Regret and grief

I posted a blog entry here yesterday, but regretted it almost immediately so took it down again. It's rare that I do that, only happened once before. It was about my thoughts on if being trans might not be a real thing... and I just got so worried it would be very hurtful, so an hour or so after I had posted it in the early morning hours, I took it down again. I decided it wasn't worth possibly losing friends over just my nagging need to vent some stupid thoughts. They are very controversial, and quite likely even outright transphobic. Yeah, they are. Maybe best to keep that shit to myself. The blog entry I wrote is still saved as a draft, and saved on my computer additionally, so it's not scrapped, just hidden from the public.

I tried to phrase my opnions as carefully as possible, but it still became blunt and I realised that no matter how I'd phrase such opinions, it wouldn't matter, cause the opinions themselves are utter shit. I might tell them in an e-mail or personal messages if you'd REALLY want to know them, but not without first assuring me you wouldn't ditch our friendship over it. I don't know if you actually managed to read that before I hid the entry. I hope not. I guess, if you did though... I'm so sorry, I never intended for my thoughts and opinions on transsexualism to change like that. I only wanted to figure out my own gender situation and still my curiosity on what "the other side" thinks. I still care about trans people and I don't think they're doing anything wrong by transitioning, medically, legally or socially. Also I do not condone misgendering, whether I actually view it as such or not.

And if you didn't read that... good. Even if it wouldn't have hurt you, that really made me feel horrible to just express it. I must have been so selfish even wanting to vent those thoughts. At the very least I should only vent them to cis people, or better yet get a terf friend to vent them with. I guess this is what's so difficult for me that my thoughts and feelings keep changing so much and so radically over time, that I always eventually end up in a situation where I feel the need to hide a new aspect of myself to good friends I never wanted to hide anything from, out of fear.

My mind has become so maluable that it practically liquified and now nothing is stable within it. Every thought, every feeling, every opinion no matter how important to me... has the potential of changing radically. It's at the point where I'm not certain of anything. I could even become a hardcore Christian at some point, or a rampant nazi, or a super leftist man-hating feminist. Or anything, at any point. My curiosity takes me places and I'm still too easily fooled by what "sounds good" until eventually neither side of the argument "sounds good" and I'm just confused. Then that part of my mind has been moulded and shaped too many times to hold itself together anymore, it comes apart, and I have no clear or solid opinion on that thing anymore. Or I keep switching between very different opinions on that topic very frequently, like from day to day. The pendulum swings itself off from its hinges.

This actually happens but I'm not sure why, other than that I think my ability to tell what is reasonable opinions (of others) or unreasonable gets unstable and stops working, and I'm literally unable to tell if I agree or not. That happened with feminism and anti-feminism. And I think that now it's happening with pro-trans and anti-trans opinions. I don't know why this happens with me, or what I could do about it. Cause just giving it time and not overthinking it for that time doesn't seem to work, even given years. I don't know. Maybe my brain is just overworked in general and can't handle the intensity of all the stimuli. But it's frustrating nonetheless.

I'm having a shitty day, because of or on top of that. I went to bed at around 5 am this morning, then woke up around 7 when my mother called to wake me up so that I could call the gender clinic. I didn't. I couldn't. Felt like utter shit and dead tired. Refused to get out of bed. So I drifted in and out of sleep for another 10 hours until I eventually dragged my ass out of bed at 5 pm. I dreamed about detransition stuff. That I was hanging out drinking booze (Minttu, and some other stuff I don't remember) with my father and some random guys of his age, some of which I knew, some I didn't. And they told me several times that the fact I had a deep voice and facial hair made me "not really a woman" which annoyed me and I told them that's ridiculous and that they were wrong. It wasn't a bad dream though, the guys were more joking than cruel, the dream didn't have a negative atmosphere to it, although it was more neutral than good.

I don't remember most of my nightly dreams lately, but I'm fairly sure I've been detransitioning in all of them ever since that happened in real life.

Before I went to bed I also felt extra horrible about my chest. I was looking at some youtube videos from the webshop (Amoena) I ordered my most recent... well, mastectomy bra, from. And it just hit me sooo hard when I watched a video featuring a woman getting fitted for a breast form to match the one breast she had left, and then her joy seeing herself in the mirror with two matching breasts, and the woman helping her out and leading the video talking about their female customers "feeling whole again" with their breast forms, I felt like something was literally shattering within my chest.

I think I'm really struggling with this on a very deep, emotional level. Both my regret of getting top surgery and the lack of breasts on my chest, as well as that it was my own decision, and that it wasn't cancer. That they were healthy breasts that I had removed... that hurts more than I can fathom. And I think, I'm struggling to accept it. The missing pieces are hurting me immensely with their absense. And in my sleep I kept waking up wondering where my breasts were... I fumbled for them, literally, in that half awake-half asleep state where you're not quite aware of your surroundings.

