A Reflection: 2017
2017
It has been a fucking whirlwind of year without a doubt.
It has been a fucking whirlwind of year without a doubt.
I think I can safely say that 2017 has been a year of self-development, influences, both positive & negative and building of relationships. This past year I did things that I never envisioned myself doing. I started to pursue a career outside of bodies and writing. I wrote someone a love letter, telling that person just how much I liked them. (We all know how that fucking went.) I got to go to Orlando where I met Dan & Phil, which was a wonderful treat. I've started building an open and honest friendship with someone...well, I tried to. Despite all the ups and downs of the year; the emotional turbulence, self-harm, the rage, despair, drugs, shifting of affection, the friendships, the acceptance, the year wasn't a complete loss. It might just have balanced itself out in the end. I say might have because I'm not a mathematician nor am I am a maths wizard and I'm not sure how these things really weigh out. It may be a little late, but I'm really coming into my own.
More and more throughout this year, I've been brutally honest about the way I've been feeling either in the past or currently. I've shared not only with friends but on here the better parts of my life as well as the really shitty parts. I've been able to share with a few people some of the deeper aspects of my personality as well as some of the things that weigh heavily on my mind. I've accepted that bipolar is and will forever be a part of my life. I've always known this, but I didn't want it to be all that I was. In some ways, I was afraid to let go of the illness. I was afraid that if I started to let the secrets out, lower my defences that I wouldn't be anymore. People wouldn't like me as much. I would lose views. I wouldn't be able to do some of the things that I love doing. I also feared that being completely open about the horrors of bipolar disorder and some of the other sufferings that have come with my flavour of bipolar people would see me differently. I'd be left out even more than before. I'd become even more of a shell if I let people know I was sick.
I didn't want to face the stigma that comes with being an average person and having a mental illness. It's great for celebrities that come out, but really it's not all the same. Most of the time these people have support systems, the funds for extra help and access to some of the best care. I don't. The average person doesn't. This year I've been increasingly open and honest about some of the ongoings in my therapy sessions and my meetings with a psychopharmacologist. I wanted people to see behind the polished Hollywood ideals and watered down tones produced by the media for entertainment. I feel like I've failed on this front. That sharing so much of this only gave people more reason to hurt me, ignore me or exclude me. I'd like to say that I wholly regret sharing these things, but I guess I'm just being selfish here in hoping that sharing influenced some people to seek help, treatment or be able to talk more openly about their mental health. I've had one or two people say that I have. It's not something to be sniffed at, but Jesus fucking Christ, the return really isn't worth it for me. I exposed so much of myself that in an effort trying to help others, I fucked myself. Even though society has become a long way with acceptance and treatments, there are still so many more people in need of help, support and acceptance. I'm pretty much always going to struggle with this illness, but throughout the year, I've come to see that there are certain aspects that can get better. Some of them did get better for me. It wasn't overnight. Sometimes it helps to think or know things can get better. Maybe not today, maybe not in a few months, but eventually, some things can.
This past year I met someone who changed the orbit of my world completely. Our first physical contact was pure electricity, changing the charge of my cells. When we broke apart, I was utterly intoxicated by his essence, his passion and his scent. Everything about him attracted me. Falling through planes of confusion, it finally was made clear to me that he was the one that I wanted all along. Our discussions have left me energised, curious and longing in ways that sustain me, drive me and challenge me. There's really only way I can think to describe him right now and the only way is the Ghost song, "He Is"
He is
He’s the shining in the light
Without whom I cannot see
And he is
Insurrection, he is spite
He’s the force that made me be
He is
Nostro Dispater
Nostr'Alma Mater
He's inspired and in his own way, nurtured, my creativity. Through him, I've explored new expressions of love, passion and intellectual curiosity. Through him, I've discovered new mediums of expression as well. Cake. He's inspired an entire cupcake line, cookbook & bakery. I'm not a real cake fan, but his passion for treats and my culinary curiosity was the real driving force behind Delectables with Dan especially after meeting him. It was more of a hobby, really. Now I'm looking to turn it into a career of sorts. I'm not going to be cleaning up shit forever and I kind of need a fallback. Creating new confections is something that actually makes me feel good about myself. I'm not really sure why, but it makes me feel a tad hopeful about things. I can get into the kitchen and bake and create for hours and walk away feeling a true sense of accomplishment. Many of these cakes/cupcakes inspired by him will be released in 2018 sometime.
