Life Vest Made of Stone
I really do feel bad for my family. I can be a damn miserable son of a bitch sometimes.
Thing is, they don't understand why and I can't make them understand it either.
It's this little thing called dysphoria and it knocks me down about once or twice weekly. I guess the closest thing I can compare it to might be rapid-cycling bipolar, because with me, it goes like this:
I'm ADD, so on normal days I'm flying off the hook with energy and excitement. I spend a ton of money, text everyone I know, run around outside and talk rapidly. It behaves almost like mild mania.
And then it hits me, for about a whole day. I sink into depression, and it feels like I'm drowining. Like I've got an anchor tethered to my foot and someone threw me in the ocean. Hopeless. Like there's no way out. Like life is useless, hopeless, pointless, painful.
I've since been to a lot of therapy, and while it doesn't make anything better, it has helped me understand what might be going on with me. I'm not bipolar, but I am sick. This depression is destroying my life, albeit slowly. And on the days where it hits, I want to curl up in a ball and die.
It happened today, and it's happening right now as I write this. It's worst when my parents sit me down to talk. Just now my mother said she doesn't support me starting testosterone until I am 30 years old. She wants me to dress androgenously. Girl's jeans, fitted shirts. It sounds dumb as hell but it makes me want to jump off a building. Everytime they say something like that, like how I'll never really be a man, and how I have a woman's body whether I like it or not, or (the worst one) that I won't make a good man, that I'm not strong enough.
It makes me cry sometimes. Which is weak, but I do it anyway.
I dunno what to do really.
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