Broken without my home

Fuck... I hit a new low and it's the absolute bottom. A fair warning: this entry is very dark, sad and upsetting. It will likely worry you, but please read it all through before you panic.

This pain... it's soooo strong it makes my chest physically hurt. I can't bear this. I literally can't bear this anymore. I got angry at another useless shit thing again but it led to something else... something much worse. I realised that the reason every little shit thing pisses me off so bad is because it makes me feel like I can't do anything at all and that everything is completely hopeless. That's why I get temporarily suicidal when I get angry. But this time... that feeling stayed. Cause I looked into it, and it opened quite a can of worms. It's breaking me.

It made me feel this intense pain that's pushing extremely hard inside but it can't get out. It's locked inside. It all made me realise, after the anger was gone again, that I don't wanna live anymore. Cause it's too much. Now it broke the seal, and tipped me over the edge. I can't carry this weight anymore. I can't even lift it.

I don't wanna do any suicide attempts, don't even wanna plan it. But I can't live either. Not like this. I know I've done good. I know I've tried my absolute hardest to stay above the surface. I feel grateful towards myself and how well I've done. It's not my fault that it got too much. I almost expected it would someday. These past couple of weeks or so I've felt I've been getting worse very rapidly and losing the grip.

This is NOT a suicide letter, I'm not going anywhere. I've only just admitted to myself that this is how I feel. And I'm just venting it now. I've no intentions or plans. If or when I feel even the SLIGHTEST hint towards actually killing myself, I'll run fast to the psychiatric emergency. Because I want help and I want to be able to live. First and foremost that is what I want. I want to live but I just can't. So what I'll do now? I'll vent, I'll talk, I'll sit on my ass and continue doing nothing in my apartment that's slowly becoming a health hazard. I've more important things to worry about than some clothing piles and nasty but dried up dishes. I'll try my best to just stay calm, rest a lot, try to take care of my body as well as I can, listen to myself, just try to let these feelings exist in me and if I can release them in some harmless healthy ways that would be very good. That's my plan. And if I can't manage it, I'll call the psych.

I don't want for this detrans shit to kill me. I really really don't. It feels like it's literally sucking all the life force out of me, draining me until there's just nothing left, like I have no control over it, and it's killing me. But I keep trying to fight it and find ways to stay alive and cope. And I will continue trying.

Oh god I'm glad I didn't go to Uppsala to see my friends there this week. I kinda had a hunch I was too mentally unwell to manage it. Guess I was kinda right. Yeah, they invited me to a party there (which is tomorrow, but I've known about it for 2 weeks) and I guess that was a hint that I was invited to stay at their place and hang out, but I just couldn't. Couldn't even handle the thought of packing a bag. Let alone actually traveling. I fantasise about seeing them again. Maybe by spring. Maybe who knows what. I don't think they care or think much about me anymore. That makes it practically impossible for me to even send a fucking text message to them. That too hurts too much.

My best friend is irreplacable, and my broken heart knows that. We were soulmates. Soulmate sisters, we used to say. And we were gonna stick together forever, inseparable. Whatever happened to that? I dunno. It happened before I moved here, some 7 years ago. I love her to death and beyond, but I can't pick up the phone to text her. Cause I think she gave up on us. It hurts more and more by the day. Especially this week when I got that party invitation but no message. I didn't know what to think. And she never even likes or replies to any of my facebook posts, but she does to the friends we have in common. I always like her posts and check her page. Makes me wonder if she unfollowed me. If I'm dead to her or something.

But anyhow. That probably exacerbated my mood plummeting. And my hormones being whackier than ever since pms-ing, then period happening with extremely painful cramps and a complete inability to regulate my body temperature. Yeah, I know full well that this suicidal thing could just be cause my hormones are literally all over the fucking place right now. I've no idea what either my estrogen or my testosterone are doing, but it's not nice whatever it is. Not surprising at all if they fuck up my mood massively as well. But holy shit this isn't an okay level to be at. It's just really not. I got a doctor's appointment on the 10th, if I can hang on until then without having to go get myself locked up somewhere safe, I can bring up my issue with moodswings or what's going on to that doctor. I don't think it's really mood swings though, more like mood dip and it's not getting back up again. It just keeps plummeting.

Oh god I just wanna disappear... just lie down somewhere soft and warm and fall asleep and not wake up again. That would be so sweet. Just rest forever. I'm cold again. Soon I'll overheat. Whatever. Somehow I can't be bothered to care about that anymore. This pain of detransing is choking me, it's suffocating me. I don't wanna care about my looks anymore. I don't wanna feel this way. My chest grief spread out to include my testo changes as well, and that grief completely consumed me. Swallowed me whole. I think that's why I hit this breaking point. It felt like the chest grief alone was getting too much. Then it grew massively. And that totally tipped me over the edge.

I feel so horrible, and utterly horrified, about my body. I've destroyed it. That's all my feelings are telling me right now. That I destroyed my own body, permanently, and I can't restore it... ever again. That feeling is pure pain and it's currently digging a hole in my chest. I think most of that pain comes from the result of what my body became like, it comes from that feeling of regret and that I know I shouldn't have done it... it comes from what I can't get back... I just shouldn't have fucking transitioned! Sex change, my ass! It didn't make me a man... it only ruined my womanhood. Tore it to fucking shreds. Like a meat-grinder. It ruined me, it literally ruined me. What the fuck have I done?! What have I done to myself... how could I? How could I... I just want my body back... the way nature made it for me. How could I ruin that gift?

I did know I had natural beauty, back in my teens. I don't think I've ever told you this... or anyone for that matter... Cause as a trans guy I was ashamed of it, and now as a detrans fuckup it just really REALLY hurts to even just think about it... but I was really confident about my body when I was around 13-17 years old. I loved showing it off and took every chance I could to flash it cause I was so proud of its beauty, I loved my curves, I loved my boobs, I loved my face, even my big ass... I loved the completeness of it. I did feel complete... for but a fraction of my life... before my rapist and R destroyed that feeling. Before I destroyed my own beauty... and here I am, grieving my fucking heart to pieces.

Yeah, my gender is "fuckup" now, cause I don't deserve to be a woman. Wow, that sentence really hurt to write. I love being a woman, I truly do... it's the sweetest, most comforting thing ever, to truly love my womanhood like that... it's such a warming and genuine love... and being a woman is the best, most beautiful thing ever in this dark cruel world... that's one of the truly good things I saw and can't unsee, the amazingness of being a woman... but I can't forgive myself for what I've done. I erased my womanhood. And what's left is a fuckup. I don't have a woman's body anymore. I have a fuckup's body. Cause I fucked it up.

