i feel like a joke without a punch line

it's hard for me to write. i don't want to explore any more thoughts and feelings. i want to curl up in a ball under the covers and sleep for a decade. i don't want to have to figure out anything else. i don't want to try to make sense of a world never built for me. i am tired of waiting for scar tissue to miraculously become less tender.

there is someone i know who takes care of plants. so many plants that they ran out of room for some of them. so many plants and containers for plants and the seeds of new life, she is so good at tending to them. there is a compassion within her, that is so unfamiliar, yet everything i've ever longed for in a human. and she is so beautifully human. she is gentle and fragile and strong and soft and brave and kind and compassionate and firm and loving. oh so loving it makes my heart expand when i remember the blessing it is to be supported, nurtured, and loved by her. she is intuitive and unassuming and models what love can and should look like.

this post isn't about her, though it is written with her in mind because knowing she still loves me helps me overcome shame and regret and guilt. (that's not to say there aren't others who keep me afloat, but this…this one is thanks to her.)

2020 was one hell of a year. for everyone, naturally. the world erupted in a pandemic, that we are still living through due to the intentional negligence of the 1% with all of the power and control.

when i think of 2020, there are a two things that come to mind, the renaissance of stonewall, and the departure of my father.

since he died i have been chasing this idea of what i thought healing would feel like. what healing would look like. what being "okay" could be. i worked for a former friend's cousin because i thought that it was only right to try and pay perceived dues for emotional support that so quickly soured into betrayal. she lied and gaslight and couldn't own up to her own shit.

i'm not blameless, i should have found a therapist when my dad first got diagnosed, maybe i would have done everything differently. i will never live in that reality and i am okay with that.

2020 marks the renaissance of the stonewall riots, in the form of joela rivera and qween jean. july 17th (though i started in august). these two leading ladies brought together hundreds of people who may never have crossed paths before. and without both of these women, along with the rest of my Sisters and siblings met thanks to them, i would not be me.

i feel like i often say that. and my sibling told me to take more credit for the growth and healing that i lead myself to and coached myself through. for example (this is about to be a tangent i feel it) i've been working out every day for a while now, like push-ups mostly. but i recently found this workout regimen for strengthening the upper body, made by and for trans masc folk. i'm excited to start my fitness journey for the first time in my life and see physical changes of my own design happen. the kind i thought i'd only ever dream of.

i got sidetracked again. it's mostly because i am inching closer to uncovering my inner turmoil. the unhealed stuff. i was looking through old photos. on my phone i have a folder named "in the streets" of and with everyone i met during my time on the ground protesting. i haven't been on the ground in a while, it's mostly because i don't know how effective i feel like that form of protesting is? without the proper media coverage?/content communication? i don't know. i'm very conflicted and also i'm scared of the police. i already hate my body but for them to lay their hands on me…idk.

there was a scene in big mouth that i resonated with. this kid, devon, he's the only other black kid in their upstate suburban town and she learns what code-switching is. i remember learning about code-switching in my race and gender classes. i don't know when it started though, maybe it was when i started shoving down my opinions to prevent friction because growing up, friction meant arguing and raised voices and threats of tearing apart the only family unit i'd had. friction.

friction is such an interesting way to describe the clash of opinions and ideas. it's the term i grew up using, i don't know if that was due to my mom or dad, but somewhere along the way friction became code for fighting. i came to the conclusion last night that i have been angry about existing for a long time. not to sound super dramatic or faux deep but buddha was right: existence really is suffering.

suffering in the sense that once you reach a certain age, no matter what that age is (it's different for everyone, which is one way i can sort of gauge someone's privilege) - once you're made aware of the constant state of suffering that exists in the world ~ it adds a levity to joy and happiness.

i have been searching for acceptance and love from everywhere except myself, because for me to love myself is to pour so much more time and care into my vessel than i have…ever…

recently i made yet another drunken mistake, and it has added another layer of needed introspection onto my already nuanced view and outlook on myself and how i instinctively navigate.

CW // body dysmorphia //

i know i talk about this a lot, but i avoided mirrors and reflective surfaces for most of my life. i didn't want to see what was refracted back, i didn't feel at home in this body, and i am still figuring out what makes me feel more cozy. maybe it's that i've stuck to doing push-ups for the first time since last year…when my last impulsive, emotion-driven, reactionary response blew up a relationship and past life i was clinging to. this time, my impulsive, repressed wounds lead me to imploding more relationships than i'd realized it would.

it forced me to reckon with myself, the feelings of jealousy of those who are comfortable in the bodies they were born into. not just the bodies, the lives that they have. the feelings of resentment of the ways in which others so proximal to me seemed to be able to make choices and decisions and optimize their time? comparison is the thief of joy. the grass is always greener on the other side. in 2022 instead of allowing the intake of others to seed resentment or bitterness, i will utilize it as inspiration. i will be introspective and pinpoint what it is exactly that i admire in them, and try and apply it to myself.