I hate that feeling. It digs holes within me, gouging me out. It's my grief, like looking for a lost loved one in a state of delirium. Struggling to accept and you're not sure which state is the reality and which is your cruel imagination. It's gonna hurt either which way, and you're not sure you want to know, but your hands are desperately searching to find out. Your hands want to know that your mind is wrong, but your hands are wrong and your mind is not. Finding that, I just wanted to go back to sleep again, dream that awful feeling away. But it never works that way. It only creates a repeating pattern of confusion, desperate searching, knowing, pain, then back to confusion again. Until I wake up and accept the reality.

My own breast forms don't comfort me as much today. Today they remind me of what should be there instead, but I'd feel even worse without them. Carved out to hollowness. And I think I'm angry at myself for having transitioned, but the sadness and grief takes over and drown my words. I'm comfort-eating chocolate but it grosses me out and I worry it might make me fat if I continue, which saddens me more. That's a vicious cycle too. I'm out of words for now.

Child of trauma (poem)

That's where it all began, a child of trauma uncertain of her place
trapped in the echoes of a pain that she couldn't face
and it all mattered in the end
all the wounds I couldn't comprehend

A checkered blue dress that I only wore once
became riddled with a shame that fear outruns
and my silence began to trap the hurt
like flies gathering around excrements and dirt

And all my tragedies coincide
with my tears of treason and the comfort that I was denied
That's where I wanted to hide
in my reluctance to deal with what I pushed aside

My fears exceed what I am fearing
my body conceals what I am wearing
Half here, half there, my hands don't feel like my own
am I still the child that never became fully grown

Stunted by a deep belief that I was someone else
man or woman, there's something other that compels
my journey to be a tragedy; back to square one
now stop and stare at my own deformed creation, but don't run

My mind split by agony, and I'm distorted to defy
everything that I never needed to rectify
and my denial is my release
shattering me, piece by piece

Cause that's where it all began
in the breaking of everything better than
a child of trauma who couldn't find her place
trapped in her pain that I now must face

Filling my insatiable void

That feeling when you just know you're a sex addict, when you just think "what the fuck am I doing?" you know? Well, I hope you don't know. Yeah, I just fucked... my stalker.

Although the good news is: he's probably not a creep. I got very clear asperger/autism vibes from him when I saw him in person. He's really just that socially awkward and really doesn't actually understand personal space and limits. His explanation to having acted stalker-ish? That he was just horny. He's like that... I dunno, imagine an awkward teen nerd who lives in his mother's basement, then moves out and starts driving tractors for a living, and then finds a hookup site... yeah. Totally harmless, but just very very awkward. It was weird to have such a guy for a bed-mate. Just gotta say that. It was an experience.

He was very sweet, in person. Adorkable, kinda. Really not a hottie, and talked way too much, but yeah he totally fucked me good, and I even came. I came really hard, like I spasmed uncontrollably for probably half a minute while he fucked me and it felt extremely good. He was very patient with me and caring. He stayed for 3 hours, and didn't complain about me taking cigarette breaks. I got my orgasm about half an hour before he left at 1 am. He came twice, inside me, an hour or so apart. I'll likely get some pregnancy tests in a while just to be sure, but right now I don't worry about it. It's unlikely I'd get knocked up.

But just whyyyy did I do this?! When I wrote him the text the evening before this current night, stating "Fuck you're nagging. Come to my place then and you can get some pussy" I couldn't figure out why I went along with it. If it was just to get him to stop nagging with all his million text messages, or cause I thought here's a guy who very desperately wants me and he's very available, so why not just take the opportunity. Yes, he texted me again. And again. And againagainagainagaaaaaain! I dunno how much, but around 20 or so texts per day since a couple of days ago. I ignored him until I caved in. Now how the fuck am I supposed to get rid of him?! This probably made it a million times worse, cause now he thinks I want to continue seeing him.

I didn't know I was this much of a mess... that I'd actually fuck a guy who's stalking me and driving me fucking crazy with a million messages. Like what kind of level is this to stoop down to?! Fucking hell, what's wrong with me?! I should probably lay off of qruiser for a while, but I know I'm not going to. My list of everyone I've had sex with (yes I write them all down in a document) is starting to look ridiculous. This has been a crazy year. The last 3 of them I don't know the names of, so I had to write either their online profile names or just a short description of them. I've fucked 5 different guys this year alone. In total we're now up at 19 guys, and of course keep counting. Makes me think of a song by Cher in which she sings "your list of lovers is looking like a resume"... I'm starting to wonder if my neighbours think I'm a prostitute, considering they must have noticed I get random, often quite trashy-looking, middle aged male strangers coming for short visits every now and then, and often at night. Well it must seem suspicious if they've noticed it.

