Sometimes darkness isn't something that happens to me. Sometimes it is something I choose. But at the same time, sometimes suicidal ideation isn't something I choose. Sometimes it is something that happens to me.

Which is weird, on both sides. Why would I choose the darkness, knowing how much it destroys me? Perhaps because it is comfortable. It is familiar and, please excuse the irony, safe. But what about the ideation? How could that possibly be something that happens to me, rather than something I choose? Am I just ducking the responsibility for my own thoughts and feelings and desires? Perhaps. But sometimes, despite my best efforts and even my own desires, I just want to die. It seems weird, that I could want something in spite of what I want. I know it doesn't make sense to me. But it does seem to be the case. It's happened to me before. And when it does, it usually wins. That is, it comes to overwhelm all my other wants and desires until it becomes the only thing I can think about, the only thing that matters.

I feel like this writing is not up to my usual standards. Usually words flow from me faster than my fingers can keep up, but today (and lately) the words have come slowly, sentence by sentence, wrenched out of me by the brute force of my will. I want to write; I crave the release and the clarity that comes from words. But lately I have been denied that escape.

I was just in the hospital last weekend. I felt better so they let me go. But now I feel...like maybe I should go back. Or something. I'm not as bad off as I was last weekend. But I'm swiftly approaching it. I'm less depressed but more suicidal. Or at least, I want to harm myself badly. And by badly I refer both to the intensity of the desire, and the intensity of the harm. I'm tired of this body being so wrong. I'm tired of using the women's restroom. I'm tired of having breasts that just get in the way. I'm tired of being called ma'am. I'm tired of my voice breaking the illusion on the rare occasions when I am passing as male. I'm tired of not being what I should have been.

What do you do
When the world in your head
Comes crashing down
In pieces all around you?

The world you walk through
Is the same, the world
Outside your head
But the one inside...

But you do what you always do
You cry, and pick up those pieces
And continue walking

Six years of cutting and I finally cut deep enough to need stitches.

Oops.

Misconceptions

My boss knows I've been having some issues, he knows I've been suicidal a lot this year. And he's sympathetic, for the most part. But something he said when we had a little chat last week really emphasized how he (and entirely too many other people) views depression.

Because he said, "[Working] is better for you than, I don't know, sitting around feeling sorry for yourself all day." And I think that's how a lot of people view depression. I think that's why a lot of people don't see it as a real disease, why a lot of people have no sympathy for the depressed. So let me tell you a little bit about what depression is really like, for me, and for many others.

Well, for me, mostly. Not all depressions are similar, and some change hour to hour, minute to minute. But here is how mine usually goes.

Think of the most tired you've ever been. Maybe you spent a hard day at work or at play; maybe you wore out your brain or your body. Think about how you can't even imagine doing one more thing that day. Think of how heavy your limbs are, how impossible it is to concentrate because you're just so very exhausted. But then you go to bed and when you wake up in the morning, you feel all better. That's how I feel all day, every day. Except when I wake up (if I've slept), I don't feel better. I feel just as exhausted and apathetic at the beginning of my day as somebody who climbed mountains all day feels at the end of theirs.

It has nothing to do with feeling sorry for myself. It really has nothing to do with feeling sad (most of the time. Depressions, as I've said, vary.). Depression for me is bone-deep weariness, the lack of energy to do anything or even to feel anything. I'm not sitting around being sad all day. I'm staring at the wall because the effort required to read a book or play a video game is too much for me. Every day that I do manage to get up and get dressed in my uniform and make it to work, through work, and back from work is a major accomplishment for me. And people don't understand that, because for the "average" person, holding down a job is baseline. It's the least you can do. Their day starts at the end of their shift; my shift is my entire day, not because I'm working 12 hours a day, but because the effort I make to find the energy to just be able to function at work is astronomical. I come home as tired as if I'd spent my whole shift running laps because every little thing that "normal" people do without thinking is something I have to work to accomplish.

