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[27 Jun 2009|06:16pm] |
So I've only had two shots and nothing too much has happened, but I feel so much better. My angst levels are down and I feel more sure of myself than I have in a long time. I spent the last two years in some kind of awful limbo having no idea what I was going to do with myself, and now I think maybe I can start moving on with my life. It's not that my anxieties are gone or that everything is magically okay now, if anything I actually feel worse about my body, but my focus has shifted so I don't feel like I'm still being bogged down by the same problems day after day after day. That shit gets old.
On the plus/minus side, I have a summer job I don't hate. The work is fine, the pay is great, the company pays for a cab when I work late and the people are okay. But they are clueless and so fucking transphobic. It makes for the most awkward dynamic as it's almost impossible to figure out how to interact with people who probably think I'm a really ugly straight chick. They drop "har har she's really a dude" jokes about clients like it's nothing. It makes me so angry I can't speak or see straight. As much as I like to rag on dumbass cis queers who think I'm some kind of lesbian+ whose pronoun preference is a quaint but ignorable, they provide a decent shelter from how shitty people actually are.
Also, if you're from Toronto and you're reading this going "WTF is this asshole on about?" because I haven't seen you in years or talked to you about much. Congratulations! You have a trans friend. And yes Jon, this does make you retroactively gay.
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[24 May 2009|04:20am] |
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And you never knew the breeze off the filthy fucking concrete could smell so damn good. So green. Just after the last staggers-home but before the sun. So safe even the alley so dark you can't see the end, you know whatever's there will be beautiful with arms outstretched to greet whatever may come. You blow a kiss to your lover's window and the wind between your fingers caresses even while your skin feels so tight it might burst. Then you realize that's all you've been thinking about, just your arms and fingers and the breeze and the darkness and how lovely and it comes back but it's okay, because that's all you've been thinking about.
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[14 May 2009|05:10pm] |
So after many years of trying to convince me to see someone for a variety of issues (most of them imaginary/unrelated to my actual problems) my father has finally coerced me into seeing a therapist for teh gendur. She seems fine, and it's okay since I don't require her approval because I am fortunate enough to have resources available that are entirely based on informed consent.
However, the take home lesson is that I hate talking about my feelings more than anything. If I had to chose between being sucker punched in the face and talking extensively about my feelings for an hour, I would be very tempted by the punch. You know what you're supposed to do when you have a problem? Not tell anyone and obsess over it for years until you figure it out your own damn self. And I'm standing by that. The stubborn introvert approach to mental health.
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[06 Apr 2009|01:42am] |
I miss cigarettes so much it's pathetic, especially now that the weather's getting nice.
I've been thinking about the internet, and how we use it both to express things we couldn't or wouldn't elsewhere because they're so deeply personal, but we also use it to make fun of those same things. That contradiction says a lot.
In the next two weeks I have a presentation, two term papers, an exam and a take-home and I am doing my best not to think about it.
I'm increasingly sure that I'm nothing but a complicated exercise in self loathing.
It's alarming to read things I wrote a year ago because they are exactly the same, like I could have written them yesterday. This is both validating and depressing.
The more I think about organizing here the more pissed off I get that I spent two years working within a queer community that absolutely does not get it. I am looking forward to having that done with.
Lately I identify as maudlin.
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[30 Mar 2009|12:58am] |
This is me screaming you are beautiful, you are beautiful, you are fucking beautiful and I am beautiful and they just don't want us to see it and I've broken my heart so many times in sympathy but I can't say how except that we are fucking beautiful and maybe one day they'll realize it but until they do fuck them.
And my body is not broken and my body is mine and my body is not broken and my body is mine even when it's not and maybe one day they'll realize it but until they do fuck them.
It's not okay but you're okay, you're okay, you're fucking okay and so am I, and they just don't want us to see it but our pain is real and maybe one day they'll realize it but fuck them.
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[29 Mar 2009|11:20pm] |
I've mostly picked my courses for next year, which seems stupid because I feel like I've been here forever and gotten all I'm going to get out of McGill, especially since most of what gets talked about in Women's Studies is either repetitious or totally irrelevant to my (or anyone's) life. I get much more from reading blogs and independent study than I ever will from these classrooms. That said, I am kind of excited to write my thesis because I am a secret dork and I pit Riki Wilchins, Toni Amato and Viviane Namaste against each other in my spare time anyway (for reals). Hint: Amato usually wins, which is probably why his book is out of print. Bonus points if you have any idea what I'm talking about.