Be careful what you wish... cause it might just come true.

I don't know how to possibly survive this. It feels like I can't. Like it's just not possible. Like the tragedy that is my life has no end. It will just keep getting worse until I stop it from becoming even worse ever again. Before I pull the breaks on life. I can't find any solutions to anything. I'm just barely even here. Stuck in survival mode. I can't just sit and wait for "better times" my entire life! Cause I've never done anything else than waiting for things to get better. I've never actually enjoyed life. It makes me wonder what's really the point of it all.

And oh god... Last time I was in a psych ward for being suicidal... was because I hated my pre-transition body and couldn't live without getting to transition! Realising that now just broke my fucking heart. No, it fucking shattered it! Will I ever find peace with my body? I love my body... I want for it to be well. It's a good a lovely body that functions so well and doesn't look bad... considering its circumstances. It's very comforting and warm to hold it, the smooth skin and little hairs on it that feel good to touch... the way it responds when I touch it... but it's broken and I can't connect to what I've done to it. I can only connect to what's original/natural about it. That is what I feel is the real me. The unaltered parts. That's what truly clicking with me. Those parts are sooo amazing I don't even have words to describe how much I truly, genuinely love them. I treasure them so much, and hold onto them so hard, cause I still have them and they're mine and I need them so much. They comfort me. But the rest, the altered stuff... I can't bear it. I feel so sad for how I've hurt my body... Transitioning saved my life back in 2013 but now my treatment is killing me. Was it worth it then? If it does kill me... truly hoping it won't... was it ever worth it?

I can't think clearly. This pain is blocking my mental pathways. This pain has dug enough holes in me for me to feel it almost constantly now. Everything trans triggers me, to either sadness or anger. I don't know what to possibly do to distract or amuse myself online or anywhere. I don't have any creativity or interests. I don't know for how long except from the few random spurs. It's just me and my pain. I can't draw, I can't write. I can't unfocus, I can't breathe. I'm stuck in this quicksand and I keep sinking. That's a very good description of my situation actually: quicksand.

I read your reply to my previos blog post, X. Thank you, it was really good things you brought up. I read it on my way to see my therapist yesterday, I was just on my way to leave when you told me you wrote and sent it. So I didn't have time to tell you I was gonna read it and was happy you wrote it. Then I've just been too miserable to talk to you at all. Also got my 5th present from you today. Thank you. This one actually is wine red.

"We've fallen deep so far inside
behind the walls we choose to hide
We cannot love, we can only feed, the liar inside
Our heavy heart died long ago
We shut down truth, claimed we didn't know
and then we smiled into the face of the liar inside"
- the chorus from "The liar inside" by Human Drama.

Maybe these feelings won't lead to any actual plans or attempts. Maybe it won't get worse than to just wishing I was dead. That's bad in itself, but not as bad as actual actions in that direction. Me being suicidal doesn't always lead to actions. Sometimes it's just a feeling. Let's hope it's like that this time, and that I'll get better again soon. I do want to get better.

Can I end this entry on that note, without worrying you to panic? I hate it when anyone is worried about me. I hate it so much. But I just have to vent and maybe it's good for to know. But please just see it for what it is: me admitting to feeling this way. Nothing more. It doesn't change my actions. But I will be more careful and more keen. I will try my absolute hardest to prevent any actual attempts. That much I can promise.

Torn between my vacation and my home

This has been a bad week but I'm slowly starting to get slightly better, at least physically. My crap diet, forgetting meds, crap sleeping pattern, etc had caught up with me bad. That it was pms on top of that as well I didn't know until I woke up this morning with my first period for almost 2 years now. And I was so relieved to see that red spot in my pantiliner. I've never been so happy to see my own blood before, ahaha...

I've gotten a bit better sleep pattern, managed to remember taking my meds for the past few days, and also managed to fix up my diet slightly. My diet had gotten so bad it took a toll on my digestive system with intense stomach pains and constipation, so I had to do something. High fiber toasts instead of muffins, was the only solution I could physically manage, and barely even that. That seems to be helping a lot though, so that's good.

Emotionally I'm pretty much still as messy though. I don't feel connected to my emotions and feel constantly weighed down by them. Like a dull, pounding sadness and built up frustration constantly brewing in the background. It keeps me tense and on edge.

I wrote a reply to a post at Susan's Place that I think really captures how I feel about my body but specifically my face these days. Like I've noticed I do feel a quite strong disconnect to how I look which is probably something like gender dysphoria. I struggle to make sense of the feeling, but it's not like I reject the traits I feel dysphoric about, I just can't connect to them and it's more of a "shut off" feeling.

Like this metaphor I made, I think really illustrated how that feeling presents itself within myself:

"It feels more like a self-loving disconnect like I'm patiently waiting for my body to pick up the phone on the other end but all I get is a "the number you're calling is currently unavailable" and I just keep calling and leaving sweet, caring voice mail messages. Please call back soon, I need you. And it feels like a sad sigh of "oh what have I done to myself" without really wanting to dig into the true depth of that feeling, so it stays at a barely managable surface level."

It's like a haunting feeling of wondering if my body is really alright, like trying to get a hold of a friend who you know is suffering but they never answer your calls. And like you really care about them and love them, and you're getting desperate like "pleeeaase call back, I care about you so much, I just wanna hear your voice" but they never do, and it worries you, but also you know they're still alive and all.

But it's also that feeling like I betrayed myself and am sorry towards myself. Like I really hurt myself and I feel so bad about it. That's what I regret the most. That I hurt myself by transitioning.

It's an eerily haunting feeling, and very heavy. Like my body doesn't wanna respond cause it's upset with me and the changes I've done to it. I'm so sorry and I just wanna help making it better, but I don't know how and my options are limited. I'm scared to hurt you more, again. This "new" (yeah old) dysphoric feeling is regards to my changes from testosterone. And I've noticed I actually feel similarly towards them as I do towards my chest: grief, and regret. I feel very conflicted about my hairiness, face shape changes, obviously my facial hair, hairline and little conflicted about my voice. Cause I do feel like those things made me "less me" like they changed my looks in a way that makes me feel disconnected to myself, cause it's not what I naturally had, it's not something I truly ever wanted (just thought I did), but it was a mistake that I came to love.