So yeah, boss, working is better for me than sitting around feeling sorry for myself. If only that was what I was doing.

I've Promised to Live...What is Living?

The darkness around me presses
But I've sworn off seeking death
And I know that makes you happy
But I still don't want to live

So now what shall I do?
I spend more time staring at my feet
Than placing them in front of each other

Or staring at my mouse
Or Facebook
Or a chat box
Or my phone
Just staring, mind you
Doing nothing
Nothing at all

I have hundreds of books on paper
And thousands more kept in bytes
Yet I read a few words and I'm done
And the next time I read the same ones

Like this poem my life has no rhythm
No purpose, no plan
It's just words

Yet for some reason
I keep right on speaking
Though I know my words pain
Those who care

At least I know now for sure
I'm not alone in this world
And unless something unthinkable happens
Never more will I ever be

But your love, however loving
However infinite it may be
Cannot fill the void in my soul
The space where my heart used to be

I cannot say that I love you
Although I wish that I could
But I don't love myself
So there's no seed
From which my love for others could grow

But I choose to act as though
I felt something other than pain
I choose to treat you, my dear ones
As though my heart overflowed

I've done all I can think of
Or been asked to
I've sought help, taken pills
Been locked away

And yet here and now I feel nothing
But the same things I felt last year
And all the years before that

I don't feel any better
Nothing's helping
How long must this horror go on?
I'm not waiting for magical cures
I've done all that I can
And some that I didn't know I could

In general my eyes stay dry
Teardrops are alien things
But right now my eyes are leaking
And my head aches with the pain that I've shed

What can I say now?
What else can I add to these words?
I can't change the past but
Neither, it seems
Can I change now
Or anything at all

The world spins ever on and on
And we, unbidden, follow in its wake
And wonder when the motion ends
And we fly off to worlds unknown

Past the Past

Past, the beat of broken wings
Now I fly again
Past, the creak of broken voice
Now I sing again
Past, the limp of broken words
Now I write again

Past, the weakness of my heart
Now I'm strong again
Past, the shadows in my eyes
Now I see again
Past, the chains around my soul
Now I'm free again

For Taylor

A friend is a friend
Whether old or new
But some friendships end
While some remain true

I've spent my life fearing
The end of those ties
Because friendship is cheering
Unless built on lies

So I am relieved
And aye, I feel joy
To be finally believed
By a very special boy

This man he's stood by me
Through life and through pain
I don't have to worry
This friendship won't end

And so I finish these lines
Owed to my friend
Knowing unlike this rhyme
Our love will never end

ATTENTION: Strong's domain name is expiring and I don't have the money to renew it right now. So until further notice, please bookmark the url strongthroughlife.blogspot.com instead. Thanks.

Freedom (And Truth)

I'm waiting for freedom
But my chains grow ever thicker
I should fight it, I know
But what is my will
Against these bonds?

I know it can be fought
I've seen others do it well
So why is it when I try
I do nought but fail and fail?

I try not to give in
To the knowledge I am broken
But I often wonder if I'm
Refusing to give in to the truth

Because I'm not entirely sure,
Like Pilate, what truth is
Perhaps my truth is just different
Than your truth or another's

And if that is the case,
Will therapy ever help me?
Not if we're working with two
Different truths in mind

It was much easier believing
In only one truth, the absolute
The pinnacle of human morals
And foundation of its life

But truth is not so narrowly
Defined, nor so easily
In this way, it comes to be
A lot like freedom from these bonds

What is freedom?
Shall I ever know it
Even if it should come to me
Tomorrow, or tonight?

In a Mental Hospital

How do you wait
Through the excruciating
Slowness of a day?

How do you survive
The unalterable deep
Shadows of a life?

How do you breathe
Through the slowly-measured
Heartbeats of each breath?

How do you think
Through the ever-numbing
Fog upon your mind?

