A different kind of alone

Something, so starkly different lines the void in my heart right now. A bleak lens focused on pitiful pats and fleeting lights. Without the false hope of rekindled flames I am now forced to face my prospects.

What I may write here is steeped in bias, stereotypes, and anecdotes, but so would any other perspective. The only true thing is my possibilities are endless, but most unlikely.

Who I've had to become

I knew years ago, I had to leave everything if I am to hope at becoming real. I did it. I live a nomadic, vagabond, outskirts kind of life because I am not suited for any other. I rot within cultural normities. The confluence of my biggest issues has driven who I am allowed to become. I fight upstream, fuck do I fight upstream. I don't want to succumb to this raging river. But there is only so much I can do.

I spent years in a support group because my greatest social value is hope giving; a gift my kith have pulled out of me my entire life. I struggle to maintain real friendships because I cannot turn off therapist mode. I work on my gaff project as an extension of my empathic qualities: If I cannot save my own life, I hope to help save others. I live in Vanessa because I am best served as a temporary entity. I come into your life, show you light, and hopefully lift your soul. Too much of me, and you'll be crushed by my lack of identities.

The tagline of this site has real meaning for me:

A reflection of your experience: as moonlight is a reflection of sunlight.

The personality you see from me, is a direct extension of your own. I exemplify the very things you need the most, and provide insights for you to ponder. The moon light you see in Luna is not moon light. It is sunlight reflected. Your sunlight. your sun. Put me in a large group and I shut down because I have nothing to offer a group. I seek no attention. My desire is to do as little as possible to not make it worse. I become a raw example of a wallflower.

What I might have

People seem to love me, and easily. And maybe one day I may find myself healthy enough to find a person I can create a bridge with. I hope I don't destroy it before it starts.

I change all the time now. I'm barely real. I suppose I should celebrate intensely on my next birthday. After writing to this point I find the hope piling back into my heart. I cannot finish the original darkness which spawned this post. I don't have to, not for my sake at least.

I cry though, for all the crappy people I will meet in my life. The people who fetishize me, objectify me, tokenize me, disrespect me and speak condescendingly to me. The people who want so badly to be the person who can love a trans person, only to leave seeking normalcy.

I cry for all the fear I must fight with public bathrooms, less accepting areas, attraction to any cis person, the medical industry, the police, employment.

I cry because all I want is to be a waffle, but I will always be french toast. I want so badly to be a waffle. I wish I could rip out my past in myself and my family so I could simply be who I should have always been. I feel I can see who I would have been so clearly. But I cannot be that person. In large part because my hormone treatment has caused such intense physical pain. The burden of a constant reminder that you are forever fucking french toast.

Fuck

I hope, I have the will to live the rest of my life so fast, so bright, so recklessly, so the universe can kill me. There's no other point to my story. All I cared about before I came out to myself was helping others. Then I spend half a decade caring for myself, only to realize I am the most hated, suicidal, minority, and transitioning brought on so much more physical pain. So I go back to caring about everyone else. This with a little more concern for myself. But fuck I want life to kill me. So fucking bad.

Will I ever kick this feeling? Is it possible for me? I reall hope not.