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?

I just got my 12th toon to 90. A monk. I just need a rogue for the complete set!

Five Sons

The first grew tall and strong
He married to his taste
And had two sons of his own
And daughters twain as well
My parents saw naught but his faith
Like theirs in all but name
And named him their firstborn
Failure

The second grew like unto
The first, his faith the same
He found a wife to share his life
And loved two pups
Like his own sons
My parents saw naught but his drink
And named him failure
Two

The third grew in his own way
He took a wife, then left the first
And loved a match made more for him
He loved her children as his own
And soon added one more son
My parents saw his infidelity
And named him their third
Failure

The fourth grew twisted and unsure
Of who and what he was
But soon enough he found his self
He lives alone, yet has found friends
And a son who calls him “mommy”
My parents did not understand
And swore he’d be their last
Failure

The fifth is yet a boy at home
Untested and untried
His life is not his own
He listens and obeys for now
But soon enough he’ll find his path
My parents will likely weep
And wonder why they only raised
Five failures

You Wouldn't Tell a Child

You wouldn't tell a child that he was worthless, that he was inherently flawed, that nothing he could ever do would ever measure up to your standards. You wouldn't tell him that he could only find purpose in life by striving to follow every last one of your wishes, no matter how impossible they were. You wouldn't compare his temper tantrum to a serial killer's murder. You wouldn't tell a child that he was incapable of loving someone else without your help, that every last decision he ever made should be checked with you first. You wouldn't tell a child that if he rejected you that he deserved to die. You wouldn't tell a child any of these things.

So then if we are God's children, why are these the things he tells us?

Most of you don't know this, but at the end of May I tried to leave the world.

It would have worked if I didn't have second thoughts.

I'm glad I had second thoughts because things seem to be looking up for the first time in a long time.

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, of course. Because life just doesn't "look up" for me. That is not a thing that it does.

I've started getting counseling this week. I hope it helps. I'm also getting back on antidepressants. Those will probably help.

I'm taking responsibility for myself and my life. When did I become an adult?

My parents refused to so much as come visit me when I told them. Until I got a "Christian" counselor. The only reason I would seek the advice of such a one is if I reconverted.

That hurt cuts deeper than perhaps most of the other hurts they have given me. I have scars I could put their name to that were caused by lesser hurts.

My father had supper with me the other night. Because it was his timetable, not mine. I went because I love him but nothing has changed.

I wish my life had been different. But when I look back there are so few things I'd change.

I've learned from the hurts and the pain has shaped me into who I am today. Perhaps I'm not completely happy with who I am, but I am me. If I was not shaped this way, I would be someone else.

When did I become an adult?

Anyway. Now you know.

I walked through the door
"Honey, I'm home"
I almost said

But that would have been silly
There's no one here
The fish didn't even wave his fins
(Hi Vol'jin)

And I wondered when
When will I open the door
And expect the silence?
When will I stop expecting
Love in this dark room?

Why am I so shocked in the first place?
Why does it hurt so much?
I've always been alone here
I've never walked through all three doors
And been greeted with anything except nothing

But today I walked in
And it hit me
That there is no one here to welcome me
No hugs
No "I missed you"
No kiss hello

Nothing here but me
And my stuff
I would trade all this stuff
For someone to love me
For someone to say hi when I return from work
For someone to miss me when I'm gone
For someone I can take care of
For someone to take care of me

I would give everything I have
For that

But right now I'm alone
Right now I cry tears that no one sees
Sobs that no one hears
No one to wipe them away
No one at all

Chapter 1

The border from sleeping to waking is a thin one, and Kilin came smashing through it. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed his father’s sword and rushed out the door to face the danger that had woken him head on. Or at least he would have faced it, if he had found any danger to face. Or anything at all, actually. But the forest outside his treehut home was as still and quiet as any other night. Kilin turned to go back to his interrupted rest, when he heard two things: one, the lack of crickets and other nighttime creatures, and two, a far-off crashing and shouting that seemed to be coming in his direction. Kilin perked up a little. Nobody ever came into the forest except him. That was why he had made his home here after one too many early mornings of being beaten out of a villager’s barn. No one dared venture into the trees after him, even when he crept into the village at night to raid the henhouses and vegetable gardens or scare the sheep. That last he did only rarely; he understood the villagers feared him because he was an outlander, so he tried to leave them be. Still, when they set traps for him at the edge of the forest, scaring sheep was the least he could do. He had almost fallen into that last spike pit, curse them! Losing a few eggs now and again served them right for trying to murder him.

