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How pathetic can you get, Gav?   
04:46pm 13/02/2007
mood: blank
I'm working on typing up the other (probably two) portions of my hospital story, but I need to interrupt with a ranting. Please oblige me, anyone who's actually reading this.

24 hours ago almost to the minute my parents were arriving at the hospital to pick me up. I was elated. I felt as if, after escaping, I knew that true horror was residing in such a restrictive place, and that once home, I would find that my true happiness was here at home, curled up and sleeping in some hard to reach nook or cranny, ready to reveal itself once I was finally open to receive.
Alas, once returning, all that was found was exactly what I had left, the exact same hole of shit I had dug myself. Confusion, responsibility, horrible memories packed tight into every single pore in the wall- they all came rushing back at once.
I was admitted for extreme anxiety, manic depression, a LONG history of self-injury, and gender identity disorder. I was discharged with a clean bill. With a written "promise" to the staff not to hurt myself or others. To talk about my feelings instead of letting them claw away at my insides. I can almost see them, black and bulbous with wings and the talons of an eagle, shrieking geefully as a child in a ball pit at Chuck E Cheese as they jump up my throat, dig those horrible claws in, and slide down- taking shavings of skin and remnants of my voice with them, forcing me to internalize and therefore create more to break me down.
I am only sixteen.
How am I supposed to deal with this if I haven't a voice? If I haven't a clue what to do?

I internalize pills, my sweet forbidden fruit, and feel the nectar flow through my veins as it numbs me to myself.

Or I could drag the blade once again across my skin and pray that one of those fuckers living deep within my stomach will finally sprout the wings, something I can never do, to escape.

It's been less than 24 hours since I was released. The fruit has quenched my thirst.

But for how long?

For you and I both know I can never return.
Hospital part 1.   
03:24pm 12/02/2007
mood: exhausted
Sooo I'm back from the hospital. I'm feeling pissy and ranty right now, so I'll guide you through my three nights and four days of hell.

It started off with an incident with my mother- (as quoted from my post on ftm.)

"Now- it's always a hassle for me to get up and get ready for school in the mornings, so I keep everything on my stairs- which includes my ace bandage for binding, rolled up inside the pockets of the pants I'm going to wear that day, and my Axe. (Hey, I like the way it smells. . . ) This morning, as I was waking up and slowly making my way down the stairs, I saw her pick up the pants and everything fell out- the look of dawning comprehension and. . . something close to fear was apparent on her face. I was horrified.

She threw a tantrum, yelling about how I "scared" her and she didn't know what to do with me; I shouldn't deny myself because "YOU ARE FEMALE, GODDAMN IT." So, basically, I responded with panic and had an anxiety attack and had to call myself off from school. When she learned this, she raced home from work and started yelling about how I need to get help because I'm wrong, putting her through pain, and saying 'I didn't identify with being "girly" either. . . My solution was huge, mannish clothes- and being called a dyke was pretty common.' "

So, I think everything's good, because we were home together that day, and she's nice enough, doesn't mention it, smiles at me- we seem to be at peace. However, she has the next day off by herself while I go to school, and I suppose she sits and obsesses over it, because when I come home, she's normal until I get on the computer, at which point in time she peers her head around the doorway, oh so innocently, and looks me straight in the eye, and spoke the words that would repeat through my head over and over: "You're fucking freaking me out. We're getting you hospitalized."

I stop typing, abruptly, and turn to her, disbelief in my eyes and my jaw hanging slack.

". . . What?" Is all I can manage to choke out before she turns on her heels and promptly returns to her little nest in the living room.

Needless to say, a fight ensued. YES, I'll admit my problems are numerous. And YES, I shoud probably seek counseling. But inpatient care? Ugh.

But, really, there was no debating the matter, so I clunked off to bed as she began to make her first of the many, many phone calls. . .

I'll post part two once I get the time. . . hehe. ^^;
Musings. . .   
04:44pm 07/02/2007
mood: confused
I am not your average, all-american sterotypical girl. I hate shopping for clothes. I hate wearing jewlery. I hate wearing makeup. I hate heels. I don't give a flying fuck what I look like in the morning when I walk out the door. I make off-colour jokes no matter where I am. I'm open about everything. I don't care what impression I make. I don't keep track of every calorie I consume. I don't feel comfortable pushing my breasts forward and my ass out backward and walking in some strange, contorted C to get attention. I don't feel comfortable with breasts. I get mad when people use feminine pronouns to reference me. I get frustrated that I'm even a girl.

But I'm not your typical guy either. I like butterflys. I like unicorns. I hate sports. I love to read, and spend tons of time on the computer. I'm sixteen and still watch cartoons. Like spongebob. I have tons of stuffed animals, and still sleep with one. I cry alot. I love bright, girly colours- pink, lime green, yellow, etc. I love romance movies, books, and mangas.

I want to disregard the gender stereotypes, but. . . I just feel wrong as a girl, but as a guy I'd be wrong too for these differences. . . Wouldn't I?
Heeeeey. <3.   
03:58pm 06/02/2007
mood: bouncy
Haha. Now I'm public. Whee.