…and its none too soon. I’ll be frank: I burned out on it a lot faster this time around, and I think the strain has been leading toward depression.
It’s not depression like I experienced last time. I’m not suicidal, I don’t hate myself and I’m not overwhelmed by bouts of dysphoria.
But I’m tired. So much so that I struggle to take basic care of myself: I rarely eat breakfast anymore, and occasionally don’t eat lunch or — more often — just eat a bunch of random snack or junk food. I’ll sometimes skip a few days before I shave my face, I’ve been re-wearing clothes a lot, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve only been showering about once a week or so. I haven’t been baking or making dinners, and I’ve only been doing housework on weekends; usually only on Sundays, since I work Saturday mornings.
And the rest of the time? I’ve been at work, or on the couch feeling emotionally dead and waiting until it’s late enough that I can go to bed without arousing comment. I’m back to getting most of my writing done on breaks and lunch at work, simply because I use up most of my motivation and energy during the day job hours, and even then I’ve had to give up on writing more of Et Alia. There aren’t enough breaks to manage two books, and when I get home I simply have no more spoons to give.
Lately, although I have no desire to die, I’ve found myself picturing myself with wrists and/or throat slashed, or suffocated and stuffed in a dumpster, or beaten and broken with a smashed in skull or something. I’m not even sure if that’s from depression and exhaustion, or just a reaction to the sense of hatred toward trans people I’m getting from all of these fucking bathroom bills. I can’t read Facebook anymore without getting seriously depressed and wondering when the state I live in is going to pass some bullshit law that makes it so I either have to use the men’s room — where I feel unsafe — or face fines and jail time for using the women’s restroom, or give up on eating and drinking during the work day so a restroom isn’t something I need to use at all unless I’m safely at home. Or I start wondering when someone who has bought into the negative ad campaigns is going to decide I’m some sort of perverted rapist pedophile, and then I’m back to wondering exactly how I’m going to be attacked, and murdered, and my body disposed of.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m not just being paranoid about it — except then I remember that there’s currently only one state in the USA where “I found out she was trans, so I freaked out and killed her” isn’t considered a valid legal defence for murdering a transgender woman, and I don’t live in that one. (Seriously: transpanic. WTF?) Or statistics like: 70% of trans folk are assaulted at some point in their lives. Or that I just read an op ed about someone buying a gun to take with them in case they needed to “protect themselves from a trans pervert” the next time they use a public restroom. And then I figure: no. I’m fucked, and however I die it probably is going to be violently, and I’m back to wondering exactly how that’ll play out.
Anyway, I put in a big drive to get stuff done tonight because I let a lot of things go while Jae and Ess were sick, and there’s a backlog of chores that need done now. I finally got all the clean laundry folded, and now my legs hurt from standing for so long. I didn’t use to be sedentary! But lack if energy and being easily exhausted from being on hormones and just generally not taking care of myself have all been taking a toll, and that accumulates.
Tomorrow is my last day of overtime for the foreseeable future. That is a tremendous relief to me. I really, really hope that those extra ten hours a week — or, to be more precise, those ten hours less at the cubical job — make a difference. Otherwise, I’ll be talking to my doctor about changing up some of my meds again, I guess.
I want to get today’s chapter written. It’s a stepping stone chapter — a transitional piece leading to thee ones I’m currently more interested in writing. But instead I’m going to use the oomph I managed to gather up by journaling about this to force myself to eat dinner (which is still utterly unappealing, so I think it might end up being stuck in the ‘fridge after all), and then it should be late enough that I can go to sleep.
Thanks for letting me vent; sorry for unloading all my crap on you. I know none of this page ta me in a very flattering light, and I sort of regret that… But mostly I just want to go the fuck to sleep already.
Good night. Be safe, happy and well. I’ll try to, too.