But let's get back on topic. This fucking sex addiction... making me do stuff that no one in their bloody right mind would do... and then my conscience hits me. That this is not right and where might it eventually lead to? I could fuck literally anyone. There's danger in that, that I don't want to think about. And then suddenly it hits me... that is literally why I could fuck anyone... because I'm a sex addict: it makes me not care about who it is or what they look like or what they are like or anything, because all I care about is that pleasure. And filling both my figurative and literal void.

In a comic magazine that I subscribe to, the actually physical paper kind of comic magazine, I found one strip that spoke to me so clearly on this very topic. It was a conversation between two women who are friends, where one says to the other that she keeps meeting some sketchy guy and can't figure out why she keeps meeting him. And then she says "I guess he fills a void" and her friend giggles cause of the underlying meaning that the guy fills the void in her pussy. And she says, embarrassed by her friend's giggling "No, but I meant..." I should get some magnets so that I can put it up on my fridge. I've cut it out from the magazine already and it's been lying on my microwave for a few weeks now. I love it and it's perfect.

I feel sad now. Yes, it clearly seems my insatiable pussy is gonna be the end of me, one day. If I continue like this. Good I'm dealing with the trauma stuff in therapy now, and I'm sure I'll bring up my sex addiction at some point. Just trying to find a good point to sneak it into the conversation, somewhere it fits. We continued with my timeline yesterday, and got up until the point of around age 15 in my life. Before we got into that though, I did actually tell her about this stalker guy, and fucking hell... I told her I'd keep pushing him away and stand my ground... and then not even 10 hours later I have him in my bed, fucking each other like crazy. My life is the butt of a joke. I honestly don't know if I should laugh or cry about this. My emotions are so confused. My thoughts are too. I don't know why I did it. This could have gone very wrong, and it still can. He might get obsessed with me, for real, now after this. And by the way, I didn't give him my adress, he already had that information as well, cause I asked him if he needed my adress or already had it.

I've no idea where he could be taking this moment of affection now, if he'll become a stalker for real. It scares me now. He might really just be too dumb to know he's crossing the line and I might just be too dumb to get a grip on myself to tell him that clearly, without hesitating and wavering shyly. But it's just that. I think both my stupidity and his stupidity could do some real harm between us. Well that's exactly why I don't ever again want to actually date other people who have the same kind of mental disabilities as I do. It's a huge misunderstanding and clash waiting to happen, cause it creates a huge breach in communication. Sure, this is not a relationship as such, but he might start thinking it is, and that's what I worry about.

Well I got myself into this mess, didn't I?
And I was the one to fuck this mess, wasn't I? 
Oh dear lord, what the fuck am I doing...

Yeah I'm not being self-destructive at all, am I? The thing about that though is that I simply don't know when I'm self-harming or not. It has become part of the essence of me, an integral part of my persona, and it is in fact inseparable from the rest of me. So I can't tell it apart from the rest.

This low feels so damn far down that I'm not even trying to climb up from it. I'm just sitting here, staring upwards, shaking my head in disbelief and thinking "now how the fuck am I supposed to get back up from here?!"

The tugging grief of my regret

It's fucked up but sometimes I still catch myself wishing I could look like a hot guy. I know that's my escapism re-surfacing like "don't want to be a woman cause that's riddled with pain, man is safer" and I'm just like "shut up already, you've had your dance, now let me be". Like it just saddens me, that shards of my broken dream still cut me, now after my realisation that I was never a guy to begin with and I'm really just a traumatised woman, but I want to make it better and make it work for me, in a way that I don't feel broken. So getting those "oh but you could go back to living a lie" kinda thoughts is just really heavy, you know? And kinda disheartening. Or rather, heart-stabbing.

I don't really have a concept of gender. Like what even is being a man or a woman. Detransitioning confused that for me. I mean, I think of myself as a woman cause I'm comfortable presenting as one and want to have a female body, but I don't feel any sense of belonging to either gender or groups of other people of either gender. I feel just as detached from women as I do from men. I think my transition was also largely seeking a sense of belonging. And I almost, very almost, found it there. But then it was snatched away from me and I feel lost again. I don't feel a sense of belonging with cis people either, although I know I'm part of that demographic. I feel kinda lost in between being trans and cis, like I've got one foot on each side, not wanting to fully step over to either side.

I don't think either of this makes me nonbinary somehow. I think it just makes me utterly confused about who or what I am due to both my trauma and my transition that I ended up regretting. It's like I have to start over from scratch and I've no idea where to go or where I currently am even. I feel like I've lost something, not gained something. Like a piece of me was ripped off and now I'm struggling to hold myself together without that piece. And I'm scrambling to find another piece to replace it with so I can stop falling apart.

