confession, Deadbeat Dad, depressed, free write, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, love, short story, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

Jumper

‘Hm.. That’s a strange shadow. Sorta looks like a person.’

I look on top the building, and see a girl standing on the edge. She looks upset. I might as well go up and check it out.

The door isn’t locked. I climb up 8 flights of stairs. I’m breathing kinda hard by the time I reach the top. The door to the roof is clearly marked so I go through it. The door creaks and the girl turns around. 

“DON’T! DONT COME ANY CLOSER!” She yells at me. 

I furrow my brow. “Why not? Whether I go over there or not has no impact on if you jump. Does it?”

She frowns. I walk over to the ledge and sit down about two feet from her. 

“Why are you here?” She asks.

“I was walking by. Felt like coming to see what you were doing. There’s a pretty good view of the city from here.”

She considers kicking me. I can see it on her face. I look back at the skyline of the city. 

“Are you gonna try and talk me down?”

“Do you want to be talked down?” I respond. I still don’t look at her. 

Out the corner of my eye I see droplets falling over the edge. Either it’s raining, or she’s crying. Probably crying. I still don’t look at her. 

“Yes. No. I don’t know what I want anymore.”

I glance at her. Shes looking at me and has tear stains going down her cheeks.I reach in my pocket and hand her a tissue I grabbed on the off chance I’d need it in a Wendy’s earlier. 

“Have a seat. All that standing probably made you tired.”

She sits down wiping her face not even realizing she stopped standing on the edge. 

“Can I ask you something?” She says. I nod and look at the cars driving in the distance. “Do you think I’m pretty?” I look at her. I really look at her. The curve of her jaw, the shape of the arch of her eyebrows, the color of her blue-green eyes and the will to live that’s gone out of them. Her salmon colored lips and dark orange hair. The splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose on her slightly tanned skin. She’s pretty. She’s not gonna stop traffic but I like the way she looks. 

She waits as I study her. And the longer I look the more she starts to fidget. When she breaks eye contact I look back at the cars.

“What does my opinion matter to you. I’m a stranger. For all you know, I could be gay.” 

Based on the look on her face I can tell she was not expecting that answer. 

“Are you gay?”

I shake my head. “Then do you think I’m pretty?” She asks again. 

I make direct eye contact. “I think you’re pretty. I think you’re really pretty. Personally you’re my ideal woman. If in looks only. But looks aren’t everything. Were you on the edge because someone called you ugly?”

She’s beet red. “No. I’m not that petty. I was on the edge because I’m alone. My family is dead, my friends don’t ever want to hang out with me and my last boyfriend killed himself.” 

I look at her again. She looks at me. 

“That’s why you want to die?”

She looks down. “I don’t want to die. I just don’t know, if I want to live.”

I realize I’m sweating. And then I realize that some of what I thought was her blushing was also flushing from the heat. 

“Do you wanna go get a smoothie or something? Its pretty hot up here.” 

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. I look at her calmly and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. She keeps looking at me. I break eye contact but I can still feel her staring. “Okay.. Maybe it was a bad idea.”

She comes closer to me. She puts one hand on my shoulder and holds my chin with the other. She tilts my head this way and that then sits back to look at me some more. 

“…are you transgender?”

Okay. Obviously I wasn’t passing as well as I thought. But I nod. She stands up and extends a hand toward me. “I’m buying” she says. 

I’m very, very confused right now. What the hell just happened? I follow behind her. I’m about three inches taller than her. I take this chance to.. Take in her figure. It’s not a bad one. I don’t look for more than two seconds. I’m not a creep I swear. 

We get to the first floor and go out. About two blocks away is a smoothie shop. We walk the two blocks in silence stealing glances at each other when we think the other isn’t looking. I got pretty quiet after I realized I wasn’t passing as well. Keeping my head sort of down and not looking at strangers. Not talking. 

“Are you okay?” She asks me outside the smoothie shop. I open the door for her and nod while shrugging. Like ‘yeah of course’.
We order smoothies. Hers is pink and mine is a sort of light purple. She pays literally slapping my hand away when I tried. The cashier got a kick out of that and then we sat in a corner booth.

“Whats your name?” I ask. She looks at me with a crooked grin. 

“Only took you forever to ask. You can call me Angel.” She says.