Do you remember that metaphor I once made about feeling like my femaleness is like my home that I'm missing terribly, and my maleness is like a beautiful and amazing vacation? Keep that in mind for a moment:

Essentially I'm torn between if I should reverse the changes or try to make amends with them. Cause what feeling often comes along with regret? The fear of making more regrets, no matter which way you go. I am scared to make any more permanent changes to my body due to what I personally think is dysphoria, cause I've been wrong before and it had devastating consequences. So like, me trying to reconcile and make amends with my facial hair, deep voice, etc and having decided to keep those things doesn't mean I have no issues with them.

I can't connect them to my female gender, but I also don't have the heart to reverse of them, cause my heart is torn between my vacation and my home.

I feel like that about my body. Both missing how it was originally and not wanting to reverse it cause I also love how it became. I'm both dysphoric and satisfied with it at the same time and that's a very tough mix of feelings to deal with. Cause I'm clearly not dealing with it. Like I just dunno what to do about it. I feel at a loss with it. It's an intense inner struggle of self-love and disconnect, trying to connect but not getting an answer, feeling betrayed by myself and grieving my lost original beauty. Just because I once had it but now it's gone.

Perhaps I was too quick on saying I've "integrated my male and female sides" cause this doesn't feel integrated at all. Perhaps I've missed a piece of that puzzle and became disintegrated again. And also I feel much more feminine and female than I first gave myself credit for. Or rather I "backtracked" a little bit into my detransing when I started thinking I was more androgynous than I really think I am. Truth is I don't know how much of my androgyny is genuine or "learned" from my upbringing. But I do truly feel like I need to be really female to feel right and connected to my body, although I'm not sure what that means. What's "female enough" for me? How much more female do I need to be? Is there a limit of what would be "too female" for my liking, and in that case what's that?

Boobs and pussy, hell yeah. Thin waist and wide hips too. And smoothness does feel like something I need a bit more of but I don't know how much, and voice wise I really don't know. All my gut and heart is telling me is that I need for my body to be "unmistakenly female" like no one would ever doubt I'm a woman unless they're blind. Like... give me back my passing privilege! I don't think I truly feel like my male traits are "me" in that deep sense of self kind of way, but rather that I just really like them and would panic if I lost them. I wear them like precious jewellery I refuse to take off, but I don't wear them like my actual skin or parts of myself.

I know they technically ARE parts of my actual body, and that's exactly why I struggle with them so bad, cause in my mind I don't connect to them as parts of my actual self, but like additions to my actual self. Like they're part of my style that I really really love, but I want to be able to take off my style and be naked without my male traits. But I can't. I can't take them off and then put them back on again. I don't feel like I'm naked enough when I'm actually naked because of my male traits. Like I really like my black lacey skirts and my wine red lipstick, but I would get really scared and panicky if I one day couldn't take them off anymore.

And I think I've figured out that I feel like that about my male traits. Them being permanent on my body scares and haunts me, but I don't want to lose them forever. It's especially hard when I meet people that I don't want for to see me with stubble, don't want for them to know I grow hair there, and I can't hide it well enough. Just try to imagine having sex with a full face of makeup to cover it up and being so damn worried it'll rub off on the sheets or on my partner that I can't even relax and enjoy myself properly. And forget about them staying the night cause they'd rub up against my damn sandpaper rough stubbly face in the next morning.

I don't wanna have to deal with that. For god knows how long. I can't connect it to my womanhood, I just can't. It's just way too manly. And it makes me feel so awkward and weird and uncomfortable about it. Cause like 99% of people do connect beards to men and not to women. Except from dicks, beards are kinda considered the most male body trait possible. Others don't see me as a real woman with it, and I can't blame them. Cause neither can I. My feelings just keep screaming that at me, and I can't comfort them.

I still need those traits as a temporary addition, but that I can't possibly have. Being stuck with the only two options of either keeping them forever on me or removing them to never be able to have them again... fills me with an existential crisis like no fucking other. Because both those options are wrong for me, probably equally wrong even, and I can't think of any way I could possibly solve that situation.

It makes me wanna cry. It makes me feel inconsolable sadness. Like it's just too painful. I love the way I look now, but I feel a terrible disconnect to it cause it's not how I see myself. Oh what should I do?

I think this might be a period of conflicting feelings that eventually will lead to me realising I'm holding onto the silver lining of a damaged past and not truly going for what I actually need for myself. I think I will eventually come to a point where I'll realise I simply have to let go of my male traits. Cause no matter how good they were for me in the past, they're harmful for me now. I'm just refusing to accept that. It's not my femaleness that is dead or dying... it's my maleness. And I refuse to bury it. Still holding on to its lifeless body. I can't move on... unless I let go of him.

But I need more time. And some fucking useful therapy! How much longer do I need to wait for that!? And who the HELL am I even supposed to talk to about these detrans feelings? I'm spinning in circles, I'm biting my own tail, I'm fucking trapped in my misery and it's just getting worse. And my therapist doesn't get it and I can't convey it, what the hell am I supposed to do?! I'm getting desperate! I'm figuratively biting myself bloody over this. I'm so tired. I can't get anything done. I haven't managed to clean any dirty dishes or get any laundry done for months. Fucking months!!! I just keep buying new clothes, but I can't keep up with that anymore either and I'm running out of clean underwear... I keep eating on dirty plates and drinking from dirty cups. I've drank coffee from the same dirty cup that I haven't cleaned for like... a month?! It's insane! I can't do anything except from sitting on my ass by my computer and going to "therapy" that is utterly unhelpful just hoping it will get helpful soon while I'm fucking withering away in my own filth!

It doesn't bother me on a personal level, like it doesn't gross me out, but I need to be clean in public and if I can't do laundry I will stink. And I can't perfume my fucking underwear, my pussy would hate me for it. Well this entry is becoming a really whiny book on its own... but I'm just so desperate now. And really feeling like I'm just losing it. Like I've gotten lost in my grief and there's just nothing else. I can't zoom out cause it keeps pulling me down. I can't think about anything else, I can't feel anything else, it's suffocating me, day, night, every hour every minute every fucking second even. It exhausts me. Even in conversations with other people all that's on my mind is "grief grief boobs detrans detrans grief detrans hormones boobs detrans grief grief detrans" and I can't even hear what others say when it's not about that. I've gotten so absorbed in it cause I can't process it properly. It just keeps churning and brewing and boiling and tearing me up inside.