I have a million fucking papers due all at the same time and my throat keeps feeling like it's going to close up because apparently my life circa finals is panic attack 24/7. Awesome!
That said, my academic strategy is still to leave everything until the last minute to pressure myself into actually working when it's necessary. And I wonder why I'm stressed...
Things I am excited for: finishing exams, road trips, Kathleen visiting, having time to read again.
I actually feel exactly how that userpic looks, you do the interpretive work.
I'm having trouble finding a summer job. If anyone has any brilliant ideas, let me know.
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[10 Mar 2009|01:17am] |
I've got this sick obsession with past selves, where I'll spend hours pouring over what I've written and who I was to find out who I am while firmly maintaining that telos is bullshit and that distilled, pure form won't ever emerge. I refuse to selectively edit my history, but it would be so much easier if I could give into that urge.
At the same time, while it ain't exactly coming up roses now, it is shocking to realize how persistently unhappy I was, which suggests I've done something right.
I often wish other people would make decisions for me, because I am shite at action and excellent at circular thinking. If you feel like taking up that responsibility, let me know.
I need to start reading again before I become a freakishly practical person.
One day I promise to write in paragraphs.
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[18 Jan 2009|11:45pm] |
It's not just in dreams, the boundaries of myself are growing blurry. Where you end and I begin and you end I'm unsure but it's okay, it's comfortable like falling into pillows, a warm embrace, what autumn leaves should feel like. It's what I've wanted in some ways, what I've argued for, the unbounded self, the empath, replacing the individual with something better, stronger, more united. Like we could understand, connect more deeply and maybe then our conflicts and our hierarchies would collapse into meaninglessness. We'd realize they were only fictions, those boundaries, so how could we treat each other, ourselves, with malice?
And it's not true, of course, we aren't there yet, not really. It's just those moments, when I wonder how it's possible to feel so safe that I forget I'm not alone. I worry about the consequences about falling and never being caught, just on and on into darkness with myself streaming out into the abyss, crumbling, irreparable. That those thin walls, the separation between me and nothing will collapse too and I'll tumble screaming. It keeps my guard up, that fear, keeps me from feeling too hard or too much, forces me to break connections and into silence.
But the walls are porous, and in those moments, it's wonderful.
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[12 Dec 2008|02:10am] |
I dream a lot lately, the kind of vivid dreams that make you forget what's real when you wake up. It's never clear who's who, or which figure is me or how you look. I think I've always dreamt this way, about people who are but aren't themselves, but it's intense now. I was both the little boy and his veiled caretaker. And you never look like you, but you are.
My fantasies are about scalpels. About healing through excision. I'm wondering, what am doing, am I fetishizing the cure without having the symptoms? But that doesn't mean I can stop the fantasy.
It's one of those nights when I get drunk and watch movies that make me feel too deeply. Ghost World was recommend to me by my 8th grade computer teacher, who thought I might be interested in a film about a weird teenager and dysfunctional intergenerational romance. Not a creepy thing to recommend to a thirteen-year-old, not at all. He taints my viewing, but he's also part of the reason that I've watched it so many times. I see a lot of that self in Enid. She makes me sick, but she's still me.
I've been involved in a number of discussions about what the inside of one's head looks like. I thought I had mine, but I was wrong. Amanda Palmer got it right with "Leeds United", the juxtaposition between the lyrics and the sound, that big band and oh-that-crescendo. Except the chorus girls are bleeding with sunken eyes, and they don't stop dancing, not ever.
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| Talking around the issues |
[23 Oct 2008|10:40pm] |
Lately I feel that most of the work I do is masochistic. I see again and again things which directly invalidate me, attack me, misread my actions, and I continue to value these things because I relate to the people espousing these views so much more strongly than those who I am presumably aligned with. Does that make sense? It shouldn't.
I spend more time thinking about (and agonizing over) my body than anyone should. I don't want to feel disconnected from my body but that's so hard when most of my connections are entirely masochistic. I feel stronger and more sure of myself in many ways, and simultaneously I loathe myself.
I want so many impossible things. I'm characterized by impossible desire. I don't feel much anymore, except desire.
I've always had a love of frustrated desires, yearning for the impossible, looks like that's coming 'round to bite me in the ass.
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| Things I feel weird about |
[18 Sep 2008|01:39am] |
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leaside
Stephen Harper and I are totally from the same place (and he hated it too).
Everyone has cancer.
I don't feel like writing lately.