I feel like that’s not her name but nod. “Jason.” I say and reach out my hand to shake hers. She scoffs and sips her smoothie leaving me there awkwardly with an outstretched hand. I look down and sip my smoothie with that hand now under the table. I feel her staring at me again. But this time I don’t mind as much. I look up and defiantly stare back. She scoots over to my side of the bench. I sip my smoothie again and pretend to ignore her. She reaches her hand under the bottom of my shirt. I feel my heartbeat quicken because I don’t know what she’s going to do. 

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confession, depressed, free write, letter to, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

(Untitled)

I don’t know how to explain it. On the outside I guess you can tell I’m not happy. I’m usually not smiling, and when I am it doesn’t last long. I’m so sick of people including me in their prejudices. All I want is to be left alone and happy. If you can’t leave me alone, then at least have the decency to call me by the correct name, or pronouns. I don’t go out of my way to impose my beliefs on people or try to force them to see things my way. For the most part I mind my own business. Sure I have opinions, I have a ton of them. But does that mean I’m gonna take the time to bring them up and try to make you see things my way? Nope. Because I don’t care what you think. You could be flat out wrong and I probably still wouldn’t correct you. If you wanted to be corrected, you’d do some research. You could be imposing your beliefs onto me. I’ll probably ignore you. But if I don’t ignore you, and our beliefs contradict, I’ll listen to your point of view, form my own opinion and continue to keep it to myself, unless you ask me. But if you come and just decide you’re gonna be a jerk and harass me or constantly mess with me or ignore the one thing I ask which is call me by the correct words, then we have a problem. Then I’ll tell you off. Then I’ll get mad. Not necessarily in that order. Because it takes a lot, to make me even aggravated much less mad. Most of my friends can’t ever say they’ve seen me mad, or if they have it was less than twice. I try to be good tempered. I keep to myself to the point people think I’m shy. I’m not shy, if I don’t talk to you it’s because I have absolutely nothing to say to you. I don’t know you and probably have no interest in starting to. Doesn’t make me “shy”. 

I’m probably clinically depressed, and if I was only surrounded by people who accepted me and made me happy I seriously doubt that would be the case. But you can’t choose your family, and you can’t choose your circumstances. So here I am, constantly unhappy, but too unsatisfied with the way I’d die to kill myself. If I were to die today I’d want to be cremated and scattered because I don’t want a tombstone that’s gonna have the wrong name on it. Or the wrong words under that name.  Hopefully, by the time I do die I’ll die happy. Instead of the way I am now. Constantly in a state of “meh” wishing for things to be different. Making efforts to change things and then more things happen pushing me back or making it so everything stays the same. Other people, would’ve offed themselves by now if they were me. I’ve considered it many times. Committed to it at other times and then not done it because I found no reason death would be any better. They say everything happens for a reason. What was my reason? Why am I here? Was I truly born just to live and die unhappily? What did I do in my past lives or who did I piss off for this? I’m only 19 but I feel like I’ve lived 19 years too long.

I don’t want to. But it’s so hard to ignore it all.

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depressed, free write, freedom of speech, letter to, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, love, poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Unrequited

Why am I able to feel feelings for you, in this way, when no matter what I do, you’ll never love me back?

If I could control my emotions, I’d take my heart off my sleeve and put it in a lock box three feet under the sandbox. Nobody ever gets that far trying to dig to China, so it should be safe there.  

I view you as perfect, amazing, everything I’ve ever wanted and more. 

I know you’re not perfect, and in many ways not amazing. But that doesn’t matter. Because

My emotions act as a filter. I’m always thinking with either my heart or my head. I can never think with both, but I can contrast the two.. If I tell you how I feel, what would it change? I know nothing would change. I settle for the way things are now, but I’m not happy with them. 
I’m always here, and you always come back to me. For support, or a shoulder to cry on, or simply as a pair of arms to comfort you. But somehow.. When I need the same you’re not there. But that’s okay. I’ll continue to be there for you. Patiently, unfairly waiting for the day you notice I’ve been here all along. Living by your site. Loving you, and your flaws openly. But none of that matters to you, and it doesn’t matter now. Because you just got your heart broken again.. And came back to me for a hug.

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Buddhism, confession, depressed, free write, freedom of speech, letter to, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, love, poetry, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

Afraid

I’m not scared, truly scared, of many things.

