It’s outcast outside and looks like it’s going to rain.  It probably will because we’ve had a string of unseasonably hot days.

While I’m sure this is an unhelpful contributor, as my mood is affected albeit slightly by the weather, it’s definitely not the crux of the issue, further given credibility by the fact that it was sunny a few days ago when my feelings started and when I realized they were there.

What I’m about to say isn’t by any means fact– it’s purely emotional, purely feeling, purely perception:

I am tired …
of fighting,
of steeling myself,
of bracing myself against the inevitable reaction to what I am and the power of the smiles of those who receive it well aren’t enough to power me in the down times,
of being imperfect,
of the struggle to obtain the unachievable and definitely the effort to attempt to become as close to it as possible,
of the stigma,
of passing until I open my mouth and watching it all break into pieces,
of walking,
of what little facial hair I have,
of being alone but at the same time unable to get close to people and open up,
of bad luck,
of self-control,
of “friends” turning out not to care,
of people bullshitting me,
of being talked about behind my back,
of false and superficial smiles,
of feeling jealous.

So very tired.

If I hadn’t come this far I would happily pull the plug given the opportunity.  I know I’m supposed to be overjoyed that it’s all working out, about how I feel whole, but I just feel like I want to run away and hide in a cave so that nobody sees me, so that I don’t have to see other people, their reactions, the disconnect, the misunderstanding, the judging, the mistrust.

One part of me wants to flee.  The other, more logical part, which usually doesn’t get its share of opportunity to speak, adds up the numbers and all is well.  My feelings are unable to reconcile the emotions I feel with what is truly in front of me.

So I wander around tired and bummed.  I stop pushing, I stop fighting, I stop caring– all things which, on paper, have been immensely and unimaginably successful.

Oh.  Does this mean I’m manic-depressive?  It does run in the family, after all …

Lame.

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