Not knowing how to call people on their gender shit.
I don't have time to feel shitty about the things I should feel shitty about.
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[31 Jul 2008|09:01pm] |
I've been going through things I wrote in high school, and finding it plenty bizarre. So far, this is my favourite. Unlike many of the files tucked away on my computer, this one was written for no apparent purpose. Honestly, I think I just like the last line.
Late last evening Alabama became the first start to declare sex for any purpose other than procreation illegal.
The state has been known for its conservative rulings concerning sexuality; sex outside of marriage and sodomy have been illegal for decades. However the bill, which easily went through with 77 - 12 votes, is the Alabama’s most radical yet.
The bill defines sex as “manipulation of the genitals by any means, without medical intent”. It also makes the sale and use of birth control illegal. It is unclear whether masturbation is included under this broad legislation. The state has not publically stated how it intends to enforce this law, but it has been suggested that special licensing and permits will be available for couples who wish to reproduce.
Critics of the bill say it limits the right to choice, and discriminates against the elderly, the disabled and the gay community. Sexpert Judy Jones told reporters, “I’m very disappointed with this new law. Sex is a great release, and a necessary part of a healthy, balanced life. It’s a natural instinct, you just can’t stop people from having sex.”
Bob Rogers, owner of a bed and breakfast in Montgomery, is also worried. “The service industry is going to suffer a great loss. We rely on couples who are looking for a little alone time, but now we’re going to see hotel visitations way down. And there is a fear of police crackdowns. No one wants to be found allowing couples to have illegal intercourse.”
Republican senator and proponent of the bill, Michael Shelly went on the defensive, “Rates of HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases have been way up over the past few years. This legislation is sure to stop the problem dead. It’s for the greater good, it’s what God would want.” When asked if his felt this violated rulings about the separation of church and state, Shelly quipped, “This is Alabama, ma’am, the church is the state.”
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[02 May 2008|11:38pm] |
I still love some of the people here, but being in Toronto makes me nauseous. It's jarring to be somewhere you spent 18 years and feel virtually nothing towards it. I'm unable to cope with any kind of parental supervision, and I get paranoid thinking that my dad can sense my every move. I keep going into nicotine withdrawal which is more horrible than I'd imagined.
I feel so petty, but all I want to do is listen to music too loudly at 2am, smoke in my room and pirate media. I don't want anyone worrying when I stay out too late or leave without telling them.
On the bright side, my mattress is more comfortable here?
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[25 Mar 2008|01:34am] |
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I want to write something new. Something beautiful, something transcendent. I'd rather do that than write something hateful, vitriolic or jaded. I think the latter is easier though, it comes naturally, always has. I'm not sure how I became that kind of person, how I failed to appreciate the small pleasures the world has to offer and became so jaded. Pessimism, pride, or politics. I'm not sure why I drink, or pine, or scoff, except that I know it makes me a better person, but at the same time a lesser one, one less artful. One needs a something more, to take joy and sorrow, rapture and pain and transpose them, or conflate them, or sometimes just to strike a balance. It's the tension that I crave, the resonance, the echo, the trace. Melancholy and bliss are not so far apart but exist together, not a middle ground but a contradiction, two things held at once, and that's what I treasure. Holding that contradiction, drawing it out. Not a contradiction anymore, but something new, something wonderful. That's where I want to be.
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| Table Scraps |
[09 Mar 2008|10:58pm] |
SSMU election campaigns make me want to vomit.
I need it to be May, right now.
Things I hate: post-feminism, moderates, Republicans, academics, that smoking too much makes me have to clear my throat every five seconds, fucked up nights, term papers, being called "Miss", dancing, anyone who says "ladies", ennui.
My cat and I now get into fights, which I think means that he's an asshole and I don't get out enough.
I worry that sometimes I am embarrassingly transparent.
After a brief foray into honesty, I've reverted into being the kind of person who keeps everything a secret for no good reason.
My inner monologue has become unusually self-depreciating.
I've given up writing for the time being, and that is fucking depressing. I want to see the world that way again.
No, I don't think so. But yes.
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| Memey! |
[28 Feb 2008|10:56pm] |
1. Pick 15 of your favourite movies.
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie.
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
5. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search functions.