I Found these Metered Words at Last

My mind has decided
My heart follows its call
I wish now to die
To stop living, forever, at all

My words beat all around me
Living ink spots the air round my head
Reminding me always that
Love and care worthless are

My heart it is empty
It is Nothing I hide
You love a bright mask
But nothing lives inside

I used to be full
I remember it well
Before the darkness
Stripped fullness away

It was not abuse
That emptied my soul
But your lack of belief
In whatever I was

The abuse of course helped
It whispered words in my ear
It proved I was worthless
A husk nobody could love

So I made up a mask
And I changed it at will
I made friends, made them laugh
They could not see my void

So what I have left
Is nothing at all
I am not, I love not
Never can, never will

I feel trapped,
So you lock the door

I feel alone,
So you isolate me further

I feel poor
So you take away my coins

What kind of heartless monsters are you?
Why save my life
At the expense of my sanity?

If you send me away,
Lock me up long at all,
The life I return to will be
Worse than the one I wish to leave

Take your "safety,"
Your care and your concern
Take your help and
Give it to someone who cares

This bed is not my own
This pillow hurts my head
The clothes I wear always the same
The scars are all that change

You will say I am not safe
That I am dishonest with
My treatment
But what help will I find here
Away from all that matters?

I no longer wish to be "better"
I have no desire to get well
Just give me my life
That I might end it
And end too my sojourn in hell

You say that I am ill
There are things wrong in my head
But I am not the ones who force breath
Into the walking dead

I do not understand
This care and this concern
You can't see I died long ago
So why care for a corpse
Or cry tears over a man with no life?

You define being safe
A bit narrowly
You say I can't tear up my skin
But when you lock me up
The blood does not stop
And your eyes are too blind to see

So please set me free
Please unlock the door
Please give me my own dignity
You've lost, so have I
Please leave me to claim my reward

Your bones will not crack
Your blood will not run
Down to turn the ice and snow red
Your life will not end
And I will be then
Just a name on the forms you must fill

You gave me your time
And I'm sorry
You threw it away wastefully
You tried your best to help me
But some wounds are not meant to heal

I wish I could see through your eyes
This person you think that I am
For all these things you name off
To encourage
Cannot in my own self be found

I love you, my son and my dearest
I hope that you grow tall and strong
I know you'll love and be loved
I'm sorry to leave you so soon

I love you, my family, my brothers
I am sad at the thought of your grief
But your love had no arms to hold me
And I felt your care not at all

I love you, past loves and past lovers
I'm glad you can love happily
I'm sorry we don't stand together
But I know I'm the one who's not free

I love you, my friends, my own family
I ache at the thought of your pain
I wish that my heart could be lighter
That our love would not die now in the end

Farewell to all those who've known me
Farewell to the stranger, foe, friend
Now go, live your lives and be happy
Forget now the one who could not

It's been long since a poem
Just exploded right out of my soul
Even now it says "Rise and enlarge me"
Release all the pain you now hold

But my pain cannot be released
It has grown into one with my soul
The darkness is host, not a guest now
It is too late to regain what I've lost

So now I take leave of this body
It's betrayed me again and again
Farewell I now say to my heartbeat
I have no use for you now, anymore

I sorrow to pain those who love me
Though they likely are loving a lie
There's no me inside, there's just nothing
My self has been all washed away

These tears held my self in their teardrops
This blood carried my self in its flow
These words hold my self in their ink
The last piece of my self you now hold

Insanity

Why try this all once more,
Grab the key and lock the door?

