice is between emotionally and psychologically harming myself or putting myself in situations where I’ll be emotionally or psychologically harmed by others — intentionally or not — then it doesn’t ever feel like much of a choice.  I usually choose self-harm because in that one small measure I retain my own agency, I feel the victory of keeping my autonomy and control of self… but each one feels, as King Phyrrus would understand, that another such victory would utterly undo me.

I have to stop writing now, get myself dressed, prepared, and out the fucking door. Now.  It’s just too overwhelming here…


The sound of silence.

The rest of Saturday was relatively uneventful.  Half of it was gone by the time I left the “Lady’s manor” and returned to my meager home, and much of the evening was spent in little giggles of remembering and more rest in my own bed.

Sunday didn’t seem as though it would be anything remarkable; some noise around the house, neighbors and traffic and all the daily cacophony surrounding me as I lay in bed and killed time on my computer.  The usual group of deep, resounding voices was here, but I sighed with relief to recall that most of the people I know from living here were headed to their weekly RPG party night, and I’d have some time alone.

Well, as I was attempting to wrap up a few last things on the computer, I heard a huge FHWOOMP! and the power went out.  It was not quite 5PM, and though I’d never heard the sound before, logic stepped in and said, “That was a transformer blowing out, and very nearby!”  Sirens down the street in the moments that followed confirmed that something had happened, but an authority figure of some sort, police or fire or whatnot, surprised me with his words: “That’s a live wire! Get back in your house and stay inside. There’s 17,000 volts in that thing; it’ll kill you!”

So, as the next hour and a half slowly passed, we waited for the electric company to show up — on a Sunday evening, they don’t respond too quickly — and that time was filled with lots of shouting, mostly from the same man I’d first heard, repeating the message to everyone who came near: Get back! Behind the barrier tape! That wire will kill you! Just stay in your house and wait! Another 30 minutes after the power guys rolled up before the wire was safely down, and I found that it wasn’t just “nearby,” it was directly in front of my apartment!  Had I tried to go anywhere, I’d have had to walk beneath the sagging, sparking cable in order to leave.

When it was finally clear to leave the house, I did so; being pent up with no power sounded like no fun, and I try to get out of the house at least once every day, to go walking and get some sun and a chance to breathe a bit of fresh air.  As I walked, I asked the people I saw what they knew about the blackout, and was surprised to find that power had been knocked out to quite a wide area.  The nearby subway station, 6 or 7 blocks out, had gone dark, out of service until they got their generators running.  Several blocks beyond that were out, and various spots further away in different directions had been affected, including a few businesses downtown which were “Sorry, closed early — no power!”  I found out later that some residences had their power go out later, around or after midnight, which fits with about when the power company sent out more trucks to restring the wire.

After going out to sit at Starbucks for a spell then recognizing my tedium, tiredness, and anxiety, I decided to go home once again.  The power was out still, and as I sat down in my room and saw the shadows lengthen and the sun fall, I laughed.  Mind you, what I wanted was to bellow a hearty belly-laugh, but what came out was just a soft chuckle… I felt such awe in the silence I heard that I reflexively quieted myself in respect and reverence.  I listened.  Then I strained to hear, listened more closely, and smiled as I heard… nothing.  The beautiful sound of silence, so rare and so often needed — and here it was for me to enjoy!

I know how frequently I go without enough sleep, and with darkness and quiet for the second time in as many days, I prepared myself for slumber and once again received sweet, beautiful rest.  A few hours later — I don’t recall precisely how many, and I didn’t have my large digital clock to check — I heard loud voices once again.  The others had returned, screaming and shouting and talking loudly as usual, though it was a definite delight to hear her lose her calm, to “freak out” as she put it.  Not because I take pleasure in her emotional pain, but because her displays of emotion are so rare, and she frequently works to suppress visible emotion entirely… she seems to think this makes her more “grown up,” but it was refreshing to hear her humanity, to be reminded that she’s like everyone else.

Perhaps an hour later, they all left again.  Blessed with that blissful silence once more, I went back to bed and slept.  Once when I awoke, I noticed that my clock was flashing its big red 12:00 — then I rolled over and rested some more.  When I finally found myself unable to go back to sleep, I got up, started my day at half past noon, set my clock and asked around to see when the electricity had been restored… just before 5AM, fully 12 hours from the time it had gone.  If it wasn’t for the spoiled food in the fridge, I’d love to do this again, even as a frequent — but unexpected and unannounced — occurrence!  It got the rest of the noisy people away, it pulled me away from my technological time-sinks, and allowed me to catch up on some much-needed rest.

Of course I realize that many of these same joys could be had by, say, going camping, or having another place to stay for a night or two even if it’s somewhere with electricity — and I’d certainly love those options or others to enjoy… Right now I’m without any such luxuries, though I hope to find someone to help me figure out how to put those into action.  My ultimate dream would be a home of my own, a little place with a few rooms, far enough from major roads not to have the noise of traffic, in an area where nobody finds it acceptable to use their car as a “neighborhood stereo.”  A modest space to call my own, to invite whomever I chose to share that space — whether a woman (or two, or more) for a night, friends for an evening of fun, or whatever else felt right.  I know that dream is distant now, but I’ll keep it in my heart and look for ways to bring it closer as life moves forward!