I know that many detransitioned women are radfems and thus I've come across a few who are, online. I sometimes hear the same gender-confusion in their words too, and I wonder if that's just what happens when you detransition. That maybe many of us feel like we've lost a part of ourselves that we can't quite cope well without, but we also don't seem to really know what it is that we lost. But I think it largely is that sense of belonging, to the trans community, and then as we are more or less shunned from it upon detransition, that hurts. And yet we don't quite belong with the cis demographic either, cause of our transition histories. We end up in between a bit, at least for some time while trying to figure all that stuff out.

In much of the trans community, we're suddenly seen as a threat and our stories not valid anymore. However, the truscum/transmed part of the trans community seems (so far) to be very supportive of those who detransition. Although I have to be a bit careful to not be used as an example of "how harmful the tucute ideology is, cause look it makes people regret hrt/surgery and then detransition, like this poor girl here" when that in fact was not the reason I transitioned nor the reason I detransitioned. I don't want to be used for anyone's personal or political agenda, whether I agree with that agenda or not, if it's twisting my truth to mean something else. I think I'll always have to watch my step wherever I take my story. Cause it is controversal, hardly understood, often misconstrued and wrongfully judged, and definitely often used for various agendas although most of those are transphobic.

I think it's stupid. That just because some people detransition that would somehow "de-legitimise" transsexualism as a real condition. Like what, if I had gotten misdiagnosed with diabetes and gotten bad reactions from the insulin, that doesn't mean no one has diabetes and insulin shots are pure poison? That argumment is so bafflingly retarded that I don't even have the energy to roll my eyes about it or facepalm. I have a brain. I can use it. I wish certain idiots online would stop assuming otherwise.

I just ache to be at peace with my body. I know that fixing up the transition tragedy will only be half the work needed. I know that very well. I have connected with my womanhood and some of the physical aspects pertaining to that, but it's still an ongoing and deep pain, a process and my trans-escapism resurfacing from time to time is to me a clear sign that I really still am struggling to fully accept myself. I've taken huge steps in the right direction but I'm still far from the... finishing line, if there even is such a thing. My point is I'm not there yet, whatever "there" is.

I may have really bad "reverse dysphoria" and a deep sadness over my female traits I lost and over the male traits I gained, and I'm sure that regaining what I've lost and getting rid of what I've gained will be a huge relief and liftening of a burden. But I'm also sure that I'll still feel a certain sense of hollowness even when my body looks and is as though it's been fully restored and maybe even more womanly than it was before. Cause such deep effects of trauma don't just go away over an insight.

I'm pretty sure that, for example with getting new breasts, I'd feel immensely happy about that, but that I'd also get moments of panic, feeling like "these shouldn't be on my chest" cause my trauma basically wants to sexually nullify my body and keep it without female sex characteristics. Or it sees me as a prepubescent child, which I do not want to look like at all. So that's not a genuine wish, but another aspect of my trans-self-defense-mechanism. That's a conflict in my mind I will have to sort out, with or without the help of actual therapy. I could probably sort that kind of thing out on my own, cause I did exactly that about my vagina. That was a long, intense and painful journey in and of itself, but I came out of it crying out of happiness and fully loving that traumatised part of my body that I had previously hated.

Whatever I did, I did exactly what was needed. And I think I could do the same wthing with my chest, but I can't do it without the breasts I yearn to have. I'm broken without them. I feel mutilated, amputated, with a phantom limb sensation strong enough to keep me captive in my own pain. It feels like the absolute worst form of self harm I've ever done to myself.

Yes, it does feel a lot like my transition was in fact a form of self harm and now my detransition is me trying to heal myself. And I've lost limbs to my own desperation and pain. That pains me more than I can put into words. I'm older now, I'm wiser. I know not to reach for razorblades or litres of booze, or scramble for any and all pills I can find, just to numb some feelings and shut down some thoughts. I deal more wisely, but pain is still pain, and it ravages me just as much, if not more. Cause the regret itself and knowing this was all self-inflicted... it compresses my chest by force and squeezes all the blood out of my heart until what's left feels like a hollow cavity of how hopeless it feels to want to comfort the inconsolable, of wanting to restore what cannot be undone. Like a sudden wish to be able to wake the dead after a loved one's passing.

This is grief. And I'm screaming, helplessly shaking the cold body of what cannot be revived... the cold body of what I killed... I'm screaming, what have I done?

That is only to paint a picture of what I feel, it's meant to be abstract, not literal. I managed to portray it quite well, as my heart agrees with it somehow. I don't know, it resonates. But my point is I need new tits to be able to work with my emotional hangups about having tits. Cause I simply cannot work with something I do not have. As if I would have lost my legs, I'd need prosthetics to learn how to walk again. Thus, I need tits to learn how to love them.

