CAPTAIN'S BLOG
And, after a very long time, I had a pretty good one.
It made me wonder, though. Do either of you think of me still? Even today I thought of each of you. Why? Especially if you do not spare me a second thought? The breakdown of communication feels like a wielded weapon, twisted into a downed opponent. Sure it may be my hand on the blade, but it seems like the only way to remove it, Is to twist it free.
0 Comments
I have done a lot of healing and crying and thinking about Natalia lately.
This will come as a big surprise to anyone who knows me. The more I think about the way she treated me, the more shocked I am. I just, gave her the benefit of the doubt, at every turn. I accepted that she had her personality quirks, her own issues, triggers, sensitivities, and even selfish internal ideas. Ideas she's testing, ideas she's struggling to reject, and ideas she's struggling to embrace. At least, I can infer that much from my own experiences. And she seems to have given me very little of the same considerations. I saw a meme yesterday that brought me asunder, as fully half of the list of "triggering events" occurred to me in rapid succession in the car on that day, when I was apparently expected to fluently and reasonably defend myself for, unbeknownst to me, was my one and only opportunity to do so. After two weeks of doing my best to keep my anxiety under control out of respect for her struggles, we clash and afterwards, there is simply nothing. Perhaps that really is for the better. As much as it calms me to realize that she treated me poorly, it makes me angry. I'm angry that I would let myself be treated that way, and that she would get away without knowing that she treated me that way. That my last attempt to communicate with her where so placationary, makes me want to physically wretch. Sometimes, I dream about kicking the shit out of whatever garbage guy she's walking down the street with, so that I can finally have the five minutes of her attention I think I deserve. And it concerns me. Really, I don't want to feel this way at all. She's two years away, more than one lover behind me, and obviously never really gave a shit about who I really am. She used me for my body, and my car. At least I got something out of it too. And in a way, my victory is the one she may care the most about: She never let me share my most favourite and precious of experiences with her, and she gave me a few deeply treasured memories as well. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you can't get fucked by an asshole though. Cause she sure will. For most of my life, I've been a fiercely logical person. I don't know what ratio is appropriate, but some ratio of that is easy to blame on my father and my testosterone. I could see that being a Logical Man was one of the accepted archetypes, knowing that I didn't want to be an Angry Man.
I've obviously left that overt philosophy behind, but I've gotten very, very good at just... thinking my way through things. It, you know, makes sense and all, but I guess.. that's the problem. It does not make sense that I am still this upset about Natalia. I don't understand it. It is annoying. Perhaps it would be fair to blame my estrogen levels. Whatever it is, I remain deeply wounded, and embarrassed about that wound, even. Even as I review the relationship and find it very much lacking, I find my complaints about her... are complaints I get from others about me. That I'm emotionally cold. Distant. That I'm an asshole. And I don't want to be that kind of person. And when I connect with my emotions, my feelings, I cry. A lot. Seemingly forever. And I'm tired of it. Of crying about Natalia... of crying about Marion. Two people who treated me like shit. Where the best part was the sex. And recently I read that the reason the sex mattered so much to me, was because it was the only part of the relationship when I felt truly seen, and like I mattered to them. Because the thing is, the fact I still write about them, think about, it means that they mattered to me. And you know... that's what matters. It's what sets Freya apart from them in that way. She's willing to work through things, to try, to put in the daily struggle. We may not be able to work, but goddamn do we work on ourselves and each other. This could be, dare I say, an alright year. So if I really do never hear or see anything of them ever again... though it still makes me cry more than I ever thought it would, that's me. That's who I am. I really did love those two, and they really did treat me like shit, and I really hate them both for it. I'm sure they had their reasons. I'm sure they feel at least a little guilty. But that's not good enough. I've tried to reach them. I've tried to extend multiple olive branches of multiple types, but to no avail. And it makes me sad. That I could love them then, and still - and it could leave me crying even today from the frustration, the sadness, the unjustness... they got to judge me but they hear nothing of my rage, of my scorn. It is one of the reasons I picked the name Aphrodite. Love is passion, passion is fire, and fire burns the hands of the unwieldly. No doubt, my frustration has been extended by the virus as well. Although I clearly needed a reminder in the foolish danger of NRE, the inability to connect in the same way with healthier people has been very frustrating, in a background radiation sort of way, especially as people no doubt ignore the regulations under the guise of being "safe enough". I just imagine people hooking up with strangers with face masks on or something. Hopefully, things will change soon. What a perfect title for a post that was continued after Weebly threw away all my writing because I pressed "back" on my mouse. Reflections on my relationship with my father post election, the year in retrospect, all just thrown away because weebly still doesn't have an "Are you sure?" prompt. I bet you it's in the paid version though! But the frustrations of trial software are not the topic for today.