My life was pretty plain before I ran into him. And in all the ways he's changed things for the better, he's also made things worse. I've experienced periods of hopeless longing, inhuman questions and suicidal thoughts because of him, but I actually don't blame him. I think with this one, the good far out ways the bad. He ripped my life away from me and handed me the pieces back so I could assemble some sort of meaning. I can't ever hate him for the wonderful challenges and opportunities he's presented me with.
I've been challenged in ways that I didn't expect this year.
I was open about my feelings for someone in the first time in the longest time. In many ways, I set myself up for failure. I was blinded by what I wanted to see in this person and was too caught up in these feelings to look behind his carefully crafted persona. As it's been with me in the past, I allowed my high to get in the way of my logical thinking. I spent months working on the letter to give him. I wanted to express it beautifully, poetically and allow him a peek into who I was so that he'd be interested enough to say, "Hey, I'd like to get to know you." I jumped through hoops and bent myself over backwards for him and he wouldn't even look up at me. I build up a world of hope, anxiously waiting for a reply and when I got nothing and not even a real thank you for what I'd done, I crumbled. It's been months, but I'm still not over it. I don't think I ever will be. He revealed his true colours that day and they were colours that I don't want painting scenes in my life. I think this was more painful than the Bill or Paula situations because he appeared to be something completely different and they always reminded you what assholes they could be.
I thought this would be the year that I made real friends, but as I sit here, the shambles of my relationships in my hands and tequila on my breath, I can honestly say it's all been a farce. Another year wasted on nonsensical dreams. I thought I'd made a friend that I could be completely open with, share everything with, but I was wrong. Her actions of betrayal and disregard have cut me to the bone for the last time. It left me with fresh scars both physically and psychologically. The worst part of it all? She doesn't feel that she did anything wrong. She can't see how her actions fucked me up. If she'd listened, we could have avoided a lot of this. I don't think I want to ever want to fully open up to another human being again. I'm beyond the point of exhaustion with false promises, empty sentiments and people who don't give a shit about me. And it's always women who do this to me. I've only been betrayed by men two times and I'm pretty sure one of them had a vagina. I'm not going to apologise for my hatred of most women because it's based on experience. Almost every woman I've ever come into contact with has systematically tried to screw me and not in any way that I'd like or find fun. Another woman befriended me for the sole purpose of trying to screw with me, better her self-esteem. She's disgusting in every sense of the word. I think the only person as contemptible as this 'woman' is Umbridge from Harry Potter or maybe Hilary Clinton. I was nice when I responded to her, not wanting to be a complete dick when in hindsight, I should have told her to stick it up her unwashed cunt. I wish she was within my reach because I'd choke her. And of course, if I yell at her, she gets her pussy hairs in a twist and tries to guilt trip me. Too bad guilt is entirely lost on me. Actually, she reminds me a lot of Melfi. Christ on a tricycle. Why do I attract these broads?Maybe this is a sign that I'm better off alone. I don't know where I'm going to go in these friendships, I really don't. I have a few ideas for some of them, but they're not ending on a happy note.
I didn't want to face the stigma that comes with being an average person and having a mental illness. It's great for celebrities that come out, but really it's not all the same. Most of the time these people have support systems, the funds for extra help and access to some of the best care. I don't. The average person doesn't. This year I've been increasingly open and honest about some of the ongoings in my therapy sessions and my meetings with a psychopharmacologist. I wanted people to see behind the polished Hollywood ideals and watered down tones produced by the media for entertainment. I feel like I've failed on this front. That sharing so much of this only gave people more reason to hurt me, ignore me or exclude me. I'd like to say that I wholly regret sharing these things, but I guess I'm just being selfish here in hoping that sharing influenced some people to seek help, treatment or be able to talk more openly about their mental health. I've had one or two people say that I have. It's not something to be sniffed at, but Jesus fucking Christ, the return really isn't worth it for me. I exposed so much of myself that in an effort trying to help others, I fucked myself. Even though society has become a long way with acceptance and treatments, there are still so many more people in need of help, support and acceptance. I'm pretty much always going to struggle with this illness, but throughout the year, I've come to see that there are certain aspects that can get better. Some of them did get better for me. It wasn't overnight. Sometimes it helps to think or know things can get better. Maybe not today, maybe not in a few months, but eventually, some things can.