1) "You're a fucking ugly bitch. I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood." (American Psycho, guessed by ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) wily_fox
2) "Don't be tellin' me about foot massages. I'm the foot fuckin' master." (Pulp Fiction, guessed by lux_fiat)
3) "My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell." (American Beauty, guessed by Richard)
4) "It's not like I'm some modern punk, dickhead. It's an obvious, 1977 original punk rock look. I guess Johnny fuckface over there's too stupid to realize it." (Ghost World, guessed bylux_fiat)
5) "Yeah, I mean aside from the cheating, we were a great couple. I mean that's what high school was about, algebra, bad lunch, and infidelity."
6) "Because it was a fifty fifty shot on wheter you'd be going left or right. You see we're both going left. You could have just as easily been going left, too. And if that was the case... It would have been a while before you started getting scared. But since you're going the other way, I'm afraid you're gonna have to start getting scared... immediately!"
7) "That song was by a young mister Kurt Cobain - now that kid's got a future!"
8) Each cut, each scar, each burn, a different mood or time. I told him what the first one was, told him where the second one came from. I remembered them all. And for the first time in my life I felt beautiful. Finally part of the earth. I touched the soil and he loved me back. (Secretary, guessed by lux_fiat)
9) "These bitches sucking cock and eating ass... then they show up at the buffet and say they're vegan."
10) "This is blood for blood and by the gallon. These are the old days, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back! There's no choice left. And I'm ready for war."
11) "Dude! That means that by some fate we were paired together and she thought of me. Thought of me enough to want me to be responsible for the entire funness of her party! She wants to fuck me! She wants my dick in and around her mouth!" (Superbad, guessed by wowbunnies)
12) "It was not my intention to do this in front of you. For that I'm sorry. But you can take my word for it, your mother had it comin'. When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting."
13) "I've just decided to switch our Friday schedule to Monday, which means that the test we take each Friday on what we learned during the week will now take place on Monday before we've learned it. But since today is Tuesday, it doesn't matter in the slightest. Pencils ready!"
14) "Okay, Lindsay, are you forgetting that I was a professional twice over - an analyst and a therapist. The world's first analrapist." (Arrested Development, guessed by iris_on_tape)
15) "You've glazed my wife in dried piss."
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[12 Feb 2008|12:25am] |
Did I fuck up or did you?
The truth is that I don't tell anyone anything, not when it matters.
I'm cycling between depression, apathy, rage and self loathing. At the same time, I'm smothering it all, burying it six feet under.
The truth is that I'm always tired, because I don't sleep, I only dream.
And I fucked up.
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| Highlights from Toronto |
[29 Dec 2007|04:17pm] |
12/21 22h00 - Arrive in Toronto.
12/22 21h00 - Drinking Vex, the dirtiest of "vodka" coolers and trying to find Risk. Tear up Brett's house for 45 minutes, no luck.
12/24 15h00 - My aunt and uncle visit for Christmas. This is all that's left of my family on such occasions as the rest are dead (with the exception of my cousin, who is in Lake Louise.) Since we don't have anything to talk about I am quizzed incessantly about what vegans eat. Apparently this is very mysterious, as it is astounding that I can no longer enjoy yogurt, seafood or milk chocolate. Clearly I am a martyr for animal kind, or perhaps an alien from some distant planet. I receive a large container of "body butter" which does not appeal to me in any way. Afterwards my brother gives me three more containers intended for a girl he was seeing last year, but broke up with before Christmas. I am debating between "forgetting" it here and shoving in into the recesses of my closet.
12/24 23h00 - I am scolded for not showing enthusiasm about our annual reading of "The Night Before Christmas" or getting up early to open presents. I am accused of having no sense of humor whatsoever, but am at a loss as to how to explain aforementioned sense without the words "vulgar", "morbid" or "self depreciating".
12/24 23h30 - I have not had a cigarette for almost 24 hours. There's no way to open the front door without my father hearing. I attempt to smoke through the bathroom window which is satisfying but not at all subtle. This ends in me spraying copious amounts of air freshener, stealing whiskey and retreating to the den to read. 10 minutes later my father stomps upstairs. The smell has woken him up. He is sniffing so loudly I can hear it down the hall. I panic and attempt to hide in the bathroom, but forget to close the door or turn on the light. There is no good way to explain this. Instead I casually saunter out, drink abandoned, and try to explain that I just really, really like the smell of air freshener. I hate Toronto.
12/25 0h30 - Solve the cigarette problem by prying the screen off my bedroom window. This is extremely loud but I convince myself that it isn't. I hide the screen behind my desk and hope that no one ever decides to look back there, or to open the window.