 I’m not scared of dying, I just want to know.. Exactly what will happen when I do. I’m scared of the unknown after death. What if nothing happens, everything goes black and that’s the end for me. I won’t even know if I exist or not because I won’t know to think. What if there’s really a god? What if there are many? What will they do with me? What if I just reincarnate, thirty years from now as.. A tree? That gets cut down for a house nobody will live in because they can’t afford it. Q

I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what could be in it. No light is ever fast enough to show that thing you thought you saw. No eye is ever strong enough to see it properly in the dark. That moment when the light goes out, all the light, that’s the moment I wonder if I should be scared.

I’m not afraid of spiders, or snakes, or bears, or sharks. I’m afraid of what they can do to me. I’m just a weak human. One well placed tap and a human dies. One air bubble in your vein and a human dies. One bite, from a small eight legged creature smaller than your thumb nail, simply because it had a whim, a human dies. You enter the water and move in a way that interests a shark, a human dies. You have food when a hungry bear passes by, a human dies.  You walk through grass slightly past your ankle and startle a snake.. A human dies. 

But what happens after death? Is it the darkness? What’s in the darkness? Is it death?
The thoughts that go through my head however, they scare me. They scare me the worst of all. Because sometimes.. I want to  listen to them. These thoughts, these feelings, the voices that aren’t really voices telling me just one.. Just once.. It won’t hurt.. It won’t go wrong.. Nothing bad will happen.
But in reality, just one, once.. Will be the worst pain and the worst betrayal of all. 

The thing I’m scared of the most, is
Myself.

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confession, depressed, free write, letter to, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, love, poetry, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

Hate feeling..

I hate my feelings, my wants and desires. They’re all 

so strong

So wrong.

I shouldn’t feel that way for this person. Not even close. 

Midnight cravings.. 

The urges to act

The willpower to not.

It hurts. It hurts so much just to be myself.

It hurts even more to not.

It kills me to feel the way I feel, knowing I can never.. Act on it.. Or get it out of my head.

So much guilt and I never even did anything.

Just the fact that I want to.. Keeps me up at night in tears. 

And then the good feelings.. They’re even worse. 

Because when it ends

Its shattering pain.

Heartache and confusion

The years wasted the why was it wasted why did you change?

I didn’t change..

How and why.

Do such strong emotions.. Such pitiful thoughts.. Such terrible feelings

So wrong

Immoral

Illegal if done

Just why?.. 

How can I stop it.

So tempted to die.

But that won’t fix it

What will?!

How will I know.. How can I know..

Dying won’t fix anything..

But living doesn’t help.

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Deadbeat Dad, depressed, free write, letter to, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, short story, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

I was engaged!

When I was 14 and na├»ve. Probably wasn’t even a real engagement I didn’t give her a ring.. And she dumped me because she considered herself straight. We never even met. She was an admin on an anime page on Google+ then I ended up being an admin there too then starting my own page because the guy in charge was mean. Either way I fell in love and got heartbroken to the point that people who I wasn’t friends with, but was friendly with started getting worried about me. 

I don’t even know if I believe in marriage anymore. My dad asked my mom to marry him when I was in like first grade. Then in third grade they had my brother. Then in fourth grade my dad moved into another room. In sixth grade he moved out and turned off everything in the house, power, water and stopped paying mortgage. We literally had less then a week to find someplace. We were homeless overnight and ended up moving into my grandmothers house. Then when I was in the seventh grade, he told me he was dating his best friend. I told him you’re a grown man do what you want. When I was in eigth grade he came down and showed me wedding pictures. 

Thanks for the invite that I didn’t get. Or the notification of your marriage or even engagement.  

But right before he told me he was dating his best friend, (which by the way he was with for a long time before because when I was really little he introduced her to me as his “best friend”) he came down to my grandmother’s house to live here because he ran out of money and had nowhere to go. Ironic right, but they let him stay. In my room making me move into a room with my mother and brother. Then when he left after a long time, I wasn’t allowed back into my room because of some bs reason that my grandmother came up with: I don’t clean. How and why am I supposed to keep a room for three people clean on my own. Then the reason changed to when my aunt comes in the morning she needs someplace to stay.

My aunt, has a husband and a house of her own. She has her own place to stay. Not to mention, she comes for breakfast drops her kids to school and then hangs out in my grandmother’s room. Nobody ever goes into the room and it just collects dust. 