I really liked my outfit and general style for my grocery shopping today. It really got a kinda "classy but dark" vibe to it... so like a lawyer? Also my makeup got extremely smooth and neat looking with my new makeup sponge and that I managed to do the closest shave ever without cutting my face up at all. But anyway I really liked the look I had today. I think I feel extra awesome about it when I dress in what I'd consider a more "adult feminine" way, cause it further helps me realise I really am fine with having grown up to become a woman, cause that was the one thing I so desperately wanted to avoid, in my transition. So it feels like a huge step, even though it's just some pieces of fabric and residue of makeup. Cause when I look into the mirror when dolled up that way, and seeing a pretty looking woman who is around 30 years old, and not a man or a teen... I feel strangely at ease. Like that's what I am? And the mirror finally shows it.

I think it's possible that the testosterone aged my looks a bit, so that I look more of my actual age or even slightly older, as a woman now. But I looked slightly younger than my age as a man. Cause it's a pattern I often see among trans people, that trans women often struggle with "looking too old" and trans men struggle with "looking too young". It has to be the hormones, I think. And I don't think that's negative however I do need to get used to it, cause I'm still not sure who's face that is in the mirror.

Regardless of how I make myself look or if I don't do anything, I don't recognise my face as my own. I don't think I ever have though. It's always looked and felt like the face of someone else. A stranger that I know all too well. I think that's the constant and always looming dissociation though, that I just don't really connect to my body most of the time, although some parts I connect more or less to than others and how much tends to vary from day to day. It's very weird, actually. I feel like my body changes, although very subtly, from day to day. Like some days I feel like I'm significantly taller and other days much shorter instead, like I can feel it physically as though I've gained or lost several centimetres of height over night somehow. I like the days when I feel shorter better, cause I tend to feel more... pardon the pun but it's perfect: grounded.

And at other times my hands feel foreign to me. Like they're someone else's hands. It's weird but also a very magnificent feeling, like it's kinda "wow" about it in a beautiful way. I tend to wave around with my fingers in dancing motions then, kinda, to like just explore the strangeness of that feeling and be in awe about it. Also rather often my legs feel foreign to me in a very similar manner, but then also with the added weirdness that it sometimes makes me walk around to places I don't intend to go to, like I'm just not paying attention to what my brain is up to. I think that is exactly what this is: my brain disconnecting from itself and not paying attention to itself properly. And that creates these sorta alien physical sensations. They don't scare me at all. In fact I tend to feel more visually appealing or attractive when some or all of my limbs feel foreign to me, and my motions feel softer and lighter, more delicate and harmonic. Almost like I'm halfway into a dream.

These are very common experiences for me, I get them almost every day, or several days a week at least. So I'm used to it and it doesn't scare me, but it does mean I feel like a stranger to my own body most of the time, and I can't remember a time I have not felt that disconnect. To some degree or another, I've been constantly dissociating for as far back into my past as I can remember. I tend to call it a "haze" and "mist" cause it kinda puts like a filter between me and... and well myself as well as the world around me. It clogs my mind and lets me see, feel and hear through an unclear and soft nylon-stocking filter.

I think why it's so hard for me to describe my dissociation, is because I don't think I really know anything else. I don't have anything to compre it to. Like I don't know what the antonym of dissociation would even feel like. What's that, clarity? I mean I logically know that my body is mine, cause like who else's would it be? My late grandma's? But mentally it doesn't connect to me much at all. I connect to my pussy quite a lot, my eyes and my hair, but that's about it.

That might also actually be THE explanation for my almost complete lack of appetite this past 1,5 year: I've dissociated away from my sense of hunger.

It explains it perfectly, actually. Cause I can still feel physical hunger just the same, but my mind just doesn't latch onto it but instead shuns it as something foreign and unreal that it doesn't understand or accept as its own feeling. Like it forgot what the physical sensation hunger means and why it's there. It gets angry at it and feels threatened by it. Like a scared animal hissing at someone trying to feed it cause it doesn't trust or understand the hand that feeds it. My dissociation makes everything, externally as well as internally, feel vague, surreal, and very hard to kinda hold onto. I have a very, very huge mind-body disconnect. And they can't communicate with each other at all.

It's more or less always been like that, although shifting focus sometimes, but it used to be to a lesser degree when I was a kid, I think. I think it got worse and/or started, that general dissociation, when I was around 10-12 years old. No it must have been sooner, i was barely even aware of my surroundings as a 5-6 year old! Like I could sit in some shrub and play with my kid toys and not notice that several hours had passed and the entire school was looking for me. That happened a few times. Well at least my bullies couldn't find me either. But then neither could I. And I still can't.

