CAPTAIN'S BLOG
Jesus christ where to start. This is going to be a very painful blog post for me. But I think if I don't write it down, I will never move passed it. This post is for me to heal. If you want to know what I'm going through, feel free to continue. I usually share this blog with people who are important to me. I don't know if that is a good idea or not. I'm very honest in here, and I express ideas that I otherwise would reject. But I need to air the bad ideas to recognize that they are bad. I don't want to install my judgmental voice into the heads of my lovers though. So maybe... don't read this, unless you are prepared to hear me at my most judgmental, cynical, frustrated... And can forgive me. I want so desperately to heal. To be the woman I feel like I am inside. But anyways. That comes later. I'll start at the beginning of my day I guess. Today I had my first real vocal lesson class. One on one. Over video call. It was great, she's clearly a great teacher. I of course cannot afford it. My mum and my girlfriend said they would help pay for it. Thank fuck for both of them. It was also excruciatingly hard. I mean, it's no wonder I could only get to nonbinary before. I have literally none of the tools I need to really do what I'm trying to do. It is also, philosophically, intensely frustrating for me. I hate it. I hate that I need to do this just to fit in to society. I hate that I need to perform to be seen as the person I feel like I am. I hate that I feel pressured by society to change myself. I resent them for it, for this pressure, for this expectation. Fuck you. Fuck you all for doing it, fuck you all for forcing me to do it too. We could have done something, as a people. United. But what? There is nothing to do. Foolish! She told me something that I did not know, as well: that we lower our voice boxes (and thus our adam's apple) when we socialise as boys voluntarily. I'm still processing how that affects my beliefs. Which, to be clear, are stupid. They are reactionary. The beliefs of a wounded woman, angry at the world which is indifferent at best and outright hateful at worst. There's a song by The Coup that goes "...When you gotta decide between what's good for you, and what's good for the struggle." And the fact is, I don't like my current voice. I don't have a voice I feel comfortable communicating in, really. It's disappointing to hear that my best voice is nonbinary. I don't have a good ear for things either. I just don't have the tools to change my voice, and it frustrates me when I see people who do. And what I want is control - I don't want to be doing something that I don't understand. I don't feel comfortable performing when I do not feel like I have control of myself or my body. And that is something I've come to appreciate I struggle with a lot. I had no idea how frustrated it made me, for years and years I've been carrying around this existential frustration at my body. It is a mystery to me. I don't know what muscles are called, and I don't know where they are and I don't know how to access them. When other people can, it makes me really frustrated at myself. Why didn't anybody tell me? Why didn't anybody help me? How could the system have failed me so badly? Which is such a silly thing to think. The system has literally failed me in every possible way my entire life. I've seen it fail people who needed it, people who wanted it, and people who didn't even notice it failed them. And it's failed me over and over and over. And that's just my body - then there's this aspect of performance that my girlfriend talks about. I don't know how I feel about it. If someone I didn't care about so deeply had said it, I would reject it. But I feel like, I am not a performer. I do not want to perform when I go to the store. I don't want to perform when I answer the phone. I don't want to perform when I'm depressed or tired. Performing is exhausting. I perform every second of my life, hiding my unusualness from others. Performance hides shame. So does frustration and anger. What does it mean then? This is something that will become natural and effortless to me. Does talking in a relaxed voice feel good to me either? No. I genuinely dislike the way it reverberates and the way it makes me feel. Is not performing making me happy? Is looking at this through her lense the right idea? Perhaps not. She is a very intelligent woman, but that doesn't mean her ideas are a drop in replacement for my own. I don't think thinking about this through the lense of performance is right for me. It makes me very uncomfortable. But performance implies the potential for failure. So what then? Now I am once again an island. Where to from here? I don't know. I'll just do what I'm told and practice as best as I can. She said by the third lesson I'll believe I can permanently change my voice. Goddamnit I don't wanna talk about this next part so bad. I'm putting it past a break. CW: Freya, my sweet focksie, if you are reading this, this would be a good place to stop. I'm talking about my insecurities with Foxx, which will include details. Don't forget I love you. Where Is My Mind?I have insecurities.
