I’ve been feeling exhausted.
It probably has to do with me constantly changing work schedule the past few months (going from working 1p – 10p one week, to 6a – 2:30p the next.) It’s been getting worse lately, which is almost undoubtedly down to me starting to play volleyball and football once a week, in addition to my usual cycling.
It goes beyond that, though. Of course practising a ton of exercise as well as an irregular sleeping habits will lead to tiredness, but what I feel goes beyond merely physical. For quite some time I’ve felt like I’m running on empty in a spiritual or emotional sense. I look for beauty where I can find it, try to find joy in anything, and do what I can to stay happy. There are days when that all feels like a waste of time.On some days it’s particularly tough to keep my spirits up. It feels like I’m constantly having to use all of my emotional energy simply on not feeling hopeless. I have to bear with the immense solitude that has been with me since coming out, as well as the constant disrespect, judgement, and outright hatred from people on the street. It’s tough to have anything left inside of you when every single day you need to deal with people misgendering you, storekeepers glaring at you, making you feel unwelcome going anywhere, and myriad little reminders that thousands and thousands of people in your communities think you’d be better off dead.
In the last 12 months I have had to say goodbye to many friendships I once hoped would last for years. A person I considered my best friend in the world. Several people who I saw as some of my closest friends. Even people I just spent time with, without really being too close. I have had to hear them insult me, directly or indirectly. I have had to stand in front of them, as they tell me they don’t want me in their home because I’d be a bad influence on younger family members.
People who I loved, and trusted. Turning their backs on me because they could not respect me enough to admit I know who I am better than they do. I have had to hear the only person I loved more than family tell me they could not stand seeing me.
Could not stand seeing me happy. Well, they didn’t say that exactly, but they might as well. Knowing me better than anyone else, knowing how much happier transition would make me, how I couldn’t keep living unless I was finally myself. Knowing all of this, I still heard them saying they just couldn’t be my friend anymore. Not that it would be difficult, or it would hurt. Simply that they couldn’t do it.
Every single day of this past year, every fucking second of the last 380+ day in which I’ve been on the street, I’ve been painfully aware of the constant staring. It has gotten to the point where I need to spend a minute gathering up the energy just to go to the store for some groceries, unless I want to find myself hugging a can of beans in the supermarket, trying not to keep my sobbing from being too loud.
I am not unhappy.
I am the happiest I have been in the last 22 years of my life. I have never found life so fulfilling, and I am finally living properly.
If I hadn’t transitioned, there is a nearly 100% chance I’d have killed myself this past year, or at some point in the next decade. I cannot make it clear enough that I’d be infinitely unhappier if I hadn’t told the world who I was, and to go fuck itself if it disagreed.
Still. Feeling better than the utter hell I lived through before isn’t saying much, and there’s plenty of room to be sick of not being seen as a person by other people, and tired of losing so much I love.
I’m tired. I am so, so tired. Reading stories like the horrible ones coming from Orlando does little to reassure me things will get much better.
I’m tired of knowing there are people who would be happy to see my corpse in a dumpster. I am tired of feeling unworthy of love, because of the rejection I’ve felt from those I loved.
I feel like I’m running on empty, and no matter how many good books I read, how much exercise I practise, how much time I try to spend with those I love, it never feels like I’m getting much fuel in.
There are days when I feel exuberant, full of the knowledge I can do anything I really want. Others are like today, when I feel capable of collapsing on the ground and crying, and not much more than that.
I wish things were not as they were.