I deal with a lot of frustration in my daily life. I find I have spent a lot of energy in my life trying to protect myself from frustration, but the older I get the wider I see, and I see a lot of things that intentionally constructed to frustrate. This always happens when money is involved, for one thing. Money can never be easy to get, so as a disabled person, I still have to do all kinds of stupid bullshit to get enough money to live comfortably, and of course, I often just can't. I've been emailing the Finance Minister of British Columbia in effort to persuade them to increase disability pay to the poverty line immediately, in part because our covid relief pay is ending, but also because our pay is way, way below the poverty line. Disabled people are paid less than half the minimum wage. Our wages have been flat for almost 20 years, only being increased recently, thanks to the NDP government. They need to increase the pace if we're ever going to live without stress and fear. I feel alone when people are with me.
Familiar people bore me. But I need familiar people in order to feel comfortable exploring the new. There is a dichotomy inside of me. I want things to be the same every day, and I want things to be different every day. I want to see my friends and lovers every day, and I want to do nothing and play video games every day. I want to stay in. I want to go out. I want to make games. I want to play them. I want to fall in love - I don't want to get my heart broken by people who I love, but who don't love me. I want to get laid. I don't want people to use me. I want to look deep into the eyes of a woman I love again. I don't want to cry uncontrollably while doing so. I want to tell her that I hope she's miserable. That I hate her for not just doing what she did, but for getting away with it, too. I want to see her on the street and scream at her, kick the shit out of whoever she's with, and laugh at her pain. Just like I can hear her laughing at mine. And the dichotomy remains even here. I want to forget about her. To not care about her. But I also want her to know that I've realized what she did to me. How she treated me. How she made me feel. I want her to feel as bad as I do whenever I think about her. I know, or at least think, that she is not evil. She's broken, just like me. But she didn't seem to care that I was broken. And I thought I was finally somewhere safe to be broken. Well, they finally did it. After several days of counting, it turns out that barely a majority of americans reject fascism.
And the half that supported fascism are... just out there. Like they always have been. It's hard to know what to make of that. Knowing that, given the opportunity, half of your peers would sell you down the river for lower taxes and a no nonsense attitude. Being a Canadian, people sometimes indicate they don't understand why I care about american politics. Yet a cousin of mine says she'd do anything for Trump. So, a cousin of mine is a fascist. Crazy to think. My father is a fascist. And still others don't seem to really understand the stakes. They say he's not a fascist, or to wait until he's done something truly, directly wrong. As if giving permission for others to believe hateful things isn't bad enough. Like he needs to have blood directly on his hands to have blood on his hands? You know that's a metaphor, right? Speaking in favour of hurting people in the name of fascism is the same as hurting people. Fighting against fascism is a unique scenario. This is what the paradox of tolerance is all about. Fighting tooth and nail against those who are willing to hurt others because of who they are is required for a civilization to function. I think our ability to recognize this will be the next Great Divider. Ironically, these are the liberals my dad warned me about. What my dad didn't see coming is that he - and millions like him - have become the fascists he also warned me about. Like, what was 1984 about? Or better yet, fucking Atlas Shrugged. Trump isn't the party of the yes man and the crony? Please. And indeed, it's an empty victory. A centrist and a centrist. No abolishment of police, a spotty record for trans rights, and an even worse record on drug reform and prison reform. So again, this is an extremely average achievement for America. Congrats. I have lead a very lonely life.
