genderfluid · introspection · nonbinary · poem · self-awareness · self-discovery · who am I · writing

Who am I?

For so long, I hid who I am, from myself and everyone around me.

I realized something about me was different.

I’m not like other humans, not even sure I AM human.

Figuring out who I am has been a confusing uneven pothole-ridden path of discovery

I tried being straight and cisgender (identifies with the gender assigned at birth) first, I mean that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?

Then I tried a cis lesbian, nope, not quite right.

What about a trans man? Maybe that’s me?

Do I want to be more masculine? Well, yes, but also glittery.

I want to dye my hair all kinds of colors.

I want to wear three piece pinstripe suits.

But sometimes I like wearing sparkly dresses and skirts.

Sometimes I wear all black and nothing else.

Makeup? I do like eyeliner with wings, dark black eyeliner or sparkly eyeliner.

But men don’t wear eyeliner, do they?

I don’t feel like I can do any of that or all of that..

And sometimes, I don’t have the energy to do it at all.

Trying to be what I want when I’m being told to be different every second of every day is rough.

I am constantly pushing back against what society tells me to be.

Society says I should be heterosexual, or at the very least a lesbian,

but no, I push against that and I am bisexual.

Society says I should be a woman because that’s what I was assigned at birth,

but no, I go against that and I am trans nonbinary genderfluid genderbereft.

Society says I should be thin and exercise all the time,

but no, I am fat, I enjoy food, and can’t usually exercise, thanks pain and arthritis.

Society says I should be neurotypical,

but no, I am not only all kinds of mentally ill, but also autistic and flappy and stimmy.

It feels like every fucking aspect of my life is me pushing back against what society says I should be or do or have

and let me tell you

it’s

mother

fucking

exhausting.

Sometimes I just want to give in and be what I’m being told to be.

It would be so much “easier.”

But when I do that, I hate myself more than I can describe.

And I realize I wouldn’t be me.

Being authentic to yourself gives you strength.

So now I just need to figure out who the fuck I actually am. 

 

anxiety · art · depression · mental health · poem · self care · self expression

Self Care isn’t Pretty

Self Care Isn’t Pretty

Self care isn’t Insta-worthy pictures of fresh salads, fizzy bath bombs, and face masks.

Self care is sitting at the table for hours, tears and snot streaming down your face as you stare at the bare minimum of food you need to stay alive and will yourself to actually eat it.

Self care is painfully combing out weeks worth of tangles because it’s been too hard to get out of bed lately.

Self care is changing your smelly sheets and schlepping your laundry to the washer.

Self care is taking your meds when you want nothing more than to flush them down the toilet.

Self care is picking up the inches of debris off the floor so you can walk across your place without tripping.

Self care is sticking to your budget, not going out for lavish meals and manicures that you can’t afford.

Self care isn’t pretty. It’s survival.

anxiety · mental health · poem · self expression

Panic Attack

Sometimes a panic attack isn’t something anyone can see.
On the train in the middle of the rush hour crowd
you sit silent because you’ve learned all your life to make your self as
small
as
possible
You stare at your phone, your finger stuck
poised just barely
above the screen
it shakes a little, you notice with detachment
as your heart pounds for
2-3-4-5-10-15 minutes.
You manage somehow to get off at your stop
make it to your bus
ride to where you are almost home
all the while feeling like every particle is going to fly off and you’ll be left in an exposed naked pile of ash
that someone can blow away.
You, forever gone, forever dancing with the wind.