I am 6 months real now

Fuck I hate being real.

Six months now I have pushed, shoved, cried, tried, fallen, and gotten back up. I have changed a lot, discovering more of who I can be and stepping outside my boundaries. Let me tell you. I hate it. I would much rather be pain free than real.

Here's what I've found

Pain. Painpainpainpainpain. Everything leads back there. I do too much, pain. I get anxious, pain. I get stressed, pain. It's all a sick loop. The more pain I am in, the more anxious and stressed I am. All of my mental health problems are triggered by pain. When my pain is minimal I am generally okay. And such a rare instance when that happens. The meds I am taking make pain killer ineffective. WTF was I thinking?

Being real makes me think I am worthy of a life. A regular life. A life where I keep good people with me, find others who inspire love, and maybe eventually settle into a place. But fuck like that will ever happen. I can understand someone who loved me sticking around if I developed this pain problem, but no one in their right mind would willingly enter into a live long love relationship with me now.

So I shall accept my role. I shall give my whole self to my trans siblings. For anything to lift them up. And yet, there may come a time, when I've completeld my bucket list, I may decide I've done enough. And why not?

Forward on

Okay, so I've been having some bad days with all this driving. And one of my meds ran out, but my new insurance doesn't start for a few days so I'm kinda stuck. It's the one pill I take that actually makes a difference.

But I will keep trying to remedies. I will keep fighting and changing. I will keep going. Like I have. And so long as I can cast the bad thoughts out I'll be fine right? RIGHT? Meh.

I hope being real gets better