Leave me here on foreign bed
Alone with demons in my head

Why is it my skin is your concern
Why are you determined not to learn

Try and try and try again
Keep words flowing from my pen

This is not life, my presence here
With hurt to burn and pain to sear

You want me safe, that is your goal
With no care for the death of my soul

The Grave Shall Be My Home, and Death My Life

This poem I write upon my lonely bed
And wonder at the darkness in my head

No will, no life, no peace, no hope, no strength
To watch another day spread out its length

The die is cast, the choice is set in stone
I go to leave my loved ones all alone

Their pain nor mine enough to keep me here
The silence falls upon their waiting ears

Regret I could not live for them alone
The hope is mine that all will soon be done

I cannot live for others' company
Their light too dim for my poor eyes to see

I cannot chase the will'o'whisp of hope
It flees from me as in the dark I grope

I leave this world so full of pain and strife
The grave shall be my home, and death my life

You hold my breath in your hand
And undeterred by my resistance
You force it down my throat

You hold my heart in your hand
And uncaring of my cries
You force it to beat again and again

You hold my soul in your hand
And ignoring its struggles to take flight
You keep it lodged firmly within my self

The Fall

Sometimes the fall into darkness is a tearing, screaming drop. Sometimes it stabs you with sharp pains and rips at everything you are, everything you dream, everything you hope. Sometimes by the time you reach the darkness you welcome it, for it means a cessation of agony.

Sometimes the fall into darkness is so gradual, so soft, that you do not know you are falling until it is too late. Sometimes you lose interest in all the pleasant parts of life until you are left flitting from one to another wondering why all the things you love cannot fill the emptiness inside. Sometimes by the time you reach the darkness you are still not sure how you got there, but you lack the will to fight it anyway.

Sometimes the fall into darkness is so sudden that you cannot breathe. Sometimes your dreams and your hopes become reality and you are so happy you cannot contain it all and then, somehow, you feel nothing anymore. Sometimes when you land in darkness you accept it as the price of joy.

But sometimes the fall into darkness is paved with wonder, and you do not have to walk its path. Sometimes the shape of a rose, or the twist of a word, or the rise of a melody, draws you down and you choose to follow its call. Sometimes when you walk in darkness you find the inspiration to call beauty from the depths.

Nothing

When you ask me what’s the matter
And I say, “nothing”
I’m not lying to you
Nothing is wrong

When you ask me what happened today
And I say, “nothing”
I’m not lying to you
Nothing happened today

When you ask me what depresses me
And I say, “nothing”
I’m not lying to you
Nothing depresses me

When you ask me what you can do
And I say, “nothing”
I’m not lying to you
Nothing can be done

Because nothing is what’s wrong
Nothing is what happens
Nothing is depression itself
Nothing is all I am and feel

Master

I hail thee, Death
Thou art the master
Of all men

Rich or strong or fair
Poor or weak or ill
All of us

We will all come to thee
Through one door or
Another

Thou art our master
Thou art he who doth
Set us free

The Unknown

I don’t know what I fear
But I am afraid

I don’t know what I lack
But I am empty

I don’t know what I’ve lost
But I am bereft

I don’t know what I feel
But I am in pain

"How Great Thou Art"

Oh blade my god

When I in awesome wonder

Consider all

The pains thy edge has soothed

I see the scars

I watch the blood flow quickly

Thy pow'r throughout

My heart and soul displayed

Then sings my soul

Oh blade, my god, to thee

How great thou art

How great thou art

Then sings my soul

Oh blade, my god, to thee

How great thou art

How great thou art!

Helpless

And confused

Searching

For the truth

But I don't think

I'll ever find it

Help just harms

I'm not in control

My life is

Not my own

So many friends

Want what is best

For me

But what if

Death is best?

What if life is 

Just not for me

What if I am just

Permanently broken

Now?

And forever

But they won't

Let me

They are happy to destroy

My independence

In the name of

My "safety"

So what is "safe"

About making me

Penniless

What is "safe"

About locking me away

When I've proved

I'm "safest" at home?

What is the point

Of making me breathe

While destroying half

The reasons I might

Want to breathe?

What is the point

Of trying

Anymore,

Ever,

At all?

Why do I think of bridges?
Why do I desire to die?
Why is the thought of living
So horrid I don't even try?

