Broken, but slowly healing.

Little did I know, just a little boy myself, that something would be ripped from me
Who’s to say what breaks you or makes you
Analyze, study different aspects
Details, dissecting
I didn’t know that I’d come to hate someone so much
Blame one person for something I most likely gave consent to
Not even knowing what it meant, what was happening
In a daze, little things come to mind, rest a haze
Maze, walking through my mind and he had no idea just what he had stolen
If only he had said something, no
He moved forward, happily
Angry I was, such a hate chewing boy I was
And here I am, still in shambles, scrambling everywhere to discover the things that both broke and died

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Therapeutic Balances

On Friday October 17th, I had a consultation with a new therapist because recently I’ve decided that I need help with my mental health in general because I’ve put it off for many years and I just keep thinking that quick fixes get me places.

Quick fixes in my experience, really are just quick. They aren’t fixes, but that term just seems to follow the work “quick” sometimes.

Whether it be alcohol, antidepressants or even both of those mixed together. Longboarding, writing, singing, taking walks only soothes the soul so much when you’re burying the things that need to be worked on, pushed through.

For me, I’ve been struggling with dysphoria, with staying at jobs even through the hard times and just other things that have seem to have grown.

At first, I wasn’t sure how my appointment was going to go, because I get really nervous with Psychiatrists and Therapists, professionals in a whole. I got there early, which I wasn’t sure was going to happen seeing as I had to take two transit busses and then a subway to get there and so I waited for a bit.

While I was in the appointment, I felt so free… I’m used to telling complete strangers almost my entire life in stories and poems and whatever, but with therapists, it’s a hit and miss type situation for me. I either hide many details of my life, or I spill almost way too much. This time, I spilt enough information to help me feel great about it.

One minute I want therapy, the next I don’t, but this time I have a great feeling that I’m going to finally allow myself to get the help that I need. I realize that I may never end up being okay without therapy, but I’ll never know unless I try.

I prefer winter’s cold shoulders.

I want to believe that the summer is more comforting than the winter, but I’m not quite sure that it is.

The winter calms me as it freezes the water droplets on tree branches.

The winter relaxes me everytime I see the sky shedding little pieces of frozen art.

The winter speaks to me in volumes, when the summer just keeps denying me of my air.

The winter bares my demons lighter than the summer claims to show.

But here I am trying to list the things that summer benefits me besides it’s positive vibes.

It’s rays of sunshine lifts me up, but maybe I’d rather the winter allow me to cilmb admist it’s cold shoulders.

It’s light tear falls dulls even the sharpest parts of me, but maybe I’d rather the winter stab me in the back with it’s icicles of truth.

It’s way of heating me feels nice, but I’d rather the winter show me all it has in store for me as it’s angry storms rip apart the seams of my very being.

What it is like to be trapped in the wrong body.

when I look back at the past, my past, I see a typical child – innocent and thrived for exploring the world and all that it has to offer.

I guess i can say now that I see some signs of myself wanting to be a boy, but I think that that’s normal.

When I was in grade 6, had long hair and then cut it really short. I continued to get picked on for it. In grade 7, Middile School – Alot of the students called me names and constantly asked me if I were a boy or a girl, not only did I have short hair, but I had braces, bushy eyebrows and wore boyish looking clothes. I had this one shirt and that was from Zellers and I tried to convince my mother that I snook it from the boy’s clothing section when she wasn’t looking.

In grade 8, I started questioning my sexuality and in grade 10 I fell for a girl for the first time.

I was so confused. All of a sudden i started question my gender more than I had before and as I grew older, around 19 or 20 years old, I wasn’t 100% sure of who I was anymore, if I was even a female.

I was considering taking testosterone, but I knew that it would be exspensive. Besides that fact, it would be a huge change in my life and I dodn’t know if I would be ready for that.

I bound my chest yesterday for the first time and I felt suffocated so then I took off the bandage. It felt like a corset.

I don’t know if I’m having chest disphoria, but whatever it is, it’s a phase.

Has anyone ever felt as though their body was the wrong one?