Past 5 in the morning; feeling worse for the weather, it seems.

“And I was gonna write a poem about how fire is the only thing that can make a person jump out of a window, […] but depression, too, is a kind of fire… and I know nothing of either.” –Taylor Mali, “Depression Too Is a Type of Fire”

Yesterday I wanted to be dead. Not to kill myself, not to die, just… to cease existing. And yes, I could recognize that having been awake for over 24 hours straight — having lost count of exactly how many — likely helped color my view of the world, but I could also recognize that it only added intensity to what is generally sitting just under everything else, just like alcohol lowers my inhibitions but doesn’t make me do anything I wouldn’t have done while sober. A few drinks might make me do whatever it is more easily, more quickly, with less hesitation; being sleep-deprived and hungry makes me hit those lows more profoundly, more easily too.

Before falling asleep yesterday evening, I posted some depressed and depressing rant like I frequently do, I sent my therapist a text message letting her know I was “wishing hard I wasn’t alive” and that I was about to sleep, and then I got a message on Facebook from Escrow. The first message just said “hey!” And shit, I was overwhelmed, barely able to cope, and I was starting to tell her thanks for checking in but that I couldn’t really process chatting right then… but as I was doing so, she mentioned that she was checking to see that I was safe because she’d heard about a huge fire in my general overall area and she was worried about me.

Oh, right. I’d seen the “safety check” thing from Facebook when I’d picked up my phone, and I had dismissed the notification because it was more shit that I couldn’t deal with when I was already struggling to deal with everything else… but the check-in from a dear friend drove home something that I have known for a long time: an immediate, obvious threat to life gets responses. The slow quotidian slide, the mundane yet no less significant forces that are weighing me down and killing me… those are much, much harder to get help in dealing with. It’s the reason why, in the past, I might have made an obvious post about being ready to kill myself. Or why I might have called a crisis hospital and said that I believed I was a danger to myself or others. Or why I might have chosen any number of, essentially, ruses to make it seem as if there were an immediate, obvious threat to my life. Because that’s what people respond to! But, of course, the responses I’d get in those situations aren’t really all that helpful. And there’s the additional aspect of being “the girl who cried wolf,” because if I ever were at a point where I had specific plans to kill myself and enough motivation to do so, then I’d want to know that I hadn’t left behind me a trail of people too burned by my prior attention-grabbing to intervene when I really needed it.

So I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. Haven’t for years. But when things are caving in under the heaviness of life with depression, and I’m feeling alone and hurting and would love to have someone I know and trust be there for me — not because I’m about to die, but because I’m struggling in other, equally difficult ways… it seems a lot like, well,

“When I expressed my desire to kill myself, I was overwhelmed with offers from people who wanted to spend time with me. Two weeks later, though, I couldn’t get any of them to pick up the phone. It made recovery really difficult because it communicated that people only really cared when I was in crisis.” –Kitty Stryker, “So Someone You Love Is Suicidal”

The title of this post comes from the lyrics of an Erasure song, “Rock Me Gently.” The official music video is a shorter cut than the album version, which basically takes away the otherworldly sadness of synthesizers amid the shrieks of Diamanda Galás which make it such a perfect match to my mood on many occasions. The chorus, however, is simple, direct, and to the point:

“I dream you’re with me
You hold me sweetly
And rock me gently to sleep
In your arms.”

I wish I knew what that felt like again. It’s been a very long time indeed.


Somebody bring me some water!

I’ve been up a little less than 6 hours now. I slept for about 10 hours before that, after finally knocking myself out with NyQuil.

My head has been absolutely THUNDERING PAIN since I woke up, and at first I figured I was probably dehydrated, and possibly a little bit hungry too. I went to get something to drink just after I was awake, but I had so  little energy that I just drank a glass of milk because I didn’t feel like pouring any more than that. I got some leftovers out and heated them, and after 3 minutes of heating I didn’t care if it was warmed through or not. Hungry. Took that back upstairs and ate a little bit, but had no appetite and finally dragged the rest back to the fridge…

Then I figured since the headache was still around, I’d take a bath. I was already feeling irritable because when I was trying to microwave my food, I didn’t have anywhere to set things as I was wrangling with the haphazard house-of-cards mess that comprises the fridge contents, because The Rabbit had left her mess of stuff all over when she went to bed (she doesn’t tend to clean up behind herself, though, which is a continual frustration for me.) So I go in to the tub with a headache and a foul mood…

…and then I spend almost 15 minutes cleaning up after her so that I could take a bath! She had left her shampoo precariously balanced on the edge of the tub the other day when she took a bath this week (she seems to only bathe weekly or less,) and that must have been the crashing noise I heard when I was using the toilet a couple days ago. I didn’t think to check, because I’m pretty much fed up with constantly cleaning up after her, with that work never acknowledged or thanked or possibly even ever noticed. Well, that shampoo bottle wasn’t in the tub anymore, but the long trail of shampoo that had poured out across the entire length of the tub down to the drain was in the tub.

That stuff makes a hell of a lather, I’ll tell you that much.

Took my bath, nice and hot the way I like it (and the heat actually lasted through the entire time filling the tub, which is unusual.) Head is still POUNDING. All the coughing I’ve been doing hasn’t helped, either. The worst of this cold was fairly short, but this fucking cough has been killing me still, almost a week after the rest of the symptoms have gone.

So I sit down to write about it the headache, and as I’m looking at the numbers, I realize that from the time I ate dinner on Monday night until the time I pecked at a tiny bit of my leftovers was over 24 hours without food. And the worse part is shrugging my shoulders at the knowledge that it’s not unusual at all for me. I don’t have very much in the way of food I can eat here, and even when I do, it’s not much help since I’m usually trying to get the fuck out of here to attempt to maintain my sanity.

