My Mountain

Imagine there was a mountain
Made of your every worst thought.
Every time you worried if you locked the door
behind you
A pebble grew
And every time you doubted your abilities
or your life’s choices
A boulder fell
And when you questioned your very worth
as a person
A cliff face sprang up.
Now imagine you are trapped beneath that mountain
The weight of your fears and insecurities
Bearing down on you
Stealing your breath
Crushing your ribs
Squeezing tears from your raw, red eyes.
That is where I have been living
Under my own personal mountain
Clawing to get free.
But the weight
The sheer weight
Is so much for me I fear
I will never escape.

Meet Me At the Source

When you’re in a dark place, and you’ve forgotten what the light feels like, does it matter where you’re happiness comes from?

I had forgotten what it was like to feel truly joyful. To smile, laugh, feel exhilarated… it was strange, the memory of it is strange. But it all came from another person. Does that mean I have any agency over it at all?

My life feels different now. I’ve felt hope and I can’t forget it, can’t go back to the depths of despair that I had been trapped in. I am capable of feeling happiness, I know this now. And the source of that happiness is still around.

That’s the thing though. What if my source leaves me? Does that devalue the happiness? Does it mean that I’m not truly capable of generating my own contentment? Is my happiness, because it has come from someone else, not valid in my recovery?

I feel renewed. I feel like I have been revived. I had a jolt of positivity that woke me from my slumber, and now I’m here, awake. That feels valuable to me, no matter where it came from. I don’t believe the source of my happiness to be leaving any time soon, though I can promise nothing, but that’s neither here nor there. I have felt it. It’s possible.

I don’t want to believe that the source of my happiness matters as long as I can continue to feel it in other capacities. As long as I am not stuck at the teat of the person who makes me happy, desperately clinging to them for emotional sustenance, then what does it matter how I became a happier person?

Happiness comes from many places. I like this one.

No Sleep Means I’m Not Depressed

I’m supposed to take my extra sleep meds and get a good night’s sleep tonight, because my inability to sleep the last few nights may have been precipitating a manic episode. Is it weird that makes me kind of glad? That I can feel something other than depressed?

Mania is no fun in the end I know, but it’s a sign that not only am I a human being capable of a full range of emotion, but also that I really AM bipolar I and my lows will be met with highs.

Either way, I’m going to try to sleep it off now. My brain is still racing but maybe it’ll calm enough for me to get enough rest to function for tomorrow. I work and have an interview, I’ll need my beauty sleep. Or, at the least, my sanity sleep.

2 a.m. Showers

It’s 2 a.m. And I can’t sleep, so I decided to wake up. I showered, got my glasses on, and started up my video game. I want to write but I think the laptop may be next to my slumbering father.

I have another date tomorrow and I’m nervous. We’re going to the mall and walking around, which is fun, and she seems super cute. That’s just nerve-wracking for someone like me.

Plus what do I wear? Can I dress like a Tomboy or do I try to dress girly to impress? Idk what she would like.

These thoughts are all so trivial. Who even cares? This is my rambling, not meant for others and yet for some reason publicized.

I’m just so very confused about who I am and where I’m going right now. This is a big time in my life. I’m not sure how to handle it.

I guess 2 a.m. showers is one way.

The Demigirl Box

demigirl flag

I learned the word demigirl today and I like it. It means partially identifying to the female gender but not fully, maybe feeling like something else also. That’s me. I feel like a girl just not… entirely. Not wholeheartedly.

I refused to wear girl clothes until middle school, when I finally accepted what I was and began to awkwardly try to figure out my female style (a phase involving tank tops with skulls on them and a purple streak in my bangs).

But when I talk to certain people or when I’m in certain moods, in my head I’m a boy, spreading my legs as I lean back in my chair and fear no reaper.

This makes me think maybe genderfluid could fit me, but I just don’t feel like I have enough dysphoria for that. I’m not crawling in my skin. I just feel kind of like a boy sometimes.

So maybe I’m a genderfluid, tomboy demigirl. I like that, but I don’t know if I’d advertise it. At least just not yet, not until I’ve really felt it out and believe it fully myself. But to me that’s what I feel I am right now.

Now I just have to hash out my sexuality. Bisexual is the term I’m using right now, but hey. Maybe that will change when I get a girlfriend I’m actually intimate with.

I just want to know what I am. I don’t know why I need labels, but I always have. I need boxes that I can fit neatly into, and when I say a word people will understand right away what I mean. Or they won’t, and I can supply them a dictionary definition. Neat and tidy.

So maybe I’m a bisexual, genderfluid, tomboy demigirl. Maybe I’m not. But I’ll keep on searching for the right words until I’m appeased. And maybe that little happy feeling can be kept to myself, but I will have those words.

Ms. Gender

I went clothes shopping today and spent wayyyy more than I should have. I bought clothes that make me feel very me- from the boys section, or otherwise very tomboyish. But stylish, of course.

Tomboy I think is the right word for me. Sometimes I feel like I’m a boy, when I’m feeling cool or in power or confident or strong. But I still want to be pretty.

When I’m with a girl I like, I feel more like the man, and I love it. I want to pick her flowers and sweep them off their feet and flirt and steer conversations. When I’m with a boy, I just feel like a not-so-girly-girl.

I looked up all the names of all the genders and you could say maybe I’m gender fluid, but I wouldn’t say I’m ever really truly a guy. Just a manly girl. A tomboy.

I don’t know why it matters so much to have a name for what I am but I’ve always been like that. So I thought about all of my options and Tomboy does it for me, surface level. If you want to know more you’ll just have to ask.


She’s over a thousand miles away and I’m aching for her. My plans for my future keep getting put on hold. Even my extracurricular pursuits are being stalled. I am in a state of complete stagnation.

I am yearning for something, anything, to make life feel worth living again. To ignite my passion, my interest. Something to engage me while I wait for the rest of my life to load.

Fading away seems the perfect distraction.