Alien Girlybrain

memory: a flash, an instant
glinting hard, bright, solar
radiating shame, fear, guilt
through my leaden heart
pierced
broken
bleeding

A lot has happened over the last week and I'm going to make a post about that soon, but what I'm going to say tonight is specifically about what happened in therapy.

I met someone who let me ramble, let my brain pop back and forth all over the place, let me backtrack and foreshadow, let me tell the story in dribs and drabs and who then put everything together and told me that I've been used and abused and am suffering from PTSD as a result. And when he said it… it was a knife cutting through the veil that had been covering my eyes and I could see and understand what he meant and knew that he was right.

I'll tell the full story when I'm ready, but I'm not there yet.

I have a clearer idea of what I want from therapy now, though.

I need to recover from the PTSD.
I need to deal with the paranoia which already existed and which the PTSD only made worse.
I need to recover from the sexual abuse I endured from Damian.
I need to figure out whether my desire to detransition is legitimate and if so how to go about it or if it isn't, how to make it go away. It's probably tied up with the last item.
I need to figure out how to manage my anxiety and depression and maybe, someday, make them go away.

There's probably more, but that's a start.

Oh, and then there's the news that one of the singers in one of my favourite bands beats women. That's a hell of a thing to learn about someone who you've met a couple times and always seemed like a decent person.

And I quit my job after only working two days.

As I said, I will post more later.

I'm sitting here in the computer room feeling a little like I'm going to die but hopeful that I won't. Wednesday afternoon we went to an urgent care clinic here in town because I was afraid I was coming down with pneumonia. After listening to my lungs, the doctor said it's definitely not pneumonia, but possibly some kind of bronchial infection. Joy. I was also having difficulty walking and standing up straight. This, the doctor suggested, might be due to an inner ear or sinus infection.

Her treatment was some kind of steroid injection (which I had to refuse after a mild panic attack after I discovered it was to be injected into my backside—serious terror-inducing flashbacks to last summer's nine-injection rabies inoculation) followed by a four-day course of prednisone and azithromycin, along with an albuterol inhaler for any occasions where I was having trouble breathing. This last, I think, was a precaution against my condition being asthma, which I'm 99% certain it's not. If I were asthmatic, it would probably have been obvious before now.

The first day on the prednisone was very strange. I felt really odd, though it wasn't entirely unpleasant. I barely got any sleep that night, maybe three hours' worth, tops. Thankfully, there was an entirely unexpected side effect from the medications: my depression and paranoia went into abeyance, as did my current cycle of migraines. This leads me to wonder if they are all tied into some other problem in my head. I do know that prednisone is used sometimes to treat migraines, so my theory is they're being caused by some kind of inflammation in my head which the prednisone is currently stopping, and that the migraines are what are driving my depression.

I did have some shaky moments yesterday when the depression was threatening to come back, but it was easily enough dealt with. There are still things in my life which cause anxiety and depression, but somehow I seem to be able to focus better on other things now. I've got just the last dose of the prednisone to take and then we'll see what comes. If the migraines start up again and the depression comes back with them, that might indicate a (serious) physical problem (such as, say, a tumour or perhaps some sort of meningitis). If it stays gone, that might point to the inner ear/sinus infection as the cause of my woes. We shall see. In the meantime, I'm happier than I have been in months and it feels amazing.

I've been sick the last few days. Turns out that being under a huge amount of stress and depression really lowers your resistance and suddenly minor illnesses that wouldn't have bothered you before turn into actual problems. Go fig. Anyway, Travis got sick and while he seems to be doing much worse than I am overall it's still been a doozy for me because of existing issues with the contents of my cranium.

( I am long-winded. Sorry. )

It's not exactly a sunshiney place in my head.

Today. What can I say about today that hasn't already been said a hundred times before, by far keener observers than I?

Pretty much everything, as it relates to me and my life, as it turns out.

I've been having some…well, I don't know what they are. Episodes where I find it very difficult to breathe and I start hyperventilating. I can't tell if these are little panic attacks, the onset of asthma or some sort of odd allergic reaction to the cat (I've got no other symptoms of a pet allergy). A friend on Twitter suggested trying Benadryl so I popped out to RiteAid and asked the pharmacist there what she might recommend. She recommended getting to a doctor rather than Benadryl which, she said, might exacerbate shortness of breath. I'm adopting a wait-and-see attitude here. It COULD be anxiety. It most likely is, given the various factors in my life which could be contributing to it. If, once the stress has passed, I'm still having this problem I'll talk with a doctor about it. I'm not sure when that will be, of course, since I don't have insurance here and thus cannot afford to go to a doctor right now.