Then I was told if I can keep the room clean I’ll get it back. Obviously I’m never getting that room back. Not that I expected to, my grandma is more full of it than a bag of manure. If I went on to talk about the stupidity I have to deal with daily from the people in this house and family nobody would ever hear the end of it.

One day I’ll get past all this and make myself happy.

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Deadbeat Dad, depressed, free write, LGBTQ, Longwinded nothingness, short story, Transgender(FTM), Uncategorized

Closed door. Short story

Behind that door.. Is everything I am. My secrets, my fears, my hopes and happiness and my future are all there. Behind that closed door. The door is closed because I won’t be safe when it opens. 

My father is a piece of shit. Always drunk and always bringing home a different woman. Who knows how many siblings I have running around out there. I had a mom, until she left us when I was five. 

BAM! My dad busts into my room and starts rummaging through my drawers for money. I don’t bother to stop him because he’ll hit me if I do. I don’t keep any money there except three dollars that I want him to find. If he doesn’t find any money I’ll get hit too. He finds the three dollars and turns to yell at me

“That’s it?! A measly three dollars! That’s all you have?? I knew you were worthless.” 

He leaves slamming my drawers and the door to my room behind me. I sigh in relief because he didn’t have the thought I might have more stashed away somewhere else. 

I look up at the air duct in the corner of my ceiling and think about the shoebox full of money I have saved up behind that thin grate. If he finds it I have no money to get out of here. 

I climb out my window because passing him would be bad for my health. I wall grab my skateboard on my way out. I go to a my girlfriends house where her parents love me. Her name is Chelsea she’s super sweet. They all know my living situation and I have dinner there and stay over all the time. Tonight it was meatloaf and it was great. Chelsea and I watched movies until we fell asleep and then I went home in the morning to shower and change. But when I walked in the front door I found something terrible.

My father was looking at me, with the things from behind the door in a pile in front of him. 

My heart jumped into my throat.

“What the fuck is this? This rainbow flag? All these men’s clothes? Clippers, a wig? No daughter of mine is gonna grow up to be a lezbo. I didn’t raise no faggot.”

Then he grabbed me by the shirt collar threw me up against the wall and started to unbutton his pants. I screamed and turned to run but he grabbed me and threw me again. My efforts got the front door open and my girlfriends dad was sitting in the driveway because he dropped me off. He showed this shocked expression and jumped out the car to come rescue me. By the time he got to the door my pants were torn, and around my ankles and I’d been penetrated. He hit my father in the head with the door knocking him out. I was in tears and bleeding. I ran to my room and packed all my shit into my duffel bag, climbed on the dresser and grabbed the shoebox out the air duct. I changed my pants and grabbed the pile of stuff from behind the door that my father had pulled out.

 He must’ve been searching for money again. The cops pulled up and arrested him and my  girlfriends father. But after asking a few questions they uncuffed my girlfriends father and let me leave with him. I had to do a rape kit, and it was traumatic.

When I finally got back to my girlfriends house she already knew what had happened and took me straight to the bathroom.

She helped me undress because I was in shock and ran a bath. I sat in the tub and hugged my knees for almost an hour while she patiently waited before she said

“Baby, you have to get out before the water gets too cold. Come on you’ll be okay, just remember that you’re a real man and your father was a terrible person.”

I looked up and pulled her into the tub with me. Usually she’d be upset because her clothes got wet but instead she just sat there hugging me and I hugged her. 

“I love you Chelsea”

I whispered. Her face turned red because it was the first time I’d said it, and also it was the first time she’d ever seen me naked and she just realized that. 

“I love you too Shawn.” 

She kissed my cheek and got out the tub to leave the bathroom. Her shirt was see through from the water and I could see her bra strap across her back. 

When she came back in she had some masculine clothes from my duffel bag in her hand and had also changed her clothes. I got dressed and went to her room. She looked at me and said

“You can stay here from now on. Not like you didn’t already but you can stay permanently. Mom already said she’s getting you a dresser of your own.”

I smiled and grabbed her hand to pull her over to me. I kissed her and pulled her onto the bed. She looked so cute as she blushed that I kissed her again then ran to the living room.

” SHAWN YOU ASS!” I heard her yell as I snickered and went to find my skateboard.

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