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bardfaust · 3 years
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Euronymous, 1989.
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nintendo-town · 3 years
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Mayhem Brawler (Nintendo Switch) - Le test
Mayhem Brawler (Nintendo Switch) – Le test
La chaleur vous stresse ? Vous avez envie d’un peu de détente ? Vous laisseriez-vous tenter par un petit défouloir virtuel histoire de libérer vos pulsions solaires ? Le studio Hero Concept a la solution ! Il vous propose ce beat’em up aux allures de bande dessinée en guise d’exutoire estival. Avec ses airs de déjà vu, Mayem Brawler saura-t-il se différencier  ? (more…)
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trans-gothic · 6 years
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Day 204: Things Get Damaged, Things Get Broken (People Don’t)
Get it? Ha ha.
I have been struggling with my depression a lot lately. But it’s weird because, like, I will feel like I’m doing much better and like my life is picking up but then it jumps on me all at once (or allatonce, to channel e e cummings).
I’ve seen the new IT six times now. I think it might be kind of like how I will get depressed and just put on Silence Of The Lambs as I go to sleep every night for a month sometimes.
I’m not drunk. I wish I was but I am not. I couldn’t tell you for sure why I am sticking to that. It might be just to spite my mother for calling me an alcoholic.
Do you remember like a year ago when I wrote a post with a title that went something like “supplementing pills with booze”? I really think that the alcohol was actually helping with the shortcomings of my sadbrainmeds (cummings again) and sleeping pills. It made me numb from some of this when it didn’t give it a megaphone.
I decided not to structure this coherently. I want it to convey how my head is right now so it is stream of consciousness or whatevs.
Yesterday I went out to the movies with my friend Kathy. I know I’ve talked about her before, and I know that I’ve written about her before and I knowthat (not editing either) she reads this (hi Kathy). To catch up: She is a coworker, since my “promotion” (HATEHATEHATEHATE new job) I am technically her boss. We have an admitted mutual sexual interest in each other. She is married and older than my mother. She is very pretty. Last week I helped her order a vibrator off the internet and she tried it out right there in my car. She gave me the panties she was wearing that day. I don’t think I’m handling all this as a purely sexual thing? I dunno. Who knows. Not me. Fuck if I know.
I told her the other day that on the vibrator day I was strongly tempted to try to kiss her. She said to just tell her the next time I felt that way and see how she felt about it. Even before yesterday I knew that this was probably a bad idea and would not go anywhere useful good (imagine “useful” poorly erased and good scrawled messily over it). The basic gist was... “How does this end well for me?” She’s married and straight. So even if somehow we do end up together then it’s got a rapidly ticking timer as I move further from male (hahaha GOOD LUCK EVER GETTING THAT DONE YOU FUCK, YOU WILL NEVER GET WHERE YOU WANT). Even supposing THAT were to work out somehow... Fi, honey, she’s 25 years older than you. Remember her problems with her husband being 13 years older? Yeah. REMEMBER THAT.
So yesterday I gave her a box of candies (that melted because it is way too goddamn hot here right now) and we went to the movies and I was kind of ignoring that “there’s no way that this ends well for you” and was probably going to try to kiss her after the movie, but then she got a call from her husband and that just threw me back to where I’d been the night before. I talked to another friend about it, and today at lunch I talked with Kathy about it, and all three of us are in agreement;. THe fuck are you doing here, Fi? There is no happy ending here. There is no good ending. This does not end well for you.
I know I say this a lot but I’m worried about my body. I’m worried that I will always be as disgustingly masculine as I am right now.
I don’t know how often the average person fantasizes about dying, but it’s probably less often than I do by a large margin.
As previously stated I am struggling a lot with my depression right now. It’s like, it doesn’t even necessarily feel like things are so bad, but it feels like there is something within my head that is broken and rotting. It’s like I have these times when it feels like I am happy and everything has come through but then that just quickly fades out and the stars go out one by one and all is black. Melodramatic maybe, but phrasing it like that stops it from being “HATEHATEHATEDIEYOUHAVETODIESOONYOUFUCKINGBROKEBRAIN[word removed but it starts with T and ends with Y, 4 letters in between]WRETCHCREATURETHINGHAAAATE”.
So I was thinking today, like, when was the last time that I think I felt truly Happy. Like okay Fi, regroup, you’re not going anywhere good now what direction where were you when you were last generally in a good place. And, like, it was an easy answer. It was when I was hanging out with Piranha and getting wasted all the goddamn time. It was shitty and I had bad nights but I generally liked where I was or maybe I’m just telling myself that?
My head literally hurts from how bad I feel.
On the thirteenth, I was out presenting as female and a complete stranger came up and told me he was going to snap my neck, then laughed as he walked away. So hey, if I don’t just completely self-destruct at some point down the line then there’s a good chance that someone will do it for me. Ha ha. Get it?
I feel stuck in my horrible job because I need it so that I can maybe actually get to be a girl at some point.
I meant to talk about this earlier but (I feel much calmer now) I’ve been thinking a lot tonight about how old I am. I’m twenty goddamn eight years old. I’m still years from anything resembling being able to be myself or have the right body or how the FUCK can you ever even explain what it is? From being able to be a girl. Woman, I guess, really. I’ll never get to be a girl. I never got to be young, and I never will. I had some example for what I meant by this the other day and I have been wracking my brain to come up with what that was.
On my birthday, I went out presenting as female for the first time, with Piranha and Emily. It was an amazing night. I worry that I will never be that happy again (I worry that I will never be happy again; I worry that I will only ever feel like this for the rest of my life). When I got nervous as we were waiting for our table at the sushi bar, we went to the car and Piranha and I snuck some liquor and Em smoked some wax. It was great. It was at the Brea Mall, which was the first place I went on the day that I called out of work to (you only were able to make yourself do this because you got drunk and forced your sober self’s hand) force myself to actually make the call and schedule my first HRT appointment. So now it is a place where I can be male or female. It is a liminal space and I am trying to kind of slowly expand what places are such liminal spaces for me.
But of course the 13th was a good reminder that I am gambling with my life every time I do. I know some of you will think that is dramatic, but that’s okay. Maybe I am. But it certainly undermined the feeling that I am safe doing that.
I have pepper spray now.
“We’ve changed” say the voices from the drain before the blood splatters into Beverley’s face.
There was such an effortless joy to that night, my birthday.
I was thinking about the lyrics to “True Trans Soul Rebel” again earlier and wondering if I would have been married by now if I were a normal fucking human being cis.
I know that I put way too much emphasis on having a romantic relationship, intimate companionship and all that. But that is something that my brain is constantly fucking screaming at me about.
The wild and howling desperation of a band like Mayem (circa Live In Leipzig, of course).
I really, truly am worried that I will never experience a positive emotion again.
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