Arguably through no free will of my own. It has affected me more than I thought. It, perhaps, is the single driving thing in my life. Which is unfortunate, because it seems to be so deeply ingrained that it doesn't respond to reality. I have a loving partner who is the kind of person I have been searching my whole life for. I have a small online community of people who enjoy reading my writing. Or at least the memes I share. I even have a crush on a follower. How quaint. Two good roommates. A cat. A loving mother and good step father. A step brother I look up to but can't stand me and a sister I admire but who I can't stand. Even though she's said some undeservedly nice things to me. Like, to my face. Almost normal sounding. But it doesn't seem to change a damn thing about how I feel. About myself, about others - looking bac, this same feeling pervades and permeates every moment of my life. My childhood was lonely, but not perfectly so. I had some friends, but didn't see or talk to them anywhere we didn't have to be. Anyone who talked to me for longer than a few hours was someone I would certainly generate feelings for - appropriate or not. My senior year of high school, my friend and I were voted best friends in the yearbook, surprising both of us. I played online games, where I had a team, but still, not really friends. No one really asked me how I was doing or if I was ok. I didn't really know though, did I? What would I have said? I often wonder, though, if someone had taken the kind of interest in my life like I've heard and seen happen to some people I know. Especially since transitioning, I kinda expected more help - but things haven't really changed. I figured now I'd have the support of the community, but it just doesn't seem to be there. I guess I'm just an asshole. After I moved to Canada I was mostly alone for about 9 years. Overall, I would say this was the mostly cripplingly lonely time in my whole life. It stretched on for what seemed like forever. I went to university and got a degree or whatever, made a couple friends there, only managed to keep in touch with one of them since then. Funny, I guess I wasn't the right kind of asshole for most of them. That's good for me I guess. Not enough of an asshole to hang with the real assholes but too much of an asshole to hang out with normal folx. At my best times in school, I had friends, but still no love. No one had touched me with love in their heart for years, except for my mother. Massages and escorts were my only company. Then I was travelling for work - this only seemed to amplify my loneliness. Too stressed for escorts, ironically, my isolation only increased, despite being surrounded by people. By acquaintances, they were all just acquaintances. No one ever wanted to see me again, no one ever wanted to talk to me again. Once was enough. There was just nothing memorable, apparently. And now, the loneliness is self-fulfilling. People find it frustrating, suffocating, or it leads me to be distant, and uncaring. Either I care too much and suffocate them or I don't care enough and they feel neglected. I just want to be normal. I want to be frustrated but not crippled with rage - I want to be sad but not incapacitated. I don't want to lose myself in others, like I did with Natalia and so many others. I just want to be me. But who am I? Perhaps that is not a fair question. I know who I am. What I don't seem to know is how to bridge the delta between who I am and how I act under stress. When fearing losing someone. When that feeling of fear of being alone returns. When someone looks me in the eyes and tells me that they love me. That fear of being attached to someone meaning that they can hurt me. I just want to love and be loved. It's all I've ever wanted. Our justice system is broken.
It is broken for so many reasons - it is founded in racist structures designed to keep slaves, it is a clearly imperfect and failing solution to the problem of the monopoly on violence, it fails to consider the advancement of firearms and is at odds with the ever more apparent need for the populace to arm itself in the event their government is no longer an entity working for the people. And that is not at all an exhaustive list. But one of the key, fundamental problems with our justice system right now is that it operates on the assumption that free will is not an illusion. It assumes that, at almost any one point in time, one could have done otherwise. It sounds easy, like sure, anyone could do otherwise - have a drink of water or don't, stay in or don't, be slutty or don't, whatever you appear to wish. But what you appear to wish is out of your control. This is the illusion - this is the part that we struggle with throughout our own lives - but is also especially what we struggle with when it comes to other people and their behaviour and "choices". Looking closely at the behaviours we see in others and ourselves reveals the "almostness" of the firmness of our belief in free will - crimes of passion are the easy example here. But they are tangential to my point. The justice system operates on the assumption that it is possible for it to exist as a deterrent to crime. Or the fact that it exists will prevent people from doing the things they prevent people from doing. And sure, it deters maybe even quite a bit of casually foolish decisions - the odd impulse to speed recklessly, stealing something you don't need, vandalising something for no reason - but it fails to deter the determined. And their determination comes from all kinds of things, including mental health, but it all boils down to the same thing: Necessity. Their brain chemistry demands it. This can be seen everywhere - it explains why people steal food - and other things, including