I just wanna tear my skin off and scream and smack it against a wall and stomp on it and slash it with knives and stab it and just cry all my million fucked up hearts out. But I can't release it cause it's so much it would shatter me. It is overwhelming, it is far too overwhelming. I can't carry its weight. It's crushing me. And psychiatry leaves me to my own vices WITH THIS!!!?? Yeah, fucking thanks. I don't care if it's controversal. I'm a real person, not statistics, and I'm in need of some real help, not a pat on my shoulder. Who, within psychiatry, even could help me? What sort of expert? I don't know where to turn. I'm just so sad and hurting I literally can't function.

I feel like detransition was the worst thing that ever could happen to me. I was right about fearing it in my transition. I was right about it destroying me. Cause here I am, literally living my own worst nightmare. And I'm trapped within it. I can't go back. To either how I was pre-transition or as a semi-happy trans man. It's all too late for both of those now. I just love being a woman way too much now. But I hate this situation. And I hate my huge loss of control in all of it. It feels like I'm just falling down a hill and all I can say is just "ouch ouch ouch" on my way down. But I don't see a bottom of the hill and I'm getting both really broken and dizzy. How far did I fucking climb?!

I don't even know what's going on with all of my feelings. How can I...? I don't even understand just what the fuck happened since I first began to detrans. How am I a woman?! It's weird! Like.. is this my life now? Yeah, transitioning was most definitely "life changing" alright. It's a little hard on me. I just keep ranting, I'm not getting anywhere... Let's get back to what I was saying before.

The topic of the post on Susan's that I replied to was "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" and this is what I answered to that question:

"I see my past mistakes of transitioning, self-inflicted pain, a lot of regret. I grunt at what to me looks like a man with feminine eyebrows, face stubble, a hairy chest and prosthetic breasts in a bra. I feel weird about it all, and sad...

Staring at my face I wonder how I can find my true self again by hiding it under makeup, and then I think about the irony in that thought. I used to take my femininity for granted and hate it. Now I love it but can't find it again.

I only partially recognise my own face. It both feels familiar and alien at the same time. But it's still my face, and that in itself is a comfort. It's easier with what's below my neck, except from my chest, cause I do notice that my body shape looks unmistakenly feminine, and that's comforting."

It makes me wonder if I've been trying to escape my dysphoric feelings about my male traits because I also like them a lot. Because liking something apparently is not the same as feeling connected to it.

I've always, always struggled to figure out what is "truly me" or just something I really like. Being bisexual also doesn't help with that at all. Honestly it's doing me a huge disfavour that I don't ever truly know if I'm attracted to a guy or want to look like him, or if I'm attracted to a girl or want to look like her! It's with both genders and I'm just frustrated with never knowing the difference between attraction or wanting to look like someone. I think that has a lot to do with my dissociation, actually. That because it essentially means I'm extremely disconnected to both myself and everyone else around me, and the inanimate world too... it also means that on the rare occasions that I do feel some connections, they're haphazard, whimsical and don't make a lot of sense. Like they're incomplete and not properly developed, somehow. Like a new product launched too soon so it's full of technical flaws. And I can't analyse or understand them properly so I misjudge them. Tech support? I think I need tech support for my brain.

It just suddenly made me think one of my favourite movies... it's called "Vanilla Sky" and is an American remake of a Spanish movie. I love that movie so much. It's everything I could ever want in a movie. And I really resonate with it a whole lot. Especially the mind-glitching and needing some damn tech support for my malfunctioning brain cause my dream has also become a nightmare. And now in my detransition, I feel like I'm dealing with a car crash wreck of a face somehow. In one scene, the main character David talks to his team of surgeons who are trying to find ways to fix his face (from the car crash, he got disfigured) when he says: "It's not about vanity, it's about functioning in society" and that speaks to me as well.

That sometimes I think my masculinity is making me socially dysfunctional cause people can't look beyond it and they act really fucking rude around me. How fun is it to buy groceries when the cashier is deliberately staring at something way off behind me or just into their screen, showing such blatantly obvious discomfort that they're literally doing everything they can to avoid looking at my face? Perhaps I should do what David did in such a situation in the movie: say "Why don't you say that to my face, bitch?" (he said that to a guy, a bartender) and then stare at the person to remind them of how fucking rude they are! Like that's not okay, fuckhead!

Seriously, I don't get that! Whenever I've met people who have very unusual looks, or who do have a face disfiguration, even if it's extreme, it's not difficult for me to just look them in their eyes and act like a normal fucking person. But then people struggle to look ME in the eyes? It fucks with me, on several levels. It feels like ice going down my spine and all I can think in such a moment is "this person must think I look so horrible they can't even stand to look at me" which is not a great feeling!

Whenever I've watched that movie in the past, I always kept thinking it must be horrible to be treated like that by strangers, and I swore to never treat other people that way. And I never have. I've always been polite and treated everyone with the same amount of respect, regardless of what they look like. Well, is my karma broken, or what happened?! I mostly just don't get it. I know I'm not actually ugly or disfigured, but being treated as if I was... it kinda puts a new perspective on things. And it makes me feel things I've never wanted to feel.

My body doesn't feel like my own anymore, but I do love it. When I interact with other people and they don't believe I'm a cis woman, it reminds me of that I don't look like myself anymore and it carves at that disconnect I feel towards my body. I am being misgendered, even when they think I'm a trans woman, and even though I don't wanna think of it as misgendering. Cause it takes me back to how I felt in my early transition not passing as a guy yet... like I'm literally back to square one again after a decade of transitioning. Fuck it hurts, man. It feels like I'm trying to navigate my life with someone else's body. It's scary, it's lonely. It makes me scared to form new relationships and connect with other people. Cause I don't feel like myself and I don't think others can see me.

Well shit I thought I had healed away all of my dysphoria but it appears I have not. I'm still dysphoric about my male traits, although I also love them. I thought that just showing myself in public with those traits would be a good way to get comfortable with having them and for a while it did work, or I thought it did, but on second thought that might be why I now feel worse about them instead. Think I'm going back to shaving my face for a while, and obsessively hiding my beard shadow with makeup again. If I'll wear a deep neck shirt I'll also shave my chest again. I hate this. I hate my fucked up situation. I hate that I gave myself dysphoria by transitioning and all the complicated feelings that come along with it.

Yeah, my maleness is my favourite vacation spot. Like a beautiful lake house with wild growing trees surrounding it. It has protected me, it's kept me safe from my internal fears about being a woman, it let me breathe, it gave me hope, and I love it as a very dear friend and life companion. But I miss my home. I miss it so much. But I know that if I leave my vacation spot I can never go back to it, because the only way I can go back home is to erase my vacation spot. I can't do that. I need my missing femaleness back, real bad, but not at the cost of my maleness. Why does my reality have to be this cruel?

