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’m trying to go to therapy again, not because people are telling me to go, but because I’m running out of options.

Writing poetry and longboarding only soothes my demons for so long.

Years and years of ignoring them, allowing them to eat away at me.

Here I am, attempting to follow through again, although im afraid that doctors are going to eventually give up on me.

I’m sitting here in the waiting room, nervous as though I’m going to receive bad news.

After the appointment:

15 to 20 minutes later, I barely had time to talk about the issues that are behind my depression.

The medical or whatever student, asked me so many questions and I answered them.

So unuseful.

The boy who is choosing to go on a Journey to better himself.



I keep complaining about having to find a gender therapist. I know that I should have gotten help years ago.. But sometimes it takes people longer than others to even get up and get moving on something.

One thing for sure, is that I’ve made some emotional changes. Very little, but a few.. 

So I went on a trip to Seattle, Washington this past summer and before I went there, I wasn’t all that open about my gender identity and I was afraid to even use the men’s washroom, let alone correct someone on the wrong use of pronouns.

I met someone and they changed me, not entirely, as someone can’t really change someone 100%, but they helped me with that. We no longer talk and I miss that person, but I’m glad that I had met them when I did. I couldn’t thank them enough,

Now most of my friends are calling me by my preferred name, which is Jasper. I don’t cringe when people misname me, but I wish it came natural, you know?

Besides being called Jasper, which helps me feel alot more comfortable with who I am, it’s an often occurance where I have worry whether I “pass” or not. I put quotations because it’s ridiculous that one has to pass in order to be recognized as something that some people can see right through. If that even makes any sense whatsoever.

Back to Seattle for one minute, when I went there, I was introduced to the men’s washroom again. Now beforehand, I had only stepped foot inside a men’s washroom maybe a handful of times, if that. But once I got there it was like my whole comfort level went frm 1 being close to being super uncomfortable straight to around 6 or 7, being more comfortable than I had ever felt.

So once I had had helped with that, I had to figure out how to actually go in there without worrying. I try to avoid eye contact with the other men in the washroom, or I atleast just hurry as fast as I can. I even wait inline for the stall now. I wouldn’t dare ait before. I used to be scared.

I just wish I could have been born male and not have to go on testosterone, change my name, or get surgery. All I know is that I want to get top surgery done while I’m waiting for a gender therapist.

I’ve been looking and have contacted one or two psychologists/therapists so far.

I have now seen my Social Worker twice and have been recommended to go to an LGBTQ group, which offers both group and individual counselling. 

I am going to call them this week.

I’m proud of myself a little bit.