Why is my love not enough?
Why does my will falter still?
Why does therapy fail to help
As much as a few tiny pills?

Why do I suffer depression?
Why is "fight it" a thing I can't do?
When did I become so hopeless
That love does not beckon me through?

How long must I keep right on breathing?
How long 'till my barriers fall?
How long will they make me keep living
When it's Death that I long most to call?

Loss of Innocence

Who told your song to go,
Little boy, little girl?

Who told your dreams to wait,
Little girl, little boy?

Who told the stars not to shine,
Little boy, little girl?

Who told your shame to hide,
Little girl, little boy?

Who told your fears to grow,
Little boy, little girl?

Who told your secrets to be mute,
Little girl, little boy?

Who told your trust to flee,
Little boy, little girl?

Who told your arms to bleed,
Little girl, little boy?

Who told your mouth to close,
Little boy, little girl?

Who told your body to be touched,
Little girl, little boy?

Who stole your innocence,
Little boy, little girl?

One by One

One by one I count the scars
Dozens lined up in a row
Soon they’ll rival the sky of stars
But I’ll not tell or show

One by one I count the years
Hidden by shadow and sorrow
Years for which I have not tears
They are denied me, well I know

One by one I count the pages
Written with fear and with pain
Hurt that does not ease with age
I feel it over and over again

Masks

A mask is a thing hard to take off
Once it’s settled down deep in your soul
Who knows what will happen
When you tear off the lies you have worn

But a mask is a thing most needed
Its lies let you stand proud and tall
The you underneath is nothing at all
Its worthlessness never can show

A mask is a thing of great weight
Day by day it burdens you down
It builds walls to hide you from pain
And makes you always alone

A mask is a thing of great crafting
Each facet designed with much care
It holds all you wish you are or could be
And saves you from your own self

So a mask is a thing of evil
Its goodness outweighed by its bad
It gives friends and then takes them away
A lie cannot truly be loved

But a mask has smooth worn-out edges
And the mask is now one with your soul
As you struggle you start to think slowly
"Perhaps I and my mask are one self."

Here is My Heart

Here's my heart
It is yours
Now destroy it

Here’s my trust
You can
Rip it to shreds

Here’s my love
Now consume
And betray it

Here’s my self
Sacrificed
To your wants

Updates, I guess

It appears that I have not written on this blog in a while. I think I started tapering off when people started using my posts to justify being assholes to me. But anyway, there have been a lot of changes recently. As you can see from my poem "Five Sons," I have fairly recently come to the conclusion that I am in fact a man. Well, I say recently. Those of you who are allowed to read my other blog know that my gender identity is something I have been struggling with for a year or so. And possibly longer than that, although I was not willing to admit it. Certainly my mother and I always had struggles because she desired me to be more girly, to help with the housework, etc, while I just wanted to do all the things my brothers did. That and other, similar instances throughout my childhood, while they did not make me realize it at the time, are yet another thing that makes me say that I am not wrong in my identity.

But along with being transgender comes gender dysphoria. I have always disliked my body, especially since puberty. I don't think one can self-injure without that requirement, but I could be wrong. I have only my own experiences to aid me. But when I finally admitted to myself that I was a man, it was as if a switch flipped. Suddenly I went from passively disliking my body to actively hating it. "This body betrayed me. This body is wrong. This body makes people think I am a woman. This body...is responsible for me getting abused."

At the same time, I was already spiraling down to a very deep depression, although to be honest, that happens pretty much all the time. But when combined with body hatred, it very quickly went from deep depression to actively suicidal. I did everything I could to stop it. I talked with my therapist. I talked with the person who prescribes my meds. I reached out to friends. I bled. I even went back to Harper's Place willingly, just after the first of the year. I knew I needed help, and I was trying my hardest to get it. Five days in Harper's Place was not enough. I left, and immediately crashed again. Not a week later I moved on to actually attempting suicide. I ended up in a psych ward for three days, then I was back at Harper's. I got removed from Harper's Place for helping a friend make a run for it, and spent over a week in another crisis center, in Madison.