Is it better... to let my body get more feminised again as I just let time pass without the testosterone in my body, even if I panic and miss the things that reverse back. And try to at least... just consider hair removal at some point. I'm so scared to let go of what I love... but I think I have to, cause it's not good for me no matter how much I love it. And I do miss the way my body used to be, so it is possible I'll get more connected to it once the panic goes down again and I get more used to my body changing again.

This suddenly became a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. I thought detransition would mean I'd just automatically want to look totally female again and not like any of my male traits anymore. But apparently it's much more complicated than that. And I might have to force myself to let go of my male traits, at some point, probably including my beard, if they really do make me feel worse... no matter how much I love them.

Sexuality shift

A fair warning ahead: this gets kinda sexual cause my brain just... yeah, it's hopeless. Still got quite high sex drive these days! It's just hiding a little more.

I've started to notice more of a shift in my sexuality recently. I'm almost exclusively fantasising and thinking about women. It's my number one go to. Those fantasies are totally sweet, loving, sexy, intensely sexy... A good lesbian fantasy makes me cum so much harder than a good straight one. I wonder if I'm just in a period of being more attracted to women than ever before, or if I might actually have a preference for the same sex. I don't know, cause I've been in denial for so long. That finally letting those feelings blossom freely, might be leading to them showing me their true colours. My true preference.

Or maybe I'm just hoping I actually prefer women cause I don't wanna date men again anytime soon. That is totally possible too. And that decision might be causing me to kinda subconsciously choosing to prefer women, in a sense. That I just focus my fantasies on them and get uninterested whenever a guy pops up in my mind instead. Like nah, don't want that guy there!

Also another interesting thing about my sexuality that I've also kinda recently discovered... which I think is kinda awesome... It's very likely I'd be versitile with women. Meaning, I'd like to top as well as bottom. Or at the very least I really want to try topping another woman. Like take charge a little bit, giving, pleasing, and fucking her with a strap-on. Cause I think I'd really like that, as a woman myself. Cause when I stopped thinking of myself as a man, then topping as a concept became kinda... not so scary anymore? And with another woman, I feel there wouldn't be as much of an unequal power dynamic going on. I still would not want to top a man though. Cause there's an unequal power dynamic just cause of being different sexes. Or genders, or actually both.

I think for me to feel "equal" genderwise in a sexual relationship I'd have to be of both the same sex and same gender as my partner. As in, before as a trans man cis men were the same gender (how I saw it back then) but not the same sex, and vice versa with women they were same sex but not the same gender, which both made me feel it was unequal and therefore I couldn't stand the idea of me being in any sort of "leading" role sexually. That with women it would have been "too much power" on me as I saw it, and with men it would have just been weird and awkward, like as if I'd be pegging him. Well technically that's what it would have been.

Call me old fashioned if you wish but women being dominant over men, and sexually penetrating them, creeps me the fuck out. And that's what I saw in my own, slightly transphobic head when I thought of myself topping a guy. It creeped me out. But of course I have nothing against other people, other couples, being into that. It does have a cuteness factor to it when I take myself out of that picture. So it's totally fine when others do it, but not if it would be me. Just noooo way. It's such a turn off! The concept fascinates me, cause it's so unconventional, and maybe I want to be into it, but I'm just not, so yeah.

But with women it's different. Probably cause it's much more socially accepted for women to like being sexually penetrated in general, while for men it's still very taboo and considered gay. Even when it's a straight guy who only likes it with women! But even so, my feelings tell me I really don't see how it should matter which one penetrates who in gay relationships, whether male+male or female+female. Like if I'd date a woman who's much taller, bigger, stronger and more masculine than me... I'd still wanna fuck her! Same if she was much smaller, shorter, more feminine and dainty. Cause none of that stuff matters. It doesn't matter for which role you take on in bed. But yeah also cause pussies are much easier to fuck than asses. They're cleaner, more open, wetter... unf, sorry got distracted! And yes, I think pussies are way sexier than buttholes. So I'd much rather penetrate someone's pussy, although I wouldn't at all be against playing with a sexy woman's anus if she wanted that. I totally like ass too, it's not that. They're just... a little messier. But I'm not that squeemish... I'd totally love sticking my tongue into someone else's ass. Just saying.

But just... how could it not make me crazy turned on just thinking about lying on top op of a sexy woman and feel her entire body against mine, naked and horny for me, wrapping her arms and legs around me and really enjoying me fucking her? Myeah, I'm feeling my pussy responding very eagerly to that! And my hips... Fuck I'm gonna need to do something about that reaction! It got a little intense. Also I'm super tired so can't stay awake much longer anyhow. So I'll go fuck myself to sleep with that amazingly hot fantasy, I think. This entry got more sexual than I had intented, but what did I expect, huh? Oh well!

Invisible in my own skin

(I originally wrote this text for tumblr, so word choice may look a little weird. Or maybe it doesn't. Whatever.)

I’ve just realised something. That the reason it’s especially painful for me when I’m assumed to be a male-born person is because I strived for being seen as a male-born man for all of my transition and I wanted to be male since… I don’t even know how far back… but was rarely ever believed to be male. And now that I’m finally really loving being female, I’m not believed to be female-born. It’s just heartbreaking! It feels like the cruelest of irony. And double irony: I put myself in this situation. Yeah, don’t just take my dreams away from me, beat me with them too. Cause why not, I guess.

I don’t think I really like being seen as a man. I think I’m mostly just despondent to it, cause I don’t wanna correct people on my stupid gender anymore. I’m tired of my constant fucking gender struggle that just went back and forth and bit its own tail. Can’t I just be me? For once, fucking ONCE in my 29 years long life I truly enjoy being a woman, after all the crap I’ve been through… but how much of a woman am I if I’m never seen or treated as one? I feel invisible in my own skin.

It is MY body and I love it. I refuse to change it more just because whoever around the next corner insisting I’m a trans woman makes me feel bad cause they refuse to believe my words. But I can’t say that doesn’t get to me. It digs its ugly claws into me. I know it’s unreasonable to expect people to see me as a woman when I’m not trying all that hard to look like one. I guess I just have it stuck in my head that cause I was born female and had it so easy with my looks before my transition, I shouldn’t have to “prove” my gender to anyone. Like it should just be a given. But it’s clearly not anymore.

