We Are Demented and Holy

let's destigmatize that really quickly through translation

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We Are Demented

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Fuck y’all.

People don’t take care of each other. We watch each struggle like it’s a reality television show. I am going crazy with you people. I’m great! It’s you!

I am going to fucking kill myself.

There is a part of me that wants to die right now because I’m doing things wrong and not seeing what and not getting the help I need from anyone. Still, my life and my will are sound enough that I know I won’t do it. I’m just angry and mad and sad and twisted and I hate myself and everyone.

I hate everything.

I don’t know what I’m living for and the lies of excitement which rule my life—my addictions—are showing through as empty. People don’t care.

Go fuck yourself!

Your feelings hurt my feelings.

(Laughs in face.)

I’m pretending not to care for myself but disregarding myself at the same time and making a show of it. I know this.

Please God. Help me find my car keys. Where did they go? Where are they?

I need a fucking vacation life—where I do what I actually am meant to do—and to get my fucking breath on. Nothing in my subconscious wants to go to work today. Why is this life? Please just give me this one thing.

You are evil and are going to burn in hell!

Hell is dying not knowing your life meant anything. I see you corrupting your heart and it’s disgusting and wrong and I’m right enough about that to scream this at you—you should think about that—what you’re doing is affecting my livelihood directly and traumatizing me.

I can’t handle their bullshit right now.

My problems are the only problems that matter. They’ll get over it.

Suck my dick!

I’ve been coded with sexualizing and demeaning terms of discouragement. They are my least favorite thing, but they are deep within me from the culture and time I was raised. When I am in panic and blind rage I regress and cut myself and others with my own words.

Choke on a cock!

See above. I am also funny and know this.

Fuck you, (insert hate slur).

I see you as different than me. There’s something challenging by your presence in my field of vision to my ideology. One way or another, you have managed to trigger my deep insecurity in myself and I’m unwilling to acknowledge that. I will undue myself into my lowest nature. Later, I will subconsciously love you for challenging me and hate myself for my conscious refusal to change. I will still despise you no matter.

These (insert hate slur) are ruining everything.

I am not feeling welcome in the current cultural trends and embittered and unable to conform yet unwilling to carve a place outside of regressive hate bubbles made to draw my kind in and traumatize me through interpersonal self-harm. I’m cutting myself by focusing on what I’ve been taught to hate. These people can hold my burden. I’m choosing to give it to them and I know this.

(With glee from me)

It’s ma’am! I’m ma’am!

I saw something once which embarrassed me terribly through association I should not have carried. I’m funny and honest but also harbor internal prejudice towards trans women, especially those near the beginnings of transition. I believed in physical embodiment being key to how I saw myself a woman, and it was. Without being realized to myself, I wouldn’t have been so bold so early. It throws direct contradiction over my belief in woman as spirit but also emboldens the truth I acknowledge of femininity or womanhood or sisterhood or whatever being a social container. Performance is not what that means. It means embodiment of a nature that connects with each other and respecting that. Also, it feels stupid to me for someone to play dumb about how challenging they might be to some people in terms of using subconsciously wielded language. That doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be respected—it means we should chill with the word police on each other when people are coming out of their shells and learning to understand a place for people all together. Still, there is one unseen notion which will certainly stick in my craw while I move forward after making this joke; from my experience the early transition period is brutalizing when moving at full speed through an already broken world of stress, and the grace we fail to give those in hormonal transition of extreme polarity—going from one entire spectrum of hormonal realization to another and not from a midpoint—extra fast—is fucked up.

I’m so sorry!

Please forgive me so I can absolve myself of this and not process what I’ve done. Tell me what I did—I don’t know—I’m really sad and I just want to make this better.

Fuck you.

I am pretending I don’t care and it’s self-harm and I know this.

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We Are Holy

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My body my choice.

It is no one’s business but my own what happens in my womb. You don’t get to know why—that’s absurd. Sexual reproduction in this world is often the most traumatizing of things by the nature of broken patriarchy’s insistence on being rape mongers who idolize childhood boy-fantasies. To then presume some righteous understanding of another’s journey and demand them to comply to your reasons for why or why not you would make the choice, when you don’t fucking know and have no right to in terms of what is behind their own, is the most immoral horseshit imaginable. The weight of choosing to let go of a child has never, not once in the history of this fucking planet, been the hardest decision which then stuck with a mother-to-be for the rest of her life. It cannot be quantified by anyone who has not walked their specific path. How dare you.

I’m really sorry, (insert appropriate softened colloquial).

I can tell you are hurting and I’m offering you comfort free of charge right now with my words.

Let’s not talk about it.

I’m intuitive enough to know you’re hurting and that speaking would not help you on this issue you’re facing. I’m compassionate enough to set aside the part of my mind which wants to categorize your pain and solution it. I’m here for you in blank presence and I want you to know you are free and seen in your clear need to not talk about this right now—or maybe ever.

I need help. I’m feeling suicidal.

I’m going to be very brave. I don’t want people to be those saddest ones who say they didn’t know it was that bad. I’m going to be honest.

I would like to give you a hug.

I can tell you are hurting and in need of compassionate affection—I’m being bold to remove as much uncertainty as possible in my intentions so it’s easy not to do what we all do sometimes and deny what we want out of the perceived belief of another being burdened by us.

I love you.

You make me feel really good. I’m happy right now. Thank you for being here with me it makes me grateful and drawn to find more time beside you. I hope you know that you are special to me.

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