Love Friend.

I’d write this in the form of poetry, but this isn’t really poetic.

This is about a boy, maybe that’s a cliche way of starting a blog post, but this is genuine and I don’t really care about how cliche or not this is.

He’s not just a last resort, and if he is, I usually tell him. I feel like I can be so honest with him and if I find myself lying, I always tell him. I think he understands why I do that, not that lying is an excuse. I haven’t lied to him in a long while.

It’s nice how when him and I go a while without talking, our conversations can start back up again, whether it’s reminising about the past, continuing an unfinished subject, or starting a new journey together. I’m not in love with him, but I feel a sense of love towards him and for him.

Maybe I’m lonely, but I’m lonely in general and for some reason, sometimes I seek him out more than even he or myself even knows.

I find myself wanting to tag him in random posts, but sometimes I’m worried he’ll see them and think ” Uh, why would you tag me in this? what does this post even mean in regards to me? “. Or that I’m being pushy and annoying with how I feel.

I care about him, and I remind him way too much.. atleast too much in my eyes, but I actually do. I care and sometimes when I tell him that I love him, I need to know myself that I do. I just want himto know that even though i don’t understand his mind sometimes, or the particular situations he’s experiencing, that I’m here and I haven’t left entirely except times when I’m almost disassociating in general or closing off and isolating myself from him and people in general.

I find that I usually close off when I feel like I’m being ovr affectionate and overwhelming.

But I’m glad he’s there, and my intentions with him are more good than bad.

( Maybe you’ll read this some day bue )

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Depressing Haunts.

I feel so alone, even though I have people around me sometimes. I just want to push everyone away. My old problems are starting to hit me like a brick again. Not that they stopped haunting me, they were just hovering.

I have a job.. part time, I longboard almost every other day, I try to read once in a while but sometimes my lack of attention span gets to me, I want interaction with my friends, but life is slowly draining me again.

I want to talk. I want to be there for people, but sometimes I just can’t even be there for myself, you know? I have hopes. I have dreams…. but they’re becoming more broken and I haven’t chipped away at them as much as I could have.. should have… the should haves are getting to me.

I could be worse… my problems aren’t as bad as some people’s, but that doesn’t make me any less valid, does it? People tell me I am valid, but I don’t feel that way sometimes.

I’m losing myself more and more everyday. I wish I could write more often, but I keep running out of words. It’s hard to transfer all of my feelings into words. This entire time for years, I thought I was writing what I was feeling, and sometimes I was and do write about how I feel.. but it’s usually how I think I feel. I didn’t realize that until therapy.

I hate that my therapist is away until near the end of August.. I just started getting back into therapy because I stopped going. I thought I could handle being alone… being without help… but I have a difficult time.

The song that I am listening to while writing this post:

 

When I was a few months old, I was placed in a foster home with a little boy and his parents, shortly afterwards, those parents had adopted me as their own child. My birth mother, not only was she young, was not able to take care of me aswel as my birth father.

I do not remember how old I was when I was told that I was adopted. I also don’t remember how I reacted on the spot, whether I actually understood what being adopted meant or if I just acted like I understood because as I grew older, maybe around 6 or 7 years old I remember being really angry.

I threw tantrums almost all the time over the littlest things and I remember asking people to call me by the name I was given at birth even though my name had been changed. I assume it was one of the many ways I used to cope with knowing that I had been adopted.

These parents, who are still my parents, who are the only people who actually were there for me through everything and are still here for me, still love me to this very day.

I’ve gone through some hard obstacles in my life, maybe not as ‘bad’ or as worse as some people’s struggles, but I’ve been delt with a very mix and matched sort of hand.

The reason as to why I am writing about being adopted is because even though I had a loving family and still do, I had always wondered what it would be like to meet my birth parents. See if I actually looked like someone instead of just having the same hair colour as one of my brothers, although I didn’t grow up with blood, I inherited similar traits as my adoptive parents. I knew that I didn’t need to know any of my blood relatives. I had met one blood sister who’m I went through phases of denying her as my sister and not. I always wanted a sister growing up, but I just didn’t like her for some reason.

I didn’t want to have to put my name on an adoptive registry just to find my birth mother so I just decided to stop looking. Until one day, I found a picture with my birth sister’s last name from when she was born. We looked our birht mother up on facebook and to both of our surprises, we found her.

I mean anyone can have a dopple ganger, I think that’s what they’re referred to as. So that woman could have been anyone, even now how can one be so sure that the family they get close to and believe are related to them, aren’t you know? The birth sister I knew for the majority of my life not only looked like our birth mother, but her other children looked like the both of us. One of my sisblings I had met actually could pass as my twin sometimes. It’s actually pretty neat.

Now that I’ve grown to know part of my birth family, the mystery of what happened to my birth father still lingers.

Another reason as to why I’m writing this, is because my Niece is getting adopted and as much as it’s going to hurt her mother, (the sister who looks like myself and I look like her), it’s going to hurt me as well. I remember the time I received a phone call about her being brought into this world. The first time I held her, I will never forget.

I haven’t been able to see her often due to many different obstacles, but I get to see her next week hopefully for the last time for the next while because she’s actually getting adopted and although it hurts to see her go, she really won’t be gone, just physically, but taken in by a loving family. She’s grown so much since the time she was brought into this mess of a world, that it amazes me and comforts me at the same time knowing that she’s being placed in th arms of people who will be able to give her everything she needs, on top of that extending the love she has been given by her blood relatives.

I hope to be able to hold a place in her heart and have her be reminded of a part I’ve played in her little life.

I love her so much.

Day 22 – 30 Day Transgender Challenge

Song that I am listening to while writing this post:

Snowblind Featuring Tasha Baxter by Au5

Do you feel being trans holds you back from your career choice?

As of current, I don’t really know what my career choice would be. Growing up, I could see myself working with children, how? I’m not sure. So on that note, I had went to College to become an Early Childhood Educator and I didn’t really know if that was what I saw in my head as to what I wanted to do.

When I worked with children, near the end of my time working at the last childcare centre I had worked at, I was starting to question my gender again. I had already been known to the children my Miss (even though some kids said Mrs because I used to do that as well growing up out of habit – Insert my last name here -. I had already been known as ” she ” and other female pronouns. I didn’t know how to ask if I could start being called Jasper by my bosses and co-workers and Mr. – Insert my last name here -.

As of right now, it is something that I worry about having to bring up in future jobs and employment in general because for one, I haven’t legally changed my name or gender marker and my voice is still feminineish.

It only holds me back a little bit, sometimes I just play off being female still and deal with it. 

I am me and that’s all I should be.

I did or said something that offended you and you tell me that I am not your brother but your sister and I’ll always be female, yet when we are getting along in general, you refer to me as your older brother with little or no hesitation?

I love you, you’re my little sister and I’ve only known you for over a year now. I never knew that I’d meet you and become so close to you. You’re one of my biggest supporters and allies and for that, I am greatly appreciative of.

I understand that I offend you at time, and do things to hurt you, but telling someone who doesn’t identify as the gender they were assigned with at birth that they will never be the gender that they not only identify as but actually are, is a really offensive punch to throw.

I’m not the gender I was assigned with, regardless, what does my gender identification have to do with fights that weren’t even revolved around gender or sexuality, or anything of the sort?