That time has passed, and I think I grieve that too. A lost privilege, of sorts. I didn’t sign up for this when I started taking testosterone with the intent to look like and live happily as a man until I’d die of old age. I really didn’t sign up for this regret. But it’s my reality now and I just have to try harder to find ways to deal and cope with it.

Other people cannot decide what gender I have, no matter how persistently they try to. I’m not transgender, I’m not biologically male, I’m not transitioning to female, I’ve not had mtf vaginoplasty, I’m not non-binary. I’m a biologically female cis woman who just happened to transition to male and then regret it and detransition, and I refuse to let anyone put me in boxes that I simply do not belong in. I need to take back my power over that. First of all, I’m not dumb, I understand what’s in my knickers. Second of all, I don’t have amnesia, I would have remembered it if I had gotten mtf srs and if I had ever had a dick. And thirdly, I’m the only one who knows what’s really going on inside my mind, genderwise.

But people who refuse to believe my truth do not deserve my explanation or the energy it takes for me to do so. I am left with but one choice: walk away and ignore them. Let them believe whatever they want to believe. Because sacrificing more of my body that I know I would regret is simply not an option, nor should it ever have to be.

It is my pride to be a woman, my own kind of woman that I’ve created, broken and polished, even if I’m the only one to truly see it, no matter how much that hurts, and the irony of it all pissing on me.

Just one more thing...

One more thing real quick, by the way. I kinda realised this earlier during the night and it's connected to everything detrans about me but especially my body feels:

"Somehow I'd actually rather be a failure to everyone else than to fail myself again."

It's a positive statement. It's empowerment, emotional independence, self love. And so on. Now bed!

Sweet love and bitter grief

When I was living as a guy, I did feel like there was a certain falsehood about it all. The ghosts of my past kept whispering in my mind, that what if my dysphoria really was all just because of my traumas. I was too scared to find out. And the more time I was on testosterone, and then after my surgery, the more scared I got. Kept brushing my doubts under the carpet. And I almost panicked every time the words "detransition" and "regret" ever popped up. I had to push it away and not think about it. When I didn't think about it, being a guy felt good. Like it was empowering and relieving.

But I was running away. My fears of possibly having made a mistake got stronger within myself the more time went on. The more forcibly I pushed them away. Furiously. Eventually I just couldn't anymore. When Anna showed me her dysphoria and I felt it as though it was my own, I panicked and I knew. I knew I couldn't hide from my fears anymore. I don't miss living like that, but I miss not knowing. Truth hurts. Oh I wish I had figured it out much sooner. Before I had started self-medicating with testo. But I was so young and it was way too soon after the traumas. Even if I could go back in time there wasn't enough time back then. I was too suicidal and too fragile. Even if I had managed to figure it out at age 19-21, I likely wouldn't have been able to heal from that mess of trauma feelings and it likely would have driven me to suicide... instead of transition and detransition.

It allowed me to live and figure it out and heal at a time I could handle it. But at what price? At what fucking price?! It feels so cruel. If only the treatment for gender dysphoria wasn't so permanent. It feels like having gotten a leg amputated cause it "was the best thing to do at the time" but then a decade later realising I could have saved that leg. I feel like transitioning was like having a healthy limb amputated, then missing it, wanting it back, and knowing I could have bloody kept it. Well... technically that's exactly what happened, with my top surgery. Imagine if I had known back then, but still had to make the decision to change my body, knowing I wouldn't survive otherwise? Then it was better I didn't know. I feel like transitioning did save me but it also ruined me in the process. Like a slow-killing poison that heals you from instant death. Yeah, exactly like that. The treatment that saved my life made me ill.

I do like my changes from the testo, I do but... I still wish I hadn't started taking it. Cause it made everything so complicated and painful and I'm gonna struggle a lot to live with this permanently androgynous body. I don't want to change it back, cause now I've fallen in love with it, but I hate being in this position. Of loving my body's masculinity because I got a taste of its sweetness, but being seen as a freak because of loving it. Sometimes, these past few days, I wish to go back on testo. I don't wanna lose my hairiness and I'm starting to fear it going away. I still hold on to being a woman, its comforting embrace, and I love my female gender, but I can't help that I also love what testo gave me. And wanting it to stay. Did I go off it too soon? Was it a rash decision? I need to give myself more time off from it, perhaps the panic won't last.

I still feel the same about my chest, or possibly worse. Cause it was a while ago that I cried and let it all out, and the tensions and grief have been building up again since. I feel like my tensions are worse than ever. I literally sit with my shoulders up to my ears and I don't even notice it for hours. When I notice it I make the effort to relax. But my tensions are a ping-pong effect: when I relax one area another one tenses, when I relax that area the first one tenses again. And it's like that all over my body. I'm never fully physically relaxed. That is a state I simply cannot reach anymore, except from right after my boob cry. Perhaps I need to try to let it out like that again. It collects so quickly.

I feel an aching restlessness crawling around within me like maggots spreading around a volatile poison. One of my family's most loved cats died a few days ago. I really loved that cat, and it was my mother's favourite. They were very close. I don't have it in my head how old the cat was, but around 15 years, I think. Her name was Nemi, like the Norwegian comic series character, that goofy goth girl with a best friend called Cyan. The cat was a dark calico, almost black with with some brown/orange spots and she always had one or two white whiskers while the other whiskers were black. She had a combination of black and pink paw "beans", a very slender and small body type but noticably overweight. Big, intense, bright yellow eyes. One of her ears was messed up from ear lice and she looked really adorkable with just one ear up. She was often either asleep in my mom's lap, begging for candy or sprinting around super energetic, and a total attention whore. She was born with my family, and her cat mother is still around and alive with my parents. I can't grieve this now. I have to bottle it. Too much. As soon as my mother told me the news my only emotional reaction was "no not more grief" and I just had to push away those feelings. There's no space for them. But it's still tearing at me, like claws scratching on my back and it leaves wounds that bleed.

I don't wanna talk about the cat or what I feel about her death. I refuse to look into those feelings anytime soon. My chest grief is suffocating me already, anything more and I would be breathing tears. But I don't feel the same about my testo changes as I do about my chest. And since I fully accepted my testo changes, I've begun to connect to them in a way that's very similar to how I used to feel about them as a man. I just love them the same as a woman. I don't know why, I just love them. My body hair and beard feels like a comforting blanket of fur. I wish there was a way to preserve it without taking testosterone, cause I don't want my psychological changes to go back to that, and I don't wanna stink pungent again either. I'm probably gonna stop taking the testo-blockers though. No harm no foul with that. Just so that I can slow down the reversing a bit. That might be enough to calm me down about my fur. Also I'm on a very low dose of them so probably don't need to wean off them first.

