August 11th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

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2013, cyd, new

Funny thing is, that is what I wear now.

Have I not written lately? I feel like I haven't. I guess only in really dissociative states. I keep doing that. Just completely leaving my body. I have no idea where I go. It's happening more often. It usually happens for a few hours in the afternoon while Doc is asleep and I am up. As soon as I have my first cigarette, I check out.

In the evenings, I have been myself. Until around Sunday night. When I finally realized the enormity of mental health stigma in the WORLD, not just the US. And also realized that those on social media trying to fight stigma, don't seem to fathom that. It's not second or third class citizenship for the mentally ill, it is a history of demonic possession, hidden relatives, sanitariums for life, friends you no longer speak of, medical experiments, torture . . . every detail is worse than the last.

Denmark has the best mental health system in the world, it is said. It is also not easy to emigrate to Denmark. You have to have a reason. Something to offer society. Like Australia. And guess what? Even they battle stigma.

So do I take Doc's advice and just walk away from this? I can't unlearn what I have learned. But it turned this cairn into fucking Giza.

I am depressed. That much I know. I would blame it on the last episode I had, but it's been a few days, a week, even? So it isn't that. I've been taking my meds. Maybe Doc is right and I do get depressed as my period is ending. I don't know.

I've finally thrown off the shackles of the wedgie! I have made the switch to men's boxer briefs. I couldn't take women's underwear another day. I have a flat ass. Almost concave. Nothing to hold the panties in place. Wedgies all the time. I found an old pair of Doc's boxer briefs, that he had forgotten about and never worn. They were from a long time ago, when he weighed less. They fit and they felt so right. So comfortable. I tried on my jeans, fit fine. Shorts, fit fine. I love them. So Doc is getting me some more this weekend when he picks up my headphones (the postage was almost the price of the headphones, which led to in-store delivery, which led to, do I want more expensive headphones? and I looked and didn't like any so we got the cheap ones I like delivered to one of the 8 WallyWorld's within 5 miles of us, we are assuming they will tell us which one when they email us), and my tank tops.

So, I guess, aside from the bra, the cross dressing is complete. It took me 40n years to get comfortable again. Age 6 is when my mom intervened with my tomboy ways and started forcing me into dresses and lace and those damned Mary Janes shoes that I couldn't run in. That lasted about 2 years. Once I was 8, and got baptized, I heard a lot of "Well, you have your "free agency" so it's up to you to make the decision and pray that Heavenly Father agrees with you." I didn't see how Heavenly Father (Mormons don't say God) would have any issue with me dressing like a boy. It wasn't my fault that my mother cut all my hair off and I was always mistaken for a boy. So, whenever I got to have a say in my clothing choices, it was always to the Boy's department for jeans and flannels. Funny thing is, that is what I wear now.