This past year I met someone who changed the orbit of my world completely. Our first physical contact was pure electricity, changing the charge of my cells. When we broke apart, I was utterly intoxicated by his essence, his passion and his scent. Everything about him attracted me. Falling through planes of confusion, it finally was made clear to me that he was the one that I wanted all along. Our discussions have left me energised, curious and longing in ways that sustain me, drive me and challenge me. There's really only way I can think to describe him right now and the only way is the Ghost song, "He Is"
He is
He’s the shining in the light
Without whom I cannot see
And he is
Insurrection, he is spite
He’s the force that made me be
He is
Nostro Dispater
Nostr'Alma Mater
He's inspired and in his own way, nurtured, my creativity. Through him, I've explored new expressions of love, passion and intellectual curiosity. Through him, I've discovered new mediums of expression as well. Cake. He's inspired an entire cupcake line, cookbook & bakery. I'm not a real cake fan, but his passion for treats and my culinary curiosity was the real driving force behind Delectables with Dan especially after meeting him. It was more of a hobby, really. Now I'm looking to turn it into a career of sorts. I'm not going to be cleaning up shit forever and I kind of need a fallback. Creating new confections is something that actually makes me feel good about myself. I'm not really sure why, but it makes me feel a tad hopeful about things. I can get into the kitchen and bake and create for hours and walk away feeling a true sense of accomplishment. Many of these cakes/cupcakes inspired by him will be released in 2018 sometime.
My life was pretty plain before I ran into him. And in all the ways he's changed things for the better, he's also made things worse. I've experienced periods of hopeless longing, inhuman questions and suicidal thoughts because of him, but I actually don't blame him. I think with this one, the good far out ways the bad. He ripped my life away from me and handed me the pieces back so I could assemble some sort of meaning. I can't ever hate him for the wonderful challenges and opportunities he's presented me with.
I've been challenged in ways that I didn't expect this year.
I was open about my feelings for someone in the first time in the longest time. In many ways, I set myself up for failure. I was blinded by what I wanted to see in this person and was too caught up in these feelings to look behind his carefully crafted persona. As it's been with me in the past, I allowed my high to get in the way of my logical thinking. I spent months working on the letter to give him. I wanted to express it beautifully, poetically and allow him a peek into who I was so that he'd be interested enough to say, "Hey, I'd like to get to know you." I jumped through hoops and bent myself over backwards for him and he wouldn't even look up at me. I build up a world of hope, anxiously waiting for a reply and when I got nothing and not even a real thank you for what I'd done, I crumbled. It's been months, but I'm still not over it. I don't think I ever will be. He revealed his true colours that day and they were colours that I don't want painting scenes in my life. I think this was more painful than the Bill or Paula situations because he appeared to be something completely different and they always reminded you what assholes they could be.