Somehow I take some strange kind of pride in being a hairy woman. Like a cute female werewolf. I really wouldn't mind having hairy boobs. I think that would be adorable, and incredibly cosy. Yeah I saw some pics of hairy boobs online and it got me in awe... Body hair is amazing. I just feel that and I can't lie. I find it sexy on other women, and I love it on myself. It reminds me of cats, I think. Cause they're very cute and also very hairy, and cuddly. Perhaps hairy women remind me of cats. I dream about cuddling another hairy woman and how sweet and sexy that would be. That'll be great for a new fantasy! Smoothness is so overrated, and so last century! Shouldn't the shaving craze be ending soon, huh? Just let women be hairy, for fuck's sake. God damn beauty standards... Well it would be enough to just cuddle another woman and her loving my hairiness. Cause I do know I'm exceptionally hairy for a woman.

There's also another reason I don't shave much anymore (except from my head and pussy): it reduces my sensation in the area when it's shaven. Like the sensation on my skin is a lot more dulled when shaved compared to unshaven. And I like being able to feel my own touch, even when it's just me rubbing my lower legs together or scratching my stomach. So I also feel much better physically to not shave my body.

I totally love being a woman, but for whatever reason I just totally also love having a testo-spiced female body. You remember that "candy and liquor" metaphor I made a while ago? Well, get ready for cherry rum chocolate pralines! I'm the kind of candy that gets you tipsy, cause this punch has been spiked! Well thinking about that made me feel better. I really do love my body, and it's good I can remind myself of that sometimes, despite the pain of how I ended up with it. It makes the pain more bearable. It's strange to feel that bitterness of grief and that sweetness of love at the same time. It's like the detrans coin with one dark and one light side is spinning so fast it looks like a grey ball.

I'm so tired I think I'll go to sleep soon. And cuddle with my own body in bed. It feels extra good after orgasm to just hold and stroke myself. My orgasms are so good these days, it makes me want them more and look forward to them. I don't know how but they're actually much stronger and longer lasting on estrogen than they were on testosterone. And way easier to manage multiples. My orgasms are extra feel-good and comforting. They like... vibrate all my parts back into place again. I really do believe orgasms have some kind of healing properties. I wonder if that's the real reason why females can orgasm, cause it's not actually an important part of reproduction like it is for males. But maybe females orgasm as a way to heal themselves, like why cats are purring? I dunno maybe that just sounds super weird and I'm way too tired and really fucking gay but damn I think that's a very cute and sexy theory. Like I'd totally wanna help giving some sexy girl lots of healing orgasms, if you know what I mean... ugh I'm hopeless...ly single.

By the way, just gotta share a really hot lesbian fantasy I had last... yesterday. It was so good I just kept fantasising about cuddling with her after I had orgasmed. I magined I was with a quite heavy, very butch woman who hit on me at a night club. She had short, dark brown hair and wore black baggy pants and baggy black jacket, wore no makeup, but she had golden earrings. She brought me into the bathroom (a large single stall one, that I remember from in actual night club in real life) and had me sit on the toilet lid where she touched and fingered me until I got really wet. Then she fucked me with a strapon. She had really big boobs that she had hidden under her baggy clothes and was insecure about, but let them out when she noticed I was really excited and into her. And they were just really sexy, big and hanging so I just cuddled up into them and kissed them and just buried my face in them as she fucked me. She orgasmed from me kissing her boobs and her rubbing her clit against mine. Then she kissed and embraced me as I orgasmed. Then afterwards we went out to the dancefloor and hugged and kissed in a slow dance and she told me she was very surprised that I liked her boobs.

It was a very sweet fantasy. I dunno but since I was at that lgbt group last time and totally got super blushy over TWO hot butch women there I kiiinda realised I totally have a thing for that. So erhm it sparked my sexual fantasy creativity. The woman in that fantasy looked very different from the irl ones at the lgbt cafe though. Well, thinking about that suddenly got me very horny... no wonder why!

Just one last thing: I'm not sure why I don't feel like talking for these past few days or however long it's been... I just need a bit of distance. I think it was just starting to feel a little suffocating cause too much internet socialising in general and I just need to recharge my batteries. If you'd want to reply to this text that's fine and I'd want to read that, even if I may not feel up for responding right away. But also fine if you don't wanna reply to it. I've read most of the messages you've sent me so far. Just so you know about that. I'm going to bed now and no idea when you'll see this, but I might be asleep this whole day... so yeah.

The language of my body, spoken in tears

Oh. My. God. When I start an entry like that, you should know something very important and profound has happened! A great thing, absolutely amazing. And beautiful. I haven't felt this relaxed and at ease since... I literally can't remember. A decade ago? Two decades? My mother's womb? I don't know. It's a little hard to type cause my fingers feel like spaghetti. I'm THAT relaxed. It's so amazing. Okay, I'll tell you what happened!

I did the meditation thing to reach beyond my grief, to find what was hidden beyond it. Well... it did not quite go as I had expected. It took an entirely different route. There is nothing behind the grief. My mind tricked me! The wall of grief is not a door. There was no opening, nowhere to get in. However, it was the grief itself that I needed to reach.

I did all kinds of preparations to reach my inner child. I wrote a letter to her, in Swedish, even using my birth name. I went down to my storage room in the cellar and picked up plushies and clothes from my childhood, and piled it all up on my desk, along with a naked Barbie doll. The Barbie because... I was obsessed with their boobs as a kid and kept playing with them and had all sorts of games that involved the Barbie's tits. Everything from those violent games that involved cutting off their tits (in imagination, I didn't break the dolls) and having the Ken dolls eat the Barbie's (imaginary) boobs on a plate... to sexual games that mostly involved two Barbies being very cosy with each other's boobs and making out. I guess that was my idea of lesbian sex as a kid. I was most definitely OBSESSED with boobs long before I grew a pair myself. Also all the probably hundreds of drawings I made of women's bare chests, usually with ridiculously huge boobs that exceeded the size of the rest of the entire woman... by far. Guessing I always had a thing for big boobs, ahaha. It fascinated me so much, that kind of body part. And uhm yeah I was so fucking gay already back then! I think I was attracted to boobs, and female curves in general, already at like age 5 or something. That predates my attraction to anything or anyone male... by around 3 years. Interesting. So anyhow, I just thought that playing with that Barbie a bit now could maybe trigger something about boobs in me.