I still have no idea how I’m going to find a place to live. I can’t afford the luxury of a safe roof overhead, and I can’t afford the constant sensory assault, the complete lack of time alone, and the consistent stressful interactions with the people here, living on someone else’s schedule. I don’t have enough energy to throw myself into any significant work, and all of the things I need to accomplish require help or input from other people. Even something that should be simple, like cleaning this room I’m staying in I can’t do alone; it requires The Rabbit to get her stuff cleared out more (and she’s promised and promised that she’ll make some closet space free so I can at least put my clothes away.) That doesn’t happen without her actually putting in the time and effort. And when I’m not sleeping well, or enough… and I’m not eating well, or enough… and I’m not masturbating regularly even when I’m horny… and I’m barely scraping by in far too many ways… I don’t have the energy to do more than that.

My head still hurts, so I really ought to publish this, get some more liquid in me, take some ibuprofen, and maybe throw in some cough syrup to the mix because this stupid tickle in my throat is driving me crazy.

A love sonnet

Someday the world will see our love as such
And understand the beauty that we share
No whispering (afraid to speak too much!)
No more denying what is plainly there
We know the feelings deep within our hearts
And seek out other hearts who beat the same
Such agony, such doubt! When first we start
Alone, we dare not even use love’s name.
We reach out — only subtle hints we leave.
We speak in riddles, deftly-chosen words
Which give a sign to those who would receive
Then echo back, with recognition heard.
Such little choice: to love in secrecy,
Or brand ourselves as monsters openly…

Happy S.A.D. (Singles’ Awareness Day, February 14)

hold me
spoon me
you can be the big one
if you want

slap my face
let me be your good girl

shove my head
closer to your cunt
my hair is the handle
make yourself come
with my tongue
and my lips
here for you to use

fill me with your hand
or your cock
still yours
whether you wear it or not

kiss me sweetly
kiss me rough
it doesn’t matter

since it’s only ever make-believe
since it’s only wishes and longing
since it’s only me



and fucked (except not)

Look at me, here I am — right where I belong!

Last night I spent a few hours in a room where the overwhelming majority of the people were women or at least “femme of center,” many of them lesbian, in a space intentionally designated as “feminist, anti-racist, anti-homophobic, anti-transphobic, anti-body-shaming, anti-all-that-other-bullshit.”

Had a chance to watch and listen to many astounding performers, and also got to rock the mic myself.

Got my hair braided for the first time ever (the girl who did it said she’d be gentle for my very first time… I said, “no, please — rough me up and make it hurt!”)

Shared some touch and contact — brief, but enough to remind me how drastically touch-starved I am, and was in enough control of myself to decline an invitation to a slow-dance party everyone was headed to because I didn’t trust myself to respect boundaries and wasn’t going to put myself in a potentially compromising position.

Passed around witty, gutter-dirty banter with other women whose minds are as smutty as my own, laughed, sighed, smiled, swooned, near-wept, felt more than I have in far too long…

And it was only after the night of sleep that it occurred to me how rare it is for me to be anywhere that isn’t a male-dominated space, someplace I don’t feel smothered by masculine energies… because, between the excitement of the other performers and my own anxious anticipation, I hadn’t thought about anything more significant than “this is where I belong!”

Yesterday overall was pretty damn kick-ass, actually!

Got up early, left a bitchy, bitingly sarcastic note for the spoiled-rotten wealthy girl-child along with one-third of the internet bill (even though there are 4 people who live here, only 3 pay towards rent or electricity or water or internet…)  I’m done being kind and polite to those who kick me down, insult me, blame me for their problems and then expect me to come groveling at their feet for more.  You fuck with me, I fuck right back, and I take shit from nobody.

Traveled by bus to Vallejo, got the money my mom left in my account to make up for the check that never arrived in the mail, stopped at the little Chinese food place next to the bank and was touched that the woman there remembered me when it’s been almost 2 years since I dropped in… the little things bring the biggest smiles!

Crashed at the waterfront coffee shop for a bit, my once-upon-a-time time-killing spot, and caught up with a couple of the folks still working there… chatted with a couple strangers, one of whom had previously seen me at the open-mic event there.  Someone mentioned the upcoming “holiday” on the 14th, and I made my perennial quip about “Oh, you mean Singles’ Awareness Day, S.A.D. for short!”

When I said I was taking a break after my last couple of girlfriends being… less than fantastic, shall we say… this guy asked me, “So, if you’ve had such bad luck with women, have you ever considered trying men instead?” I wish I’d been more quick-thinking in choosing my reply; I used that as a segue to come out as transgender, with “Nah, trust me — I used to be one, and I’m not interested.” I wish I’d thought to point out how fucking stupid that line is by turning it around on him, since he was clearly using it as a pickup line after just mentioning that he was single — asking him why he hasn’t “tried” being gay if he doesn’t have a woman right now. Ah well. Stupid is everywhere, you can’t avoid it. Best you can do is learn to laugh at it and keep moving!

Also managed to stop by a couple other old haunts, said hello to a few friends I haven’t seen in near-forever, and on the BART ride back home I got to listen to the beautiful song of French being spoken by a lovely couple behind me… which also reminded me to put a few particular songs on my phone to play when I’m out and about!

Ended the night in the company of a great friend who was celebrating the beginning of yet another year on this crazy little spinning ball we call home, met a couple of his friends and had a couple drinks, then came home and slept.

Any tonight…. oh!  Tonight is going to be even more fun than the last!

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