I also watched a leaked copy of the new Star Wars animated series, Rebels. A. Maz. Ing. I kind of miss the more slablike character design of Clone Wars, but the writing and voice acting are top notch. Better still is the music. It's cinematic and it draws you in. I never paid much attention to the music in Clone Wars, but after watching a few episodes tonight I notice that it's more martial in nature (which, given the overall theme of the show, makes sense) and thus—to me—less engaging. If I had a complaint about the new show it's this: either Ezra or Kanan should have been female. By making the two primaries male they limit the potential for development. Clone Wars featured many female Jedi (not to mention a female lead in Ahsoka) so we know they exist and can be plenty badass, so why not have Kanan be female? It's a minor-ish quibble, I know, but there it is. There are two female characters, but at this point they seem to be more character types rather than developed characters. I'm sure each of them will have a solo story and some backstory episodes, but I'm not looking for Rebels to pass the Bechdel test any time soon.

Back to medical stuff, I really wish I had insurance right now so I could get into therapy. It's obvious to me that I need a lot of help and it's not fair to try and use friends as therapists, and it's REALLY not fair to me to have to be my own therapist. Not only do I lack any manner of training (formal or in) I lack any ability to follow up on stuff and so I cannot manage any sort of treatment plan. Also, I really, REALLY need to get myself back on anti-depressants and I can't do that without a doctor. I hate using them but I need to stabilise myself because if I don't I might wind up doing something really, REALLY stupid without meaning to.

There's more to be said, I guess but I'm tired and going to bed now. Maybe I'll write some more tomorrow.

I asked Travis if he would be willing to tell the morning parking person that it wasn't working out, and he said he would. So this morning when she came back for her car, he let her know that it wasn't working out and she was very understanding about it. He's able to do that kind of thing, but it's very stressful for me as I dislike conflict. And as he was talking with her, it occurred to me she was probably taking it better from him because he's a guy and maybe less willing to try to argue with him or something. Dunno. All I know is that it's done and she's out of our hair and I feel about a billionty-five times better than I did when I woke up. Now maybe tomorrow when I wake up I won't feel like a ball of shit wrapped in a layer of crap, lovingly frosted with glucose*.

Then again, I'll be waking up with my brain in my body, so…









*Ten points if you know what that's from.

OK, it's been a few days.

Wednesday I was feeling…well, not suicidal, but I felt an emptiness and a depth of despair I didn't think I'd survive at the time. Clearly I did, but that was by no means a given thing. We took a walk down to the beach and walked up to the Promenade.

Thursday…I don't really remember. I don't really remember Friday, either.

Today… Hm. I woke up around 6 needing to use the bathroom. I had a migraine halo which was nearing the end of its cycle. I was surprised, as I've never had this happen before and didn't know it was even possible. I'd always assumed halos were dependent on consciousness, but they apparently are not. I guess it makes sense; halos are a neurological phenomenon and it stands to reason they don't need to be observed to exist. tl;dr: I got up, took a sumatriptan and lay in bed for a while afterward trying to get back to sleep despite the nausea. (Spoiler: I did, and I felt fine when I woke up again, four hours later.)

I had a pretty big crash in the late afternoon, but I recovered pretty well. When Travis got home we ordered pizza for dinner and watched a few episodes of Better Off Ted, which is the greatest show in the history of show.

Heidi has been a major snugglebug today! She followed me around from room to room and every time I sat down she'd jump up and settle on my chest for loves and skritches. :) She is a serious doll, though I think she took a piece of paper from my desk and hid it somewhere. She also likes getting up here and taking q-tips to play with/eat. She's a little silly sometimes. :)

Today is my mother's 80th birthday. It's also the fourth anniversary of my name change.

This morning, I went up to the New Balance store at 26th and Wilshire to see if I could try on some dress shoes. My rapist said her mom has been wearing a shoe from NB's Aravon series, and said they come in size 13. As it happens, I usually take a 13. So I go in, have them measure my foot. They've got a fancy-schmancy foot-measuring doohicky in the store that can even measure your arch. So I do the measurement dance and discover their machine thinks I'm a 13, D width. This is the first time I've gotten a definitive measurement of my foot since transitioning, so I'm at least glad to know that.

The guy helping me tells me there are only a few of the Aravon shoes available in 13. Great, I say. I want the Phyllis. Because, seriously, LOOK AT THIS SHOE. It's feminine (but not girly), which is pretty much impossible in this size range. Generally cute shoes top out at 10 or 11, sometimes 12. Anything higher than that is almost always either indistinguishable from a man's shoe or it screams "I'M A GIGANTIC FUCKING DRAG QUEEN!" So I'm all set to order the shoe when he says, "Oh, these are only available in the B width. In fact, everything in size 13 is B only." Uh…WHAT? Does it not occur to New Balance that women with size 13 feet might have wider than average feet? The size 12 shoes come in the D width, but might be too short to fit. I've had a bad experience with too-small shoes (last October, at the Franz Ferdinand show, I wore 12s and lost a toenail and messed the rest of them up rather badly) so I'm wary of those.