And for the moment, things have returned to “normal” — lots of noise, lots of people, lots of loud, low voices, lots of coughing and traffic and the buzz and hum of computers and refrigerators and lights, too little sleep and too much stress… but I look forward to any chance that comes my way to revel in that lovely sound of silence once again.

Oh, the towering feeling!

(It would really be nice to have a “Now listening/reading/watching” deal on here…)

So! Friday night was a much-needed contrast to the way the day began. Started off with an angry guy screaming in my face and lots of unpleasant emotional pain… ended with some delightful physical pain and a beautiful woman in my arms speaking words of kindness and praise!

There was a play party at the local BDSM dungeon, and with as much shit as I’ve been dealing with lately, I knew that I needed to be there.  Had a great time, met lots of people, some potential friends, some potential play partners, and got to be the talk of the party — “Oh! That was you up there? Your ass-cheeks were such a beautiful deep shade of pink!”  Then in my mingling and chatting, I came across one woman who struck me as… well, as powerful, but more “potential energy” as opposed to kinetic.  I mean, she didn’t have to display power, it was more striking to see the power she held in reserve.  Anyway…

We were talking, this power-woman and I, and she asked me what I liked, what I wanted; I felt at ease already, having been smacked around a bit and being in that welcoming space, so I answered openly: “I’ve been craving cunnilingus, really.”

I’m so used to the almost patronizing reply from people when I express unfulfilled wishes, dreams of what I want, even lament that I’m struggling to survive and just want some peace — the “Well, things will turn out okay…” or “You’ll get what you need eventually…”  So common is that kind of “I can’t help, but I want to sound supportive” comment, that I misunderstood when this queen said in a simple, even tone, “You shall have what you desire.”

And so I did, have what I have so long desired — plenty to sate my palate that night, still little enough to leave me wanting for the next time.  Oh, and rest!  I had such a beautiful, full night of rest! Dark, quiet, peaceful, and every time I awoke and looked across to see the smooth and gentle curve of her belly, hip, thigh, I laughed to myself the reminder that I was not dreaming, and drifted off to sleep once more.

Sleep is something I ought to be doing right now, since my body is in such severe need of it right now… there’s more to write still, but it will wait until I wake!

If there is a hell…

I’m sure that’s where I’m going to go.  I know that all the lines I was fed growing up about god and heaven and hell are total bullshit, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I do.

I know what I did tonight was wrong, and not on a small level.  I’m not sure how else this could have ended, though, because when I can’t speak, don’t speak, won’t speak about shit that’s going on, it will eventually explode, like tonight.  Screaming, in-your-face and if she hadn’t stepped between us I’m afraid I would have harmed another person.  That’s not okay.  That’s never okay, and I don’t want to ever be in an emotional space where I feel the desire or capability to harm someone.

In yet another of life’s great damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t jokes, I’d love to stay here, to make a home and finally put down some fucking roots instead of moving and running away again… but even if I decide to go anywhere else, there’s absolutely nothing that I can afford in northern california, and I’ve got occasional assistance with food and money and other things where I am — I’d have none of that if I tried to leave.

She’s a little child.  I have to remember that, keep it in mind when the wealthy, pampered brat shines through the mask she works so hard to keep up, the mask of a mature and responsible adult.  She’s not — she’s often pretty damn clueless, blind to the most glaring things around her, and I wonder sometimes how much of that is willful ignorance, otherwise known as “stupid on purpose.”  I’ve been repeating to myself lately that “you can lead a fool to knowledge, but you can’t make them think” and when she remains so oblivious so often, I have to remind myself to be patient, to be the mature woman I can be instead of turning loose a toddler’s tantrum like I did tonight.

I tried calling my mom’s cellphone just after everything exploded, but she was already asleep, and I know how she sleeps — with earplugs, a pillow on top, and a fan to make white noise by her bedside.  She’ll probably see the dozen or more calls and hear my one barely-coherent message sometime tomorrow morning, long after there’s any chance for her to help me.  I also tried sending a text message to someone else I trust, but he’s either asleep or not near his phone, and I’ll probably get a call tomorrow from him too… again, far too late to be any real help.

I don’t have anyone that I can reach out to, anyone I trust or feel at all comfortable with, anyone I can call in an emergency like this and get any sort of help.  I’ve learned from repeatedly bashing my head against the idiocy of the public mental health system that I cannot get help from them, that in fact I am more likely to suffer more trauma from attempting that kind of call for help than what I am already handling on my own… but it really pisses me off that I don’t have any emergency support system.

I can’t do a “crisis line,” because even if I have their number handy, even if I get someone whose voice doesn’t make me want to scream, I won’t have anyone who can do more than be a disembodied voice in my ear with a script to follow.  I can’t call a psych hospital… last time was the worst night I’ve had in years, being assaulted by a large black man while staff paid no attention, being told that I was suicidal and forced to take drugs because “how else can we calm you down?” and spending an unknown amount of time barely conscious, in a panicked and drugged haze.  I can’t go to any sort of walk-in facility — I’m transgender.  If that’s not “enough said,” then I can’t explain for you.  Ask someone to pass you the clue-stick.