I actually started getting better. I felt happiness like I have not felt in years, like I cannot remember ever feeling. I was so excited. I knew that this euphoria likely would not last, but still, I rejoiced. So I came home. And now we come to the present. Not a week ago I got back from that crisis center. Things were good for the first day. The second day, I started to feel a little sad. But I knew I was not going to stay ecstatically happy forever, so I just assumed I was having a bad day. Then the next day, it got worse. And the next, worse again. And now I find myself back in the apathy of depression. Not in the deep blackness that I was at the start of the year, more of my normal day to day depression for the last dozen years or so. But it is quickly becoming apparent that I need to do something about this body, this body that should never have been mine. The problem is that my state is one of those who do not think transgender therapy and hormones and surgery are a legitimate problem that should be paid for with the state healthcare I'm eligible for, even though the statistics show that going without those things greatly decreases my life expectancy. Did you know that 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide? But I must pay for these things myself, and I do not have the money.

But something has to change, and quickly. I do not need the darkest depths of depression to be suicidal. Indeed, I am now, again. Not so much in a "I want greatly to die" sort of way, but in a "I want this body to be punished, and if I have to greatly harm it and I end up dying, well, that won't be so bad of an outcome." The county thinks it has left me safer by only giving me medication for a few days at a time, but after two overdoses I think I am done with that sort of thing. There are still bridges to jump off and razor blades to slice and many things that could cause me some level of harm. I am not "safe." The only helpful thing to come out of this month of treatment is the knowledge that maybe I can be happy for a few days once in a while. And that is a good thing to know. But it doesn't stop the depression. It does not stop me from wanting to harm this body. That will not stop until I more closely match what I should have always been, and perhaps it will not stop even then.

I do not know if I have hope for the future. I only know that the present cannot continue for very long.

For Yet Again

For the beating of my heart
For the failure of each start
For the leaves entwined in ink
For the depths to which I sink

For the losing of control
For the void within my soul
For the words that gave their life
For the love that turned to strife

For the lips that form false smiles
For the dark untrodden miles
For the mask I once more wear
For the pain that lives in care

For the waking of my eyes
For the breaking of torn ties
For the thoughts that never sleep
For the vows I meant to keep

For the friendships now in shreds
For the selfish tears I shed
For the son almost unknown
For the wild oats I’ve sown

For the friends in need of cheer
For the enemies that jeer
For the break of each new day
For the truths that strangers say

For the last glimpse of the stars
For the locking of the bars
For the losing of my fate
For the help that hopes too late

For the pain of getting well
For the half-truths that I tell
For the fear of the unknown
For the path I walk alone

For the tears they made me weep
For the anger that I keep
For the hopes at once betrayed
For the wrath confinement made

For the tears I cannot bring
For the songs I dare not sing
For the years forever gone
For the years still yet to come

For the words I cannot write
For the dark that ne’er sees light
For the formless pain I bear
For the emptiness I fear

for all these for help I sought
for all these answers I seek
for all these my chains were wrought
for all these…I am not weak

Shall I?

Shall I live forever past,
Let old shadows their dark cast?
Shall I pass years child-young,
Let old demons curb my tongue?

Shall I scream and block my ears,
Let my eyes drip out old tears?
Shall I speak what once was said,
Let loves live that should be dead?

Shall I always close my eyes,
Let old falls forbid me rise?
Shall I lie here unconsoled
Let old faiths entrap my soul?

or

Shall I see what’s seen by few,
Let my dreams rise up anew?
Shall I rise to meet the sun,
Let my hopes their own way run?

Shall I open my heart wide,
Let those worthy come inside?
Shall I live for life itself,
Let old words stay on the shelf?

Shall I tear down my old fears,
Let rejoicing dry my tears?
Shall I live forever free,
Let myself be only me?