Exit Wounds.

Tomorrow morning is another set of blood labs and another round of hormones.  I feel like I’m falling apart.  I take naps in the day and fall asleep for hours.  Friends will text me in the middle of it and I will text back later, sorry, passed out again.  They say, it’s okay, you probably just need sleep.  I feel like I’ve let them down.

The surgery didn’t kill it all.  It had already spread to my bloodstream.  Hence the hormones and the lab tests.  Hence me sleeping all the time.  I’m exhausted.  And yet at night, I still have a hard time closing my eyes.  Once I’m out, I sleep like the dead.  But in the middle of the day, I find myself passing out everywhere.  I just can’t sleep at night like a normal person.

I’m getting depressed.  I’m upset.  I’m pissed at some god somewhere I can’t believe in because they let me go through all of this shit.  Being trans* and being sick and having to give up being pregnant.  It’s not something I even really wanted, but it doesn’t matter because it was taken away.  I’m pissed at the loss.  I’m pissed because there’s a part of me that I now get to miss out on.  The other day I was in target with my Mom and I began to get sad.  Maybe because we were in the baby section because one of her co-workers was going to have a kid.  And I was maybe just upset because I don’t fit into societies script.  She sees me start to get sad and I try to hide it, but she says, you can always adopt.

I just hate that I’ve had to go through all of this shit.  I didn’t get a choice.  I didn’t get to have things be easier.  Truthfully, I know I’d be a great Dad.  I used to nanny all of the time.   It’s not even about having a kid biologically, it’s just that things were taken away from me and I’m pissed.  I want justice.  I look at my younger sister and I just want what she has.

She’s like the epitome of girl.  She’s smart and she’s talented and she’s pretty.  She has long hair and she buys into Womanhood.  She has a boyfriend of two years, and he’s wonderful.  She doesn’t have all these scars.  I do.  She can have the life you’re supposed to have, the one you realize you are supposed to have at an early age.  I never could.

And sometimes, I get the urge to try to be like her.  I told my Mom this today.  She said why would you do that?  Blake is awesome.  Blake is who you are.  Don’t be Trish.  Don’t be your sister.  Be you.  Be Blake.  I get the urge to grow out my hair again and be feminine and normal.  But I’m not normal.  And I hate that.  I hate that this is what society calls for normalcy.

I don’t dare tell my Dad any of this.   But I’m scared.  I know he’s scared.  I can hear it in his voice every time he calls me 20 times a day.  I saw it when I drove back to Minnesota for the 4th of July.  I saw it when I came home at midnight.  I saw it when he tries to hide it.  He’s scared.

I’m tired.  I’m angry.  I’m hurting.  I cried myself to sleep the last 2 nights in a row.  Maybe it’s the hormones.  Maybe it’s just me.  I’m freaking out about how the hell am I going to do my classes when I’m sick all the damn time?  I’m still sick.  Yeah, all the pain is gone because the tumor is gone, but I’m still sick.  I’m still hurting.  And I just feel so alone because I feel like no one understands how I feel.  No one understands that I’m upset.  I’m sitting here crying as I write this, and I freaking hate crying.  And I hate complaining.  I hate talking about it because I feel like I’m being a burden on everyone I live with and they already do so much for me.

I just want to hide away sometimes.  I feel like I’m letting people down because I’m not strong and because I’m still fighting and I’m sitting here crying and I don’t know why the hell I’m so upset but I am.   Sometimes, I just feel like letting the heaviness take me under, but that’s just really chicken shittish and so I don’t.  I’m not a coward.  I just want to be okay.  But I know that I need to hang on, and as exhausting as it is, it’s what I’m trying to do.