I hate Febuary

[Terra]

Thank the makers its almost over, this is a month of anniversaries that aren't all that good.

Not that anyone in the counseling department really gets that. But then again the long list of occurences that I rattled off, not to mention that phone call lat week, has everyone walking on eggshells. THe probably would have called the cops to take me off for my own protection if I hadn't swore to them violence towards myself and anyone who tried to take me to a psych ward. Yet another of my little anniversaries.

I just hate it all right now. Transitioning, my progression it, hormones, my life, I just hate it all. All I want is to be ->-bleeped-<-ing normal. Is that so much to ask for? I want to be able to talk to a guy or girl i'm interested in without having to wave the giant disclaimer in front of their faces.I want to be able to wear makeup to get ready for a date, not to hide what little facial hair I have left. I want to be able to go shopping for low cut shirts, or even a non-padded bra.

I hate it all, I hate me, I hate humanity, and if it weren't for the threat of having to do all this again in reincarnation and my damnable survival instinct I probably would have checked out long ago. But I can't so i'm stuck here until some jackass with a micro-dick decides i'm to much of a threat to his masculinity to live beats me or shoots me.

I'm not a man, men don't get raped by three marines demonstrating "what a woman is good for". I'm not a woman, women don't have hairy chests and get to have normal childhoods. I'm me, a freak, a nothing, a nobody in in the eyes of a society I once was willing to give my life for. Yet they don't want me to kill myself so that they can do their good deed and do their damnedest to keep me alive. To ease their guilty feelings. But at the same time they lash out if I try to do what makes me feel as normal as someone like me ever gets to feel.

Four years ago I was forced to make a choice between my honor and myself. To this day I still don't know if it was the right decision or even which decision was which. Four years ago I was betrayed by someone I thought was a friend and was raped. Four years ago I sacrificed my integrity to guarantee myself an honorable discharge. Two years ago I checked myself into a psych ward for the three most hellish days of my life. One week ago I find out out of 80 graduating corpsman I am the only one still alive because I choose myself over my honor.

Yeah, I hate Febuary.

[jesse]

wow terra my thoughts go out to you. i was in the military did my tour and got out without being outed i was a deputy until second round layoffs and budget cuts eliminated the trans person from their midst but then again that was sort of expected. what else oh yea wife filed for divorce also expected that about covers dec threw feb except the military departure that was several years ago. i hope things go better for you. i gave up trying to be normal now i think id rather be unigue a 1 of a kind. or at least as unigue as i can be i refuse to be drawn down by others anymore hugs anyways terra i wish you a better march

[tekla]

All I want is to be ->-bleeped-<-ing normal. Is that so much to ask for?

And what do normal people want?  (I'm just going by what I've been told and read, I have no personal understanding of the concept.)  They want to be 'special' they want to 'stand out' they want to be something more than a passing face in the ever-changing crowd.

And don't blame yourself for choosing survival over honor - I'm not so sure you even get to make that decision in the end, when faced with that all sorts of protective instincts come into play.

Forgive them (if only to relieve yourself from the crushing burden of having to drag that around behind you), and forgive yourself.  Even if you spent every second of the rest of your life (and lived to be 120) trying to change this you never could.  Sometimes the only way is just to walk away telling yourself: Forget it, Jake; it's Chinatown.

To survive it is often necessary to fight and to fight you have to dirty yourself.
George Orwell