entertainment, and why people try drugs they know are dangerous and addictive. Drugs are the answer to an unpleasant existence. The degree of unpleasantness, it seems, influences the choice in drug. This is why treating drug addiction as a crime is so utterly senseless. First of all, it immediately and usually permanently makes their life worse, only exacerbating the need for drugs. It also leads to a massive number of people imprisoned for just trying to survive, and given a militarized police force, a massive number of unjustified brutality and death of people who need our help. And of course, now the more ignorant public say foolish things about a man who was killed by police utterly unjustly. And unless I name him, you won't know who I'm talking about. Because there are so many. No matter what any of these people may have done, they did not deserve to die. Even if they have killed other people, they did not deserve to die. Because that is another cruel twist of the justice systems reliance on free will - even those who hurt other people are people who are in need of help, not punishment. It is true that there probably will be exceptions - even in recent history (like that's different from any other time), both convicted and non - people who are beyond reaching, but I think that is a virtue of ignorance of the brain and effective treatments of people, especially at a younger age. It is a rare person indeed - despite what my heart may think - who never resists or feels the guilt of hurting another. So even the worst people in the world deserve our compassion, and help. Again, not what the heart tends to think. So maybe we do need someone to protect us from the exceedingly rare circumstance that a healthy and reality-driven health and safety system would still allow. And perhaps police would be that force. But that represents a tiny fraction of the type of crime that is dealt with by the police right now. And still, the idea that one would assault or even kill someone ought to be something that never happens. The illusion of free will gives us a framework for valuing the lives, understanding the actions, and guiding the morality of people - and thus the course of its justice. This doesn't mean that we're all automatons - but the deeper meanings of free will are not the purpose of this post. Neuroplasticity is a powerful force - hence the importance of reaching people who are vulnerable to violence early, and ensuring that every person in society has what they need to be happy, whatever that may be, and regardless of their social class. The fact that our society does not do that, and is failing worse at those things more than ever, is why we see riots and violence in America and Canada and solidarity riots in the rest of the world. North American society routinely fails minorities of all kinds. As a trans woman, I know this. But black people in the US and Canada know it better than I do. And first nations in both countries know it better than I do too. However, while I have your attention, I would like to point out that this handily disproves JK Rowling and other TERF's beliefs on trans people. We have no more free will in determining our gender than someone can choose their sexual preferences. Our brains are the way they are, and thus we are the way we are. Ultimately, this post is about how BLACK LIVES MATTER. But I wanted to mention trans people as well. So I dedicate this post to the memory of Tony McDade, Riah Milton, and Dominique Fells. Rest in Power. I've been healing.
Really actively focusing on healing. At therapy we talk a lot about Jessica. While I do sometimes say that Natalia killed her, it's more true that she's just... in hiding. In the Castle Keep, she sits on her throne, going between crying and screaming. It's a boring existence. It's boring having her in there, only really able to contribute sniping comments to my day to day life. Draining my energy away with her tears, with her explanations, with her reasons, with her questions. Every now and then an epiphany is brought to her. "Natalia was a pretty shitty partner" was a recent one. She gave more time and effort communicating with Freya than she did with me - they'd go for a walk and talk for an hour or two, and they'd come back, with clear heads. I had hardly seen anyone try like that with Freya - it was heartening, it was comforting, it was utterly misleading. I expected the same effort, and I did not get it. Questions were asked, partially or unsatisfactorily answered, and then never brought up again. Our time together was cut shorter and shorter. Instead of getting an opportunity to explain myself, I was cut off, never to be contacted again. Her friends refuse to talk to me. I have her dead-eyed, emotionless explanation, and the word "disgusted". That's it. It hurts, it makes me sad, blah blah blah. It's weak, and it's cowardly, and it's not very punk. In a world where no one cares about anyone, it's punk as fuck to care about the wellbeing of others and the impact you have on them. I think she has cast me as a crazy, borderline abusive ex girlfriend, thus making it acceptable to just block me out. Unfortunately this is something that really triggers me so I'm my reactions only serve to help her. But what am I to do? Trying to process things internally does nothing. I've been struggling for OVER A YEAR NOW and it's fucking stupid. Over someone who used me so boldly? How could I have loved someone so much who valued me so little? It's embarassing. And now I have a new ex - Alyx. But at least, I have no reason to hate her. It's nice to just be sad, instead of also angry. |
AuthorChristina Hitchens is a trans female writer living in BC, Canada. She loves computers, animals, and a good argument. Archives
March 2022
Categories
All
|