Well at first I put on my old nightie from my childhood, panties and black sweatpants. Then sat down by my computer, put on a playlist with songs I either remembered from my childhood or that just reminds me of it. Calm songs. And then I meditated a bit to get relaxed and try to get distracting thoughts out of my mind. I then played a little with the toys and the other clothes (a favourite shirt I had age 4 through 8) to try to reach my inner child but kinda felt like it wasn't working. I thought I was just being impatient so I relaxed some more and read that letter I had written to my inner child. Nothing. I was more confused than impatient at that point.

So I put the toys away and reached my hand under the nightie to touch my chest. It made me uncomfortable and it felt like I was tearing at something very painful within my chest. As if I had internal wounds that felt cold when I added pressure. Like putting ice against a bruise. Weird feeling, and most certainly psychological. So that triggered something and I grimased at how it made me feel but it wasn't quite enough. So I thought "fuck it" and took off the nightie...

I grabbed and stroke my chest in ways that reminded me of how flat it is, and forced myself to stare at it. It was desperate movement as if I was scratching at a door begging to be let inside. Until the door (figuratively) burst open. An extremely intense pain and sadness hit me HARD, so very hard... and I started to cry. I bent over my knee to hold my head with one hand and keep touching my chest with the other as I cried and cried and cried... It was that hulking, ugly kind of cry when you just can't hold yourself together at all and there's just tears and snot everywhere and you wrinkle up your face and make almost childlike noises. I started shaking and holding myself tighter.

I cried out "I miss my boobs, I miss them so much" over and over along with "I want them back, I want my boobs back". Then I cried out "What I have I done, what have I done" over and over. Other phrases that I blurped out after that were:
"I loved them so much, I really did, I loved them so much"
"They were mine, my boobs"
"They were so cute, my little boobies"
"They felt so good to touch and just hold in my hands and squeeze together"
"Why did I do it, why?"

Then I started talking in phrases directed to myself, while still crying hard:
"I promise I'll fix this, I'll fix it in any way I can"
"I know it can get better, cause I'll do anything I can to make it better"
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"
"I failed you"
"I'll love the new boobs so much, they'll also be mine, my own boobs and I'll love them more than I ever could the old ones"
"It will get better, I know it will, I promise"

And then my cries started to lift and get lighter. When they had stopped I remained in my position for a moment, noticed I soaked my entire knee in snot and tears. I just breathed for a moment to collect myself before I slowly lift up my head and sat up straight again. I felt immensely cleansed, like I had just gotten out from a spa or something. I smiled and said "Thank you" to myself, for giving me that incredible release.

Then I put on my bra and regular clothes again, and felt so incredibly comforted by the breast forms on my chest. More right than ever. I made a cup of blue fruit tea and went out for a smoke to just wind down and soothe myself a little bit extra. According to the music playlist I had been listening to, I had been crying for around 10 minutes. I've cried like that before, last time was some 5 years ago, but I have never experienced such an intensely relieving and cleansed feeling afterwards before. I think I know why: for the first time I ever, I didn't feel like it was embarrassing or a sign of weakness to cry. And for the first time ever, I let myself feel all that pain I had bottled up for so long, and truly express it all, without judgement. It felt so natural, and I loved every tear, and every movement and sound I made, cause it was all genuine and I let myself cry genuinely and just let it all out.

And damn... I really feel like I did get it all out. Everything. Like it rinsed me clean. A million times cleaner than I've ever felt before. Like true, actual purity. Not the crap lie of "purity" that Christianity talks about. No, actual, natural purity. The purity of being true to yourself and loving your flaws, and caring for your pain. No blame, no shame. And I think I even also connected to... a feeling of innocence. Like I had done nothing wrong or it didn't matter if I had, cause I knew I can fix it somehow, I knew I can make it better.

In short, what I found was that my grief needed me to really know it. It needed for me to know its true depth and all the feelings captured within it. It needed to reassure me that yes... I truly need breast reconstruction surgery. I got and still get a very clear "signalling" feeling that that was the message. But oh my god, my mind is such a sassy bitch for having me so scared and worried about what it wanted to show me, and then it calms and soothes me like nothing ever has before and reassures me I was right about needing new boobs. My entire body needs new boobs. I could feel it how my shaking limbs somehow all gathered towards my chest as if every single cell within me tried to comfort my chest and rebuild it. It was a very strange and sad, but also very beautiful feeling. Like an entire city gathering to mourn one dead person cause that person had been much more loved than they ever thought they were in life. And it makes the bloody news how an entire city grieves. And watching that news clip sends shivers down your spine cause of all that collective grief but also all that collective love and care.

That's how it felt when I cried, like my entire body showed collective grief, love and care for my chest in a way I never could have expected and it sent shivers down my spine. And all those phrases I said were my truest, most genuine feelings and thoughts about my chest, that just fell out of my mouth. If I hadn't been so worried about disturbing the neighbours, I would have screamed too. Just screamed my pain out loud. But I didn't want to risk having the cops called on me again cause of the neighbours thinking I'm being murdered or something... so I held back that scream. For convenience's sake.

Do I know for sure now that I truly, most definitely want and need that surgery. Yes. YES. Fucking yes! There's no doubt about it. Literally my entire body cried out "need new boobs, can't manage without them" in a sobbing choir! I think the answer can't get much clearer than that!

Of course I will still keep my senses keen on any new signs, messages, thought, feelings or inklings I may get. All the way up to the point of surgery, I will listen to my body, all of it. Even if so my feet suddenly start having doubts about boob surgery! But unless I get any contradicting and/or doubtful anythings my senses can pick up on, I will get that surgery. Cause I just KNOW it's right. I feel it all the way into my soul now. Something that feels THIS very right for me simply won't be a mistake. I can't figure out a single reason why it could in any capacity be a mistake. No matter how hard or deep I dig for such a reason, there are none to be found.

But god damn... it was just such an incredible experience. And exactly what I needed. Oh fuck I've needed it since the beginning of July! I've begged for it, prayed for it, literally kneeled and pleaded for it to happen. "Release me, please" I kept begging and hoping. Guess I had to do it myself, like usually! But wow... that was truly beyond liberating. I'm gonna go eat soon, before I'll fall asleep. If I can manage to post this first. I'm gonna have to post it unedited, cause I struggle too much to keep my eyes open to be able to read. Literally. I hope you'll survive the typos.