I decided to order a pair of the 13s anyway, on the basis that you never know, and every shoe is different. Besides, my rapist said they run a little large (his mom's a 9.5 and she's a 10 and she can wear her mom's shoes comfortably). So I guess in 5-7 business days we'll find out whether these shoes fit me. If not, at least shipping is free both ways.

You would THINK that shoe shopping would stress me out and cause depression, but no. It just frustrates me. I'm so tired of not being able to find nice shoes that look good and actually FIT me, much less give me any arch support or anything. My current daily shoe is a pair of sandals I got when I was here in May of last year visiting. They're Rockports, so they're good quality, but they're not so great for interviews (on which I have been on exactly ONE so far), which leaves me relying on my crappy "Shoes for Crews" shoes which I bought after I started working at Big Y last fall, and which, after just a few months' steady use, look like they're a couple years old. Also not so great, but better than the sandals.

Urgh. I'm pretty sure I've delivered this rant about a million times in various locations and I'm sorry. I don't have the energy for it anymore. Yes, this is yet another reason why I would like to detransition, so that I don't have to deal with the frustration of not being able to find stylish, feminine shoes in sizes which fit me without destroying my feet. It's not so much to ask, and yet it feels like an impossible thing. AND, unlike with bras, where I was a seriously oddball size for years before I could fit a more normal size, my feet are the size they are. Yes, if I lose weight they might get slightly smaller, but not enough to make THAT much of a difference. They did seem to shrink somewhat when I first started transition (yes, bones can move and be rearranged—just ask my nicely widened hips) but that's long since over. What I've got is what I've got. ANYWAY.

Been up and down a lot today because some stupid SMC college students decided our front yard was a GREAT LOCATION to burn one down. I smelled the pot and thought, "Oh, that's quite nice. I shouldn't mind sharing that with them" but regretted it a short while later when the depression hit. I'm not sure what actually smoking some pot would do to me (it's been a while, but I vaguely recall it was pretty good for my mental health) but I do know that limited, passive exposure to it seems to fuck me up in some pretty awful ways. Our downstairs neighbor used to smoke under our bedroom window in Belchertown, which lead to Damian and I getting nauseous and sick, not to mention migrainey and depressed, several times. At least I don't have to worry about this small exposure showing up in a drug test. I got WAY more exposure in B'town and my test results for Big Y were totally clear.

It's hard to believe the kitten has been with us over a week now. She continues to show signs of relaxing and adapting to her new home, which makes me very happy. I was worried she might be miserable here, but I worried for naught. Hell, her thinker's the size of a chickpea so I'm sure she'd be able to be content anywhere as long as there were toys (read: empty cardboard boxes), food and fresh, clean water. :) The antibiotics (oral and eye drops) she's been taking have really helped her out. Her eyes are totally clear now and not goopy. She's able to open her left eye completely and comfortably. And while she still sneezes occasionally, her nose isn't running anymore and she hasn't had a sneezing fit today.

She is a total sweetheart and we love her.

Today was a genuinely good day. Some twinges of paranoia here and there but all easily kept under control. I really hope this marks a turning point for me.

I stayed home from group tonight, too. I didn't need anxiety about a social situation causing me stress. Last night, we went for dinner to Burger King. While there, I started having a panic attack. Travis noticed and asked what was wrong. This is one of the strongest agoraphobic attacks I've had in a while. And wouldn,t you know it? Oncw we got home, I was fine. I didn't want a repeat of that, only in Hollywood-a 2 hour bus ride from home-tonight. As it happened, we went to the grocery store-and I was perfectly fine.

I feel somewhat optimistic about stuff right now. I'm going to ease myself into "normal" non-depressive behavious and hope this isn't just the eye of the storm.

And little Heidi continues to delight, though she's starting to get more adventurous and is finding her way to places I'd rather she not be. :)

We've still not settled on a name for the kitten yet. Either DJ (short for Dingus Junior, taken from an episode of The Simpsons we saw last night) or Heidi, because she seems to love to hide.

I continue to be plagued by anxiety, paranoia and depression, and feel like crap even as I write this (even though there's a little baby playing around my feet at this exact moment, and tickling me with her whiskers) and, unfairly, feeling bad makes me feel worse because it's so wrong for me to feel like this because my life is really freaking awesome.

And somehow even in the midst of my own pain and despair I'm able to encourage others. Yeah, I'm complicated like that. :)

I recognised the fact my depression was being driven by anxiety tonight and was able to medicate for it. I'm so proud of myself for recognising this and taking the appropriate steps to treat it.

The kitten is making me laugh tonight, which is a good thing. I feel like we made a good choice with her. She's affectionate (she'll start purring the moment you start petting her) and has a good temperament and doesn't hiss or swipe or claw (though her claws ARE sharp, and she doesn't know yet that human flesh does not make a great scratching post! Ow!).

I roasted a chicken tonight. I did it