12/25 10h30 - Opening presents. The first thing I open is a shirt. I hold it up for the family to see and realize that it reads "Fuck the preps. They should die." It becomes immediately obvious that my father sent someone else to do my Christmas shopping, and they got him real good.
12/25 12h00 - Argument with my father about immigration policies. I tell him that Canada's need improvement, he agrees because of "the kind of people we let in here... how many convenience store owners and cab drivers do we need?". It takes all my self-control to blow up at him without cursing or personal insults.
12/25 18h30 - Christmas dinner without booze. Nothing more needs to be said on this.
12/26 23h00 - We have found Risk! Proceed to intense drinking and Risking. I win, motherfuckers. Crash on Brett's couch because I have to be up early to see my grandmother.
12/27 11h30 - Wake up hungover. Father picks me up and we begin the hour-long drive to Cobourg. I am instantly nauseous and concentrate fully on not vomiting. Fail. My father has to pull over twice so I can puke on the side of the highway. Terribly glamorous. We go out for lunch with grandma, and I concentrate on getting more than a bite of my extremely garlicky and intensely mushy pasta down without vomiting. Sorry grandma!
12/28 13h00 - Lunch with my godmother. As soon as my brother leaves the table she turns to me and asks if my father knows about "all those clubs I'm involved with at school." I tell her he does. She hasn't mentioned it to him because "it's not her story to tell." Does my brother know as well? Do I have "a significant?" (I assume there could have been an "other" following this, but apparently this would be too forward.) All of this is done without actually saying what we are talking about, as if this is my deep, dark, shameful secret that I entrusted only to her, the Queer McGill constituency and the readers of the McGill Daily. Cue laugh track.
12/29 12h30 - I finally get my Change of Name application signed by a lawyer. If all goes as planned I should have a new birth certificate by March. I would say that I'm as excited as a kid on Christmas, but Christmas fucking blows compared to the joy of having ID with the correct name on it.
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| Missed Connection or Rock Music? |
[21 Dec 2007|02:10am] |
I have an exam at 9am tomorrow, so naturally I am writing a quiz instead of studying or sleeping.
Simple. All of these quotes (unedited, except for spelling and line breaks) are either from an ad in the Missed Connections section of Craigslist, or a rock song. You guess which! Fun times for all.
1) I was in your mattress back in 1982.
2) We chatted like there was no tomorrow, you just want to be friends.
You have no idea what you missed with me.
You made me feel like cheap bubblegum, chew me while the sugar lasts and spit me onto the curb.
3) I really wanted to go out with you, so when you smiled, I laid my heart on the line
4) To have that hour in that same special place back again,
I would have done things differently,
I'm sure you'll remember me for years to come
But you are someone I will never forget
5) Blank and so beautiful
Beige and benign
You're pulling ahead
Left me falling behind
6) And it was beautiful, and you are beautiful, and if my little
Bunny heart hadn't been beating so loudly in my ears I might
Have been able to tell you so.
7) You smiled at me again through the chewing gum rack, and melted my heart.
8) As you tried to maul me on your floor-bound mattress,
I could discern some toenail clippings on the bed.
9) I remember when we first met,
Do you remember or do you forget?
You were so perfect, so pure like an angel
10) Someone called my name,
But I didn't care to look that way
I just fixed my eyes on the crowd,
It would have been strange to turn around
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| Narcissism Wrapped in Response |
[10 Dec 2007|02:16am] |
Some things don't go away.
I hold on to a handful of lingering memories, things I've done or read or dreamt.
Kittens drowning in shallow seas. The first time I consciously masturbated, not comprehending the pleasure of penetration. Sprinting home under flickering street lamps. The thrill of touching someone else. Kissing my mother's corpse. A website detailing reported bathroom habits. Watching my pet rat die. Sharing a cigar in a slide from my childhood. Letting my boyfriend fuck my mouth in his mother's basement. Spinning disassociative in my leopard fur coat; avoiding a panic attack in a used bookstore. Sitting in my favourite tree with Lateralus blaring and feeling my body mingle with the air. Blowing cigarette smoke out of my nose to general applause. Trying to hack open a vein with nail clippers. Translating Sylvia Plath's wisdom into petty theft. Drinking too sweet wine on abandoned train tracks.
We are given a trajectory of getting over, getting on, forgetting. We may move on but we do not forget. Things in/significant stay with us. They struggle out of their graves un/wanted, un/expected.
I want tell you it will be okay. It will be okay. Not because you'll forget, but because your inner world will forever be nourished by such memories. They are buried in shallow graves.
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