honestly at this point it feels like i am trying to assign reason and purpose to the choices i've made and that is what i've been doing. today my sibling sent me a tiktok about how it's not healthy to ruminate too much on mental health things and i think that was probably one of the more helpful things they've sent, though all the content they share with me resonates very deeply because they Know me.

that's a thing too, y'know. i've always clung to this idea that in order for people to love me they had a right to get to know the "Real" me. the me that's imperfect and regretful and made bad choices. the twisted, toxic, impulsive, selfish, reckless, inconsiderate me that i'll sometimes revert to thinking of myself as. i know that's not who i am, or what makes up my character or personhood, i do. i know it somewhere, but the voice that says i'm worthless yells louder. and it's not the responsibility of others to tell me to listen to my heart, just my own. i have had so much love and support and kindness and compassion poured into me.

i have been accepted with open arms and have had homes opened to me. couches to sleep on, and food brought over. my heart is overflowng with love i have received not only these past 2 years but my whole life. and it would take a lifetime to repay people directly. and it is in this moment right now that i am realizing that the best way to pay everyone back is to invest the same tenderness that i have received into myself too. it can't just be others that fill my vessel, i have to be the one to do it too, so i know how it needs to be done. time and attention and resources are three ways i've learned are the most powerful and effective ways to communicate care and concern for others.

time and attention and resources into myself means pouring time and energy into taking care of my own body, and desires and feelings.

i won't lie, i keep seeing that people check my blog and it gives me anxiety to see that people want to know what i'm thinking or feeling or processing.

one of the people caught in the crossfire of my poor decisions encouraged me to continue writing. they're quiet and insightful and thoughtful and funny and silly. they are mindful with their actions and words. they protect their energy and express themselves in subtle, sturdy ways.

i want to help everyone and i know that i've made promises that i haven't kept. i am grateful for the patience people have exhibited.

i don't want to stand in my own way anymore. i don't want to choose fear. the fear of being rejected the fear of being isolated, the fear of being forgotten, the fear of being left behind, the fear of being abandoned, the fear of being unwanted.

in these unprecedented times it is hard to identify when the fear is rational, because how aren't people living in chronic fear? we are on round 2 of a pandemic, in which the corrupt system was brought to light and still operates as intended. we are entering a new year, where there was already a Sister stolen from us, on the first day of the new year, amarey lej, 21 years old, shot and killed in pittsburgh. the sweet siblings that i have already outlived, their loss weighs on my soul because there's a part of me that whispers: "that could be one of your Sisters…". there's a part of me that lives in chronic fear, not for myself, but for those that i love more than words could ever do justice.

it's scary to love people who walk different paths than we do, because we can't accompany them all.

it's hard to love myself when i exist in more worlds than i know how to make time for.

i have taken my given family for granted. i forget easily that it is truly one of my life's greatest privileges to have a family that supports me, tries to understand me, who wants to know me as i am, and not only as they think of me. who asks me who i am and is willing to do their best to accept and embrace me.

the first Home i was invited into was quite a home per se, it was a temporary respite from a worse living situation. the second Home i was invited to, i treated like a hotel in a way. there was a sense of compartmentalization that i'd exhibited that indicated my self-dehumanization in spaces due to my own misguided internalization of my white-adjacency linking me to perceived privilege. i had this impression that because i was raised by white parents that i had the same privilege as them, and thus had no right to weigh in or share or take up space. after that, the Home i was invited to felt a little more like the kind of Home i envisioned, with people and cooking and chatter. after that the Home i was graced with was one that i helped to birth - 5 floors and all of the sweat. this Home felt like the kind of home i'd wanted too, still not quite though. there were still things i'd left unaddressed that left me feeling like a puzzle piece that could fit if you pushed it in, and squinted. i've been in other Homes since, and i realized that the beautiful part of Home is that it's what the individual makes of it. they reflect us, ourselves, our comforts and priorities and desires and dreams. they reflect our many selves. i have stopped looking for Homes in other places, in other people, in the Other.

moving into this new space has allowed for me to realize and remember that home starts with me. Home is where my heart is. Home is wherever i choose to rest my head and lay my heart to rest, for however briefly. i couldn't do that in my mother's Home, seeped in memories that i have yet to sift through with her, surrounded by relics of a childhood i can never return to, in a room i didn't utilize but would be a different person if i had. it's hard to grow when you are inundated with reminders at every turn of all the alternate universes that might exist out there that i can never exist in.

i am going to utilize this blessing, this time and space to MySelf, to get to know me. the Me that doesn't feel like i am existing for anyone other than myself. to coax my inner child out, and see what they want to do with the gift of time that we have been blessed. i am going to face all of the feelings with open arms and an open heart.

i don't know if this had any answers for anyone else. but this helped me release some of the weight on my heart. thank you for absorbing my words and the fragments of my soul that i unearth through typing.