Big ones. Deep ones. Wound ones. Tight ones. I'm poly. It's bound to happen. And I have that contrarian - this is his fertile crescent. Per acre, he could feed an entire civilization, gorging himself on the production of stress, anxiety, and just wondering and just asking questions. Of drive by thoughts, sentence fragments, memories in gif form, compression artifacts and all. A true cornucopia of plenty. Who am I to you? How long will that last? Relationships change over time, and I know that. It's happened to me, after all. Maybe that's what happens when you are assaulted with insecurities, both from within and without, for years. And I know Freya will think that's targeted at her, but it's not just her. Her brain worms are similar in structure to mine though, and it has proven to be contagious. Words pop into my head and I wonder why would I think that? A level of insidiousness that is not recognizable betrays her contrarian. Rarely do I fear someone would intentionally mislead me, but it's happened to Freya, so of course, that is her question. But without my horse to draw her carriage of fears, my own coexist happily. I've seen my behaviour turn people away from me, the black hole of my insecurities an ever draining gravity well. I can tell that Foxx cannot handle it. And my realization, after being there for Freya happily and with love in my heart, is that I cannot keep us both afloat. She has done things to sabotage our trust, and I have done the same to her. And yet we persevere. Will Foxx? I just don't see it. She's busy, she's popular - there's a million better people out there for her. So sometimes my life just feels like a big emergency. How can I immunize myself against my insecurities? I don't want to ask her about them. I don't want her to worry about them. I worry about Freya's and the way it makes me feel when I know I'm about step on one is awful. I don't want Foxx to feel that way. I don't want her to live in fear of hurting me. Or worse, to not really do anything to avoid them, leaving her with basically no options for talking to me. Perfect. Freya's insecurities make a lot of sense to me, which helps a lot. I really understand her and how they make her feel, and that definitely makes me feel better when the need to help her deal with them arises. But I just feel like mine are so stupid. I'm hypervigilant and hyperobservant and I notice the small things, but I can never remember the good small things, only the bad. So I notice how you tell her how beautiful her eyes are, but don't comment on mine. How you call her princess, but I get bae and other common names. How you are conventionally attractive, but I am not. How you get modelling shoots, but I do not. How people ask for your instagram, but I do not. How you feel like you pass sometimes, but I do not. How people call you beautiful, but not me. How people call you sexy, but not me. How people call you hot, but not me. I do like how you say, 'my love.' I noticed that. And you do reach out to me and tell me that you love me unprompted. But the voice. He wants to know. How often do you say that to others? How many other people do you love like you love me? Do you love anyone more than me? Do you see a future for us? When you talk about plans for the future, do you see me there too? These are evil questions. Summoned from the depths of my insecurities. Impossible questions, dangerous questions, loaded questions. Irrelevant questions. Unanswerable questions. Questions with dangerously flippant - but still true - answers. Questions I know my own answers to. Answers that sound worse than they are - answers admittedly and sadly without the romance that they once had. Questions with answers that depend on how insecure I am, cruelly. It's easy to love someone that's easy to love. I'm not easy to love. Freya loves me despite of that. Freya is not always easy to love. I still love her. But it's true that she's damaged the foundation of trust, and I've done so as well in kind. Will repairing it bring us back to where we once were? I hope so. And then what of Foxx and I? Will my insecurities get the best of me? How do I talk to her about them without attacking her? And I feel like no matter what they will take their silent toll, serving to betray our trust and sully the loving nature of our relationship. Sometimes she is a font of my insecurities, one after the other in rapid succession like suppressive fire. Money, opportunity, privilege, ability, experience and experiences. It makes me feel like a failure. Like I am a joke to the world - like the character you laugh at to take the pressure off the main character. Like I am going to toil in the dirt forever while she drives by in her fancy car - a car she's always wanted. But I've given up on my dreams. Dreams are dangerous to me now. Desires and wants only describe the depth and numerality of what I've missed out on. A tattoo? Can I afford something so extraneous? Sure, I will trade something else for it, but I'm too disabled to predict or know what. Food, weed, the stress of failing to pay my bills till next month. And her hair. I fry my hair with over the counter bleach, stolen of course, and then sit in the shower for two hours trying to get the dye out of my skin. She gets champagne. Do you get it? Do really get it sweetheart? Can you hear the pain in my voice? Can you hear the envy eating me up inside? I thought I was prepared for it, but now you picked literally all my favourite colours. And four of them, no less. Just fucking kill me. Maybe I won't even try to do it myself, I don't know, it makes me feel so inferior. So pathetic. So powerless. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to feel so bitter about you living your life and doing what makes you happy. But I feel so stuck. Like I could get out of this spot if I just got lucky - but lucky with what? How? Everything I do just serves to remind of how far there is to go and how little I've got. Drops of water in the ocean. You've got a cup! Wow! I've never seen something so effective! How could I not covet your cup? I had a cup once. Is yours made of depleted uranium? Or Neutron Star Fluff? Cause mine sure felt like it. I have loved many women in my life. But this is my first time being loved by someone like Foxx. So all I can do is look at things through the lenses I've seen before, and they reveal an image I can suddenly tell is distorted. So I don't know what to expect. None of the images are trustworthy. Which makes me feel afraid. Like you've got one foot out the door, even while your lips are pressed against mine. And those are words I've heard Freya say to me, which puts fear in my heart. If you were going to break my heart someday like I've so sadly and regrettably broken hers, would you promise to warn me now? Before I get too intertwined with you, before I start growing some roots? It seems inevitable, like someday I'll be too tired and too sensitive for you, and you won't have the time or the energy to really connect with me, and then I'll be an island again. I want the answers to these questions, but I want my insecurities to starve first. Answering them now will only help in the short term, but they'll soon be drowned out by the contrarian's demands for ever-increasing proof. In a days time they won't be good enough anymore, they'll be old memories easily dismissed. The contrarian is trying to protect me from further pain, but in doing so it is creating more pain. It's creating pain where there is none. If something bad happens, then I will feel bad and I will cry and that's ok. But the contrarian doesn't really protect me from anything. Seeing it coming does not make me feel any better. Seeing it coming does not make me feel like I can protect myself. Ok. I feel like I could write about this forever, but it's time to stop. It will be an interesting therapy appointment on monday.
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AuthorChristina Hitchens is a trans female writer living in BC, Canada. She loves computers, animals, and a good argument. Archives
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