The crashing and shouting drew nearer. He could not quite make out the words yet, so he dropped quickly to the ground and began to creep closer to the clamor. Inwardly, he snickered. “Bet the villagers are all cowering in their beds at this racket,” he thought to himself. “Serves them right. Hope it isn’t anything too dangerous, though. Waving Father’s sword around might be enough to warn them off but I’ve a feeling anybody else would just laugh at me.”

By this time he had reached the source of the commotion. A large group of armed men were smashing their way methodically through the forest. “Keep your eyes open, men!” one shouted. Kilin assumed he was their leader. “First one to find that treehut gets the largest share of the reward!” Kilin dove into the nearest tree and scrambled upward until he had put a safe distance between himself and the group of warriors. A treehut? Why would they be looking for his home? He had been over every foot of the forest for miles around the village, he knew for a fact his was the only treehut. Worse, if they continued the direction they were going, they would find it shortly. He had not made any effort to hide it, since the only people around were the villagers. He quickly rejected the idea that they had hired these men. Kilin was no more than a minor annoyance to the village, egg-stealing or no. They really only hated him for being an outlander. There was no way they would spend their carefully hoarded gold to send anyone after him, let alone outland warriors as these clearly were.

His attention snapped quickly back to the men as their leader shouted again, “Make sure you don’t lose the boy! The reward on his head is enough to make us all rich men for life!” A loud cheer greeted his words. Kilin wished he could sprout wings and fly away. A reward on his head? No, this was definitely not about a few raided chicken coops, or being outland. “Only the king has the ability to put a price on someone’s head,” he thought frantically. Then almost fell out of the tree when a dry voice answered him, “Or the gods.” That voice had been in his head! Who could possibly be in his head? “Me. Obviously.” The voice spoke again, a touch of humor coloring its tone. At the same time, something shoved Kilin in the back. He managed not to scream this time, but he did fall out of the tree. Fortunately it wasn’t a long drop and he scrambled to his feet and turned to face what had shoved him, his father’s sword held high. “Most menacing,” the voice snorted. “I approve.” Despite the words, Kilin had the feeling he was being laughed at, a feeling which only solidified as he took in the creature that was, apparently, making itself quite comfortable in his head. “A horse?” he thought in disbelief, “a bloody horse is in my bloody head?”

“Now I’m insulted,” the creature huffed into Kilin’s head. “Really, when was the last time you saw a horse that could compare to me?” Kilin had to agree as he took in the inky black being before him, jumping back another few feet when enormous black wings erupted from the creature’s back. “I take it back,” he agreed out loud. “Definitely not horse. Perhaps a demon?” he continued in his head, forgetting already that the creature could still hear him. It snorted angrily and plastered its ears back against its skull. “I’m insulted! And confused! How could you possibly not recognize a zahn when you see one! You are astonishingly ignorant for a future zahntir.”

“A what now?” Kilin was beginning to feel overwhelmed. First armed men go crashing through his forest looking for his head, now a creature that looked like a horse with, he had to admit, bloody awesome wings was calling him names - inside his head. Dimly he wondered if he had managed to go insane.

“For the first part, it isn’t a name. Well, technically it is, more of a title really. Have you never heard of zahn? Or the Riders?” Kilin shook his head. “I don’t know much of anything, really. You’re the first...person...to speak to me for quite a while.” The creature sounded bewildered. “But you are still a child. Have you no guardians or friends to care for you?”

Memories of his life in the village flashed unbidden through Kilin’s head before he drew himself up proudly. “I’m sixteen years,” he stated firmly. “No longer a child.” The creature looked at him a bit sadly. “No, not a child,” he agreed. “You have not been a child for a long time, have you?” Before Kilin could question what it meant, it went on in what could only be described as a pedantic manner. “I am a zahn. It is a strange thing to me that you do not know what I am, or recognize me by sight. Every child knows what a zahn is. Do you know of the gods, at least?” Kilin nodded. “Well that’s something, I guess. I suppose the easiest way to describe zahn then would be younger cousins of the gods. We are divine, if not strictly immortal. All zahn are destined to find a Rider with whom to bond for eternity, through life and death. You are destined to bond with me, but because I am,” and here the zahn sounded extremely proud, “who I am, you will be far more than just a Rider. You will be zahntir, Captain and Ruler of all zahn and Riders. It is a position of great honor and power!” the zahn finished rather impressively. He blinked, and added, “Oh, and my name is Niilk.” Kilin opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. “Nice to meet you. I’m Kilin,” he managed before falling over in a faint. Niilk made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. “That wasn’t quite the response I anticipated. Oh well.” He levitated Kilin’s unconscious body onto his back, then took off, still snickering. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Meta is fun (when you're a priest)

Gwaed