I'm starting to wonder if there even is a "me" to find? Perhaps I have the wrong perspective, and that it's not about finding, cause I've been here all along, haven't I? What kind of mystical force or feeling am I even looking for? I wonder. But maybe life should be about being and creating instead of looking for things. I hate it when I lose something in my home and I can't find it right away. It angers and frustrates me. Eventually I get despondent and drained and then decide to do what I should have done from the start: let it find me instead. What goes around comes around. I think I can apply the same logic to the home that is my mind as well.

I know that I chose to cram in as much experiences as possible into this one life, before I got here, to learn as much as possible and get as much out of one lifetime as possible. Yet I keep blaming God for my misery. That doesn't add up. I caused my misery, cause misery teaches you things and wises you up. I chose the hard way, and thus the only one I can blame is myself. Although I don't think I should. I think I'm trying to reach some kind of "nirvana" in this one life, although that should theoretically not be possible, despite my two previous lives making this life my third. I mean at least it's not my first life, but still very soon for ending the reincarnation cycle. I got fed up with it. I think I'm trying to beat the odds. And where I'm at in life now... I've been opening and closing a lot of doors. It feels like for the first time ever I'm starting to actually become honest to myself. Even if that means losing all of my core beliefs and being left with nothing. Well, nothing but wisdom.

I don't fight it as much anymore, I try not to. Try to welcome the uncomfortable thoughts and let them have their say. Analyse them and find out what they mean. I have more than just a feeling that this journey will lead to most, if not all, of my core beliefs to turn out to be false. And it will hurt me immensely, but it will also strengthen me. Eventually. Am I prepared for that? No, I never will be. That's not something I can prepare myself for. But the harsh truth somehow matters and means more to me now than false comfort does. I'm really taking the "red pill" I guess, as a "The Matrix" metaphor. And if I really want to make the most out of my life and achieve the seemingly impossible for my own personal gain, I have to face that immense fear. So I will. Come hell or high water, I'm gonna learn how to swim until nothing can drown me.

Facing and living my fear of detransitioning gave me just enough strength to know I can do exactly that. Not all at once or right now, but at whatever points I'll feel that pulling towards each of those depths beckoning me from within myself. I have a lot of contacts within my subconscious mind. I'm ironically/contradictory very conscious of it and have a few actually direct connections to it already. Although connecting to them is a bit more complicated and difficult than making a phone call.

God damn I just keep ranting all night... I need sleep, but my mind won't shut up. I want that future though, but most of all I want the journey to it. I did learn to appreciate the small things. I did actually. Yeah, I know now that me and Y definitely met at the wrong points in our lives, like we talked about. But it was right in the sense that I learned a lot from it. I'm starting to see patterns in what that relationship in my past meant for my future. A lot I never could have even remotely foreseen back then, not even 2 years ago. I've changed so much, yet I remained the same.

Dark sides of hookups

So I've decided to meet up with a new guy again, on Thursday, and he'll be staying here with me for a few days. I do feel iffy about him and I don't know why I agreed to meet him. Yeah, I'm "thinking with my pussy" and my sex addiction is taking me places again. I felt iffy about him from the start, as he sent me 4 or 5 messages on qruiser asking if he could crash at my place and fuck me. I ignored him then. Then he sent me text messages to my phone, but I had not given him my number. I asked him how he got it and he said he had dug up my real name from some old diary posts I had made on qruiser and then looked me up online. Creepy.

Then we started talking on the phone as well, and the way he went on and on about wanting to be in a relationship with me and kept bringing up how he "wouldn't mind it" if he got me knocked up... eeeh kinda gets my feelings in a twist about this whole thing. I told him up front that if he got me knocked up I'd get rid of the kid asap cause I don't want kids. I don't think the message got through to him. Cause he just kept saying it would work out cause of being two people caring for the kid, etc. It says on his (very bare) profile that he wants kids. Well I'm not gonna give him one. And about the relationship nagging I've been more vague, like saying "we'll see about that" like we haven't even met yet even. That is creepy too. This is by far the creepiest guy I've ever decided to have sex with and I know I shouldn't.

I really have to learn to say no when they're giving me bad vibes like this. Or my insatiable pussy is gonna be the end of me. Especially now that I'm getting several times over more attention on hookup sites cause of being a cis girl, meaning I'm just gonna have to say no to some people or I won't even be able to fit them all into my schedule without a "time-turner" and my risk of getting harmed and into trouble will or has already increased massively. I can't just keep saying yes to every single guy who wants to fuck me or it's gonna fuck me up. Because that's exactly what I'm doing. Yep, I've got problems. And they're huge.