I thought this would be the year that I made real friends, but as I sit here, the shambles of my relationships in my hands and tequila on my breath, I can honestly say it's all been a farce. Another year wasted on nonsensical dreams. I thought I'd made a friend that I could be completely open with, share everything with, but I was wrong. Her actions of betrayal and disregard have cut me to the bone for the last time. It left me with fresh scars both physically and psychologically. The worst part of it all? She doesn't feel that she did anything wrong. She can't see how her actions fucked me up. If she'd listened, we could have avoided a lot of this. I don't think I want to ever want to fully open up to another human being again. I'm beyond the point of exhaustion with false promises, empty sentiments and people who don't give a shit about me. And it's always women who do this to me. I've only been betrayed by men two times and I'm pretty sure one of them had a vagina. I'm not going to apologise for my hatred of most women because it's based on experience. Almost every woman I've ever come into contact with has systematically tried to screw me and not in any way that I'd like or find fun. Another woman befriended me for the sole purpose of trying to screw with me, better her self-esteem. She's disgusting in every sense of the word. I think the only person as contemptible as this 'woman' is Umbridge from Harry Potter or maybe Hilary Clinton. I was nice when I responded to her, not wanting to be a complete dick when in hindsight, I should have told her to stick it up her unwashed cunt. I wish she was within my reach because I'd choke her. And of course, if I yell at her, she gets her pussy hairs in a twist and tries to guilt trip me. Too bad guilt is entirely lost on me. Actually, she reminds me a lot of Melfi. Christ on a tricycle. Why do I attract these broads?Maybe this is a sign that I'm better off alone. I don't know where I'm going to go in these friendships, I really don't. I have a few ideas for some of them, but they're not ending on a happy note.
In June of this year, I officially came out. I was tired of living my double life online and having to hide who I was in person. I knew that it would bring me immense pain, but I'd be able to be free. Sadly, that wasn't the case. In telling my family and some close friends that I was indeed trans, it wasn't a pen name thing or some kind of cross-dressing business or a phase, I received some of the most abusive remarks anyone could endure. I was told that it was wrong, that it's not right, that it's a part of a mental illness or that I just wanted to do this for attention. Many of them have stopped talking to me. I'm left out of things even more so. All this from people who told me they cared about me and my well being. Because I made the decision to no longer hide, to try and do something for my mental health, I've been further isolated. A part of me wishes that I never had said anything at all. It's that same part of me that wishes I wasn't this way, that I could have just been born normal. I didn't force this on them, I just wanted them to be able to see the real me. I wanted to be seen for who I am. Accepted for who I am. My grandmother was the only one who was accepting of it, who saw me and told me that I knew what was best for me and meant it. She didn't always remember but she did make some effort. Then she died.
It's been a month since she's been gone but it feels like so much longer. Sometimes if I close my eyes I can run through her O2 Stats, morphine dosages and my chart notes. They play out behind my eyelids, a laundry list of information that seems to be never-ending. She asked for me to be her medical proxy, her medical guardian. Not her husband. Not her children. Not a trusted friend, me. When she realised she was truly sick, she called for me and put her complete trust in me. Sometimes I sit back and think about it. She wanted me above everyone else. It's mindblowing the choices that people make when they're told they're dying or going to die. It did annoy me at times, I felt pure hatred that it was once again me being needed by everyone and torn into pieces. It wasn't her dying of lung cancer, it was those around me who tried to make things increasingly more difficult for me. The washing, bathing, feeding, changing her nappy and everything wasn't any sort of challenge like one would believe. It was time-consuming, yeah, but it was the lack of aid around the house that wore my patience thin. Tearing my attention away from important things, trying to hurt her, take her belongings. Wait until the person is in the ground or in their cookie jar before you start dividing up the loot. My patients were tested by this so-called family and I was left alone to fight them off and keep her safe. I didn't think that as I entered this year that I'd be tasked with such responsibility. I wasn't just balancing her life, but also my grandfather's (I'm still caring for him, meds, doctors, labs etc), my three younger siblings (who are all goddamn adults but can't act like it) and Pookie (who's pretty much my daughter, despite being biologically my mother.) All this while trying to hold my own life together with candy floss strings.
I don't want to seem completely ungrateful as I've had some wonderful experiences this past year. Perhaps it's me being narcissistic or the depression or both, but I feel that the entire year was a waste. I struggled and fought throughout the year and still have very little to show for it. I suppose one could say that I made it out alive, but just barely. And what the fuck kind of a prize is that anyway? I'd like to be able to say that I'm optimistic about what 2018 has in store for me, but after the last month and a half, I don't know if I can handle what the new year will through at me. I'm worn out, tired and defeated. I'm already bracing for the shit storm that I know's coming my way. Oh, and if anybody's hiring for biological cleanups? I'm your guy.
LINKS
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anjathesickboy/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/darkdreamingdan
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/darkdreamingdaniel/
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