• 31 Dec, 2025 *

there’s a pretty major part of me that is very upset at the unfairness of it all.

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i guess i should throw a disclaimer on here1. i don’t know who still reads these, or who’s finding them at random on the internet, but the next few weeks are probably gonna be fucked up and weird.

i started journaling with pen & paper about a week ago. mostly because i currently suspect I might have bipolar or cyclothymic disorder, and if i’m going to figure that out i need to keep track of my mood swings a little better.

it... has helped, i think. if nothing else, it makes all this feel a lil more tangible, which is good. its also somewhere i can write without an audience, which is sometimes necessary.

i do crave an audience though. i always have. when i hurt, i wanna be known. when i’m happy, i wanna share it. i’ve never been able to escape the pervasive feeling that nothing is worth it unless observed, good or bad.

it’s a feeling i really do want to escape, but i have a lot of battles to fight right now. we’re triaging.

so these posts are gonna continue. the sometimes-apathetic, sometimes-hopeful documentation of my slow collapse/ascent into/out of insanity. we’ll see which one it ends up being. i’m feeling very neutral about it all right now.

supposedly journaling is good for you, provided you’re not just huffing carbon monoxide in the process2. i’ll try and avoid that this time, at the very least.

But i suspect i’m also gonna go light on the self-censoring. interact at your own discretion, okay?

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so where was i? right. the unfairness of it all.

i know, it’s a damn stupid thing to say. to raise your fist at the sky and demand that things should have been different, just because you dont like how they are.

it accomplishes very little, except to keep you stuck in the mire of never actually changing anything. the first step is very often to lower your fist, take a deep breath, and go do something practical with your paws instead.

there’s something about suffering in silence that gets romanticised a lot, and i’m not immune to it. i would love to be the kind of person who can endure the trials of life with a smile and a kind word to everybody.

it’s interesting to me that in media, that sort of person is so often a woman - the elderly lady with the raw hands from a life of washing clothes and pans, the tired mother who carries her baby with her while she works in some colonial field, the eldest daughter with two jobs and half a uni degree if she’s lucky; and all of them praised and admired for how they never complain about it all.

the men get to bitch though. funny about that.

anyway, the point is: as much as i recognise the incredible toxicity of it, i have always wished i could be one of those people. i’ve always idealistically pictured myself as the bastion, the wall, the suit of armour. i don’t want to bother anyone. i dont want to be bothered by anything. i want to get on with the work, even if it’s hard.

but i’ve always lacked the conviction. i crumble too easily. so i complain a lot.

but y’know what? i think that’s actually pretty necessary.

there’s another type of character that i really love - the dichotomy, the liar, the false-complainer. the one who does spend all their time bitching, but then gets up and does the work anyway. the one who tells you every time not to ask this of them again, but is nevertheless there saying it once more when the next time comes around. the person who’s actions prove them the most reliable cunt in the world, even as their words protest the exact opposite.

don’t get me wrong - i’m not that. i haven’t been reliable. as i said, i lack the conviction. but i think, of the two, it’s the more achievable goal. maybe even the healthier goal.

so lets say it one more time, for those in the back row:

this shit is so fucking unfair.

i’ve spent today calling doctors and helplines. i went to pick up some new meds that are supposed to have a better chance of working than the last ones. i’ve made two different safety plans for two different time frames. i wrote down a list of phone numbers to call. i spent an hour reading workbooks and info brochures in the hope i’ll find some helpful missing piece. i finally opened the DBT workbook a friend sent me months ago, and i’ll be going back to that when i’m done here. tomorrow i am going to go to a new years lunch and be social, despite how desperately i want to stay home and self destruct. i messaged the people i hurt to apologise and try to reconnect.

i have maybe 48 hours to shore up as many of these defences as i can before the next wave hits, and i’m exhausted. i hate this. i should never have been burdened with it. nobody around me should have ever been burdened with it, my problems or their own.

but here i am with the bricks and mortar, repairing all these holes i made. we’re doing the work, or something like it anyway.

its not fair.

it’s not fair that i grew up in a family that silently traumatised my shit, evaporating my fledgling ability to handle my emotions while also equipping me to gaslight myself about it forever. fuck you, dad.

it’s not fair how many friends i’ve hurt and lost, how many times i’ve been hurt by people who were friends, and how impossible it is now for me to trust people even when i KNOW they aren’t the people who hurt me. i see shadows of it everywhere, and i hate it.

it’s not fair that i’m trans in a world that hates us, and that i got pressed into a body that i feel is impossible to fix. its unfair that i even feel like i need to fix it. its unfair that i want to cry whenever someone tries to tell me the way i exist is okay. i didnt fucking ask for this, and neither did millions of other people like me.

it’s not fair that the world is on fire, and i’m standing here knowing i will never make a difference in that fight, and yet feeling increasingly obligated to do something. I have to do something, or i’ll die. thats not a real choice. thats not fair. none of it is fair.

it’s not fair that i feel any of these things when there is millions and millions of people who would do anything to have a fraction of my luck, a fraction of my privilege, a fraction of my safety. i’m so lucky, and its so not fair that i feel like this anyway. its not fair on me. its especially not fair on them. and i hate everything that led us here.

i’m tired. it’s fucked up. it’s not fair.

it’s unfair, the way i treated my friends recently. the people who love me. i’ve done so much harm.

it’s unfair how many times i haven’t listened, how many opportunities i’ve wasted, how much emotional time and energy other people have spent only for me to go and undo all the work they put in.

im sorry. i’m really sorry. it wasn’t fair, and i wanna do better.

it’s not fair that i’m here writing this at all. it’s not fair that you’re here reading this, if you are. this should have been a movie review, or a poem, or a photography journal. its not fair how much potential i had, and wasted, and had stolen.

and...

i think that’s enough now. i’m putting my fist down.

sometimes it helps to get it out. the anger, the injustice, the despair. i think i go crazy when i hold it in. i know there’s a lot of perspectives on this - i’ve had more than one friend who fervently believed that only positivity was worthwhile to put before an audience, and maybe they were right. i don’t know.

i think i need balance. i need to be able to say "look at what i did, and look at how hard it was". i need to be able to scream when i’m upset. i need to cry when i am hurt. i need to chronicle the bad, so i can look back on it and say "yes, i was right about how much that sucked, and it’s good that we’re not there anymore."

i am taking a deep breath now. and then maybe a couple more.

i feel a lil less overwhelmed by the work. a little more clearheaded. a little numb, but the way i do after i’ve spent a long time crying, not the dissociated kind. thats good, i think.

i’m not happy about it, but there’s still work to do. and god gave me four paws for a reason.

not this reason, to be clear. this sucks, and isn’t fair. but all the same, i’m glad i have them.

and if i keep working on it, then one day i WILL get to find out what these paws were actually made for. and then we’ll be getting somewhere, y’know?

you gotta believe in something, anyway.

💚💚💚

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i know, i know. i’ve said all this before. i feel it bears repeating at this juncture.↩ 1.

sorry, inside joke from the second season of an obscure show-↩