Being a girl who's a sex addict and insatiable for hookups really does have a huge list of both pros and and cons. I expected this, but oh man, was I not prepared! Girls seeking hookups like this is very rare and very wanted, so, they tend to get very drowned in sexual attention on such sites. That much I knew, but I was not prepared for actually receiving that sort of reality, and I was not prepared for the consequences. Couple of days ago when I looged into qruiser after having been offline for just 2 days or so, my inbox was filled with 40 new unread messages. That is an extreme record, as before it had never been more than 10. Over 30 of those were men wanting to have sex with me. Some of them are inevitably gonna be creeps and/or dangerous.

But I definitely have thought about that, like what if I would someday want a kid, despite really not wanting to now? It likely woudn't happen even if I at some point would want to. I don't think it would be the greatest idea to raise a kid entirely on my own (or with a random creep from online), so I'd need a partner. Someone I could stand being around a little longer than 10 months. And I'm unlikely to find someone like that anytime soon. Being a smoker with a crappy diet and fucked up sleep pattern that I can't change wouldn't go well together with a pregnancy either.

The kid would likely also get asperger's due to my genes and I'm not sure I could handle a kid with special needs when I can't even handle my own special needs. I'm almost 30 and I know fertility starts going down noticably at around age 35, and there's just no way I could possibly have all I need and everything in order and actually want a kid, within 6 or so years from now. Also it's not certain at all that I'm still fertile from all these years of taking testosterone. So if I'd start trying for a kid sometime after age 35, I likely wouldn't succeed. So on that note I think it's better if I'd be fine with staying child-less, well, forever. Even if I'd change my mind sometime later on and suddenly want a kid, reality is that it's likely too late by then. I'll get cats instead, as soon as I can. I'd love to raise some cats.

I'm just thinking pragmatically and these thoughts popped up cause I'm suddenly getting a little scared about if this creepy dude I'll see on Thursday might actually knock me up and if I'd run into trouble having it aborted then. Like I don't know just how creepy that dude is. He could threaten me to keep it, for all I know. But then I also wouldn't have to tell him, so hopefully that wouldn't be an issue. But it does still make my stomach turn a bit.

I really should unbook with this guy. He's giving me such bad vibes, this doesn't feel safe. Am I walking into a trap? If only I could actually know. I don't know how to say 'no' and decline. I know that comes from the rape. That if I'd say no I'd be talked into it and/or forced and then I'd rather force myself into it despite not wanting to or being scared of the guy. Self-defense became self-harm. I don't know to learn to say no cause I keep trying to but I can't make myself do it and always give in eventually. I freeze up, lose my words and agree instead, or am vague and scared and then agree. It's not good.

Well what are my issues with this particular guy then? He gives me extremely intense stalker vibes. Like first he was very persistent on qruiser when I didn't respond, then he basically "doxxed" me and found my cell phone number which he texted me to, then now he won't stop texting me for even an hour. I swear he sends me at least one (but up to 8) texts per hour. Mostly I ignore them or give short answers seldom. And he's been very persistent and creepy about wanting to be in a relationship with me. Like we seriously didn't even know of each other's existence a week ago and barely know anything about each other, but he keeps talking about how much he wants to be in a relationship, moving in together, having kids together, yeah am I getting the point across? He's completely unreasonable and high stalker factor here.

I think actually meeting him and having sex with him in my own home could put me in danger. I don't think he'd want to let go quickly if I do that, and giving him my adress and access to my home could be a very bad move. I'm not sure he'd let go quickly even if I don't, and actually abort the mission instead. He's seriously giving me the creeps and I think I have good reason to be worried about his intentions, even though I could of course also be wrong about my fears and he might just be very socially inept but harmless. Well, my gut is telling me this is dangerous and I should not do it. My intellect tells me the same and in this moment even my pussy is having doubts about him. Like I'm not even getting horny at all thinking about meeting him anymore. Those are some pretty clear signs and red flags my body is giving me. I don't know if I think he'd actually physically hurt me, but he does seem to be very psychologically... demanding. Like he's not respecting my boundaries or personal space much at all. I even told him that I didn't want to chat constantly but he completely ignored that. That alone raised my suspicions.

Well I guess I'm just gonna have to hope I can get him to back off if I can manage to cancel this meeting, or I might have to look into getting a restraining order and/or change my phone number. Yikes, these are the dark sides to internet hookups... Cause you have literally no idea when you might hook up with someone actually dangerous.

Is there a higher risk of straight guys being like this? Dangerous, I mean. Yeah, in the sense that there are many more straight guys than there are bi and gay guys, percentually the vast majority of dangerous men are straight, logically. But I mean... am I in bigger danger as a woman than I was as a man, looking for male hookups? Perhaps I am cause there is another factor to it: that I get a lot more attention from men on those sites as a woman than I ever did as a man. About 4 or 5 times as much attention, if not more. That, in and of itself, inevitably increases the risk. Well, perhaps don't be surprised if I end up raped and murdered while wearing next to nothing in a ditch somewhere at some point... I've lived a tragic life, so I don't suppose my death will be any less tragic. It will likely be the cherry on top of that miserable cake I called life.