I’ve gone far too long without any sleep, and as much as I hate to do it, I’m going to have to turn back on some noise to block out the rest of the shit here… and maybe I’ll be lucky this time.  Maybe I’ll get enough sleep to be functional tomorrow.

See you all in hell…

Sick of dreaming dreams that never come true.

I keep fooling myself, pretending that I’ll find a place to live with people that don’t make me want to scream or rip out their throats, or even that I’ll manage the miracle of my own place — but it won’t happen. It can’t happen.

Is it so terribly much to ask, to have a home with no men, no smokers, quiet when I want (or need) it, and reasonably simple access to the particular kinds of healthcare I need? I’m sick of moving, moving, moving, every time filled with wonderful dreams — “This is the place! It’s perfect! I love it here!”  When will I wake up and realize that as soon as the novelty wears thin, I’ll be as miserable as I ever was, that I’ll be struggling not to yell at the people I live with, fighting the same fucking battles all over again?

Yes, my general trend has been towards better and better places — but all of them have had their perks and their pitfalls —

  • Darling little Filipina who gave me a $100 case of makeup because “she wouldn’t be there for my birthday” when I’d just told her I was moving out after a week and a half… because the place was disgusting and the creepy old man renting the other room kept trying to tell me what Jesus wanted me to do with my life.
  • The gay guys who showed me what it was to party, had a hot tub and swimming pool, but smoked 4 packs a day in the house and treated me like shit half the time. Oh, and the infestation of fleas… still makes me shudder.
  • Beautiful home, big room, beautiful yard with a garden and a lying manipulative old bitch who moved her asshole boyfriend in rent-free.
  • Two fucking gorgeous Ukrainian girls, quiet neighborhood with a 10-minute walk to Ocean Beach, but both girls straight and taken and sleepless nights of sex in stereo every weekend… plus dosing my chewing gum with Ketamine and making sure I wasn’t on the 2010 Census.
  • Wonderful little apartment in Daly City, cool roommates (mostly) and convenient access to shopping, but a 2-month time limit with nowhere else to go.
  • And how can I forget East Oakland — my “welcome to the ‘hood, motherfucker” was being there two weeks and a 9-mil in my face, everything gone…an old foul-mouthed alcoholic who threw a shit-fit if someone called him “sir” because it was supposed to be obvious that the big fat hairy dude was a woman, endless yelling and fights between the men living there (regardless of how they self-identified, they acted like pigs), and of course the bitch who slowly earned my trust and intimacy so she could have me get her pregnant — and then almost broke my jaw.  There wasn’t really much good in that place…

And now here I am in Berkeley — the town fits me so wonderfully, sometimes I can’t believe it’s really my home.  I’ve just met almost all my neighbors up and down the street, I’ve been making connections and acquaintances and contacts — no real fiends so far, and I’ve stopped expecting to ever have those. But I’m living in a place where I’m constantly surrounded by men, where the endless chorus of deep, booming voices tightens my fingers into fists, where the unpredictably-timed but reliably-occurring coughs from lungs destroyed by smoking is as mentally devastating as water-drip torture, where I’m ignored and invisible to the extended group of friends who all have a fantastic time doing things together unless I stand up and yell and scream and flap my arms around…

I’m still single, still alone, still horny all the damn time with no outlet, no relief, no release, and no one to hold me.  The girl who responded to my personal ad, the reason I found this place to live at all, casually dismissed me with “you’re not my type” and claims that she lost interest because there was such undeniable chemistry between me and the other person who lives here — so much for “undeniable” when a month and a half had gone by before I had any clue that someone was interested in me, and I don’t have much interest to give back.

The few small possibilities I’ve had for intimacy, romance, even just one-time one-night fucks, have all amounted to nothing. Lots of idiots who say they’re looking for someone like me, but they really want a hideous creature like they just saw in the latest “she-male” porno DVD.  A couple of intelligent, really cool-sounding women who actually seemed interested in me… and then flaked or stopped writing back or just wanted sexy instant messages about how awesome it would be to watch me with a dude.

I’m a lesbian.  I like women, I love pussy, I’m crazy about tits.  Once in a while I might want some cock, but it’s tough having to deal with the huge dick attached to the end of the phallus — and usually not worth the effort.  It’s frustrating trying to find a woman who’s also interested in women but isn’t hung up on how I’m hung.  It’s frustrating trying to find a girl who hasn’t been burned by the crazy psycho-bitch trans girls who rant about “Hollywood perpetuating broken stereotypes” and then provide a great example to reinforce the stereotype they’re screaming about.  Frustrating to look for a girl who’s as interested in getting me into her bed as she is in getting to know me because I’m “so cool to hang out with.”

I have so much that I need to write, to express, to get this shit out of me and onto the pages here — it’s been too long since I’ve had this outlet, and I hope to use it more.  For now, I’ve got to stop myself, or I’ll be too drained to do much of anything else.

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