That doesn't bother me though. I think the dead likely don't care much about how they died. It's the ones they left behind that care about how their loved ones died. But it doesn't really matter to me how or when exactly I'll die, as long as my mind is still functioning at least until close to death-moment.

But anyhow, this got a little too dark. Sorry about that. I digressed. I don't think this particular hookup would kill me and dump me in a ditch. But I do fear he might get obsessive with me and contact me constantly and possibly even act as though we're in a relationship together and get jealous and keep pushing me about moving in together and getting babies and just... well, that should be enough of a reason. I mean, I think that's enough reason to be worried about meeting him, even though I don't fear for my life per se. Getting killed by a hookup would suck really bad, but getting a stalker on my hands would also fucking suck. I don't think he would kill me, I really don't. Although it's possible he might get threatening and/or abusive. And well, that scares me too.

The dark side of hookup culture is definitely accidentally hooking up with stalkers, rapists, killers, etc. I'm gonna really have to learn to say no when I get bad vibes like this, but I just don't know how? Usually if there's someone I'm not interested in or feel iffy about I just ignore them. But this guy I couldn't ignore cause he got my number and wouldn't stop texting. He doesn't seem to understand that he crossed a line with that, and I can't seem to convey that he did. I don't know how to stand up for myself about such things and how to not back down when being given a crappy explanation or no explanation at all. But I do fully understand it's a totally bad thing to just keep saying yes even when I don't want it for the sake of it not turning into rape or being talked into meeting up after having said no. That I'd rather hurt myself than being hurt by others. That I'd take the fall for them. And it's damaging me. Or, I'm pretty sure that does damage me in some way.

Cause it's like I break my own trust in myself, kinda. Like going against my gut feeling and forcing myself to have sex with guys I don't want to have sex with because I can't say no to them. That's almost like self-rape too. And that is me breaching my own boundaries. I don't think many people understand how much it fucks you up to let someone you're really not into feel you up and fuck your holes when you'd rather just run away, simply cause you can't say no. And for what? Isn't it just as bad to be hurt by someone else as it is to hurt yourself, in the same manner and degree? I don't know. It could actually be worse. To betray yourself instead of being hurt by someone random. Cause who should you be able to trust, if not yourself? Well I really can't trust myself. At all. I'm a hazard to myself. There's nothing I can trust myself to not do.

I don't know if that's an aspect of my sex addiction or really just a distorted aspect of hyper-vigilance due to the trauma. I mean distorted in the sense that it derives from hyper-vigilance as a form of self-defense, but is more of a self-fulfilling prophecy in which I achieve the very thing I'm trying to avoid: getting hurt. That it's sexual as well as compulsive, makes it kinda overlap with my sex addiction or be an aspect of that too. I can't quite tell them apart.

I kinda think less of myself for that sex addiction now though. And it's sexist. Cause as a man I thought it was almost kinda normal, in a way. Like guys are naturally more sexual and more often into casual sex and such. Like I was still clearly extra with my sexuality even for a guy... but now? As a woman I'm completely and utterly crazy with my sexual ways compared to other women on average, like it's not normal even in the slightest sense. That as a woman my sex addiction and sexual behaviours are clearly outrageous. And that perspective kinda weighs on me a bit. It's both because of societal norms and simply biology.

I mean, according to nature (applies to most mammals) females are hardwired to be protective of their pussies to avoid getting pregnant too often and with bad mates, while males are hardwired to want to spread their seeds everywhere to get their genes going and knock up as many females as possible. And society enforces that by saying women should "keep their legs closed" and men get praised for being more sexually active. It is a stereotype, but it is based on biology and natural breeding habits that apply to many more species than just humans. So it's not really sexist, but I'm sure it comes across like that for some people (who are probably not reading this). And so, my sexuality going beyond the opposite to what my nature says and giving my female ass the sexual behaviour of an extreme male... kinda messes with me a little bit.

But at the same time I don't want for it to be any different. I like being this overly sexual, unemotional about it and fucking hookups. In fact I wish for it to stay the same after I've gone off testo. But likely it won't. I just wish I could keep at least half of my current libido. I think I'd be miserable if it drops to zero again. But maybe it won't go down all that much actually, considering this kind of "effect" to get from solely testo, is kinda rare. I mean likely it's not only testo that makes me this intensely sexual. But we'll see, I guess.

That is basically the only thing about testo that I want to keep exactly how it currently already is. Yeah, and my fat distribution. But that's not enough to make me want to stay on it.

I still have one more day to try to make myself cancel this meeting with this guy, and the sooner the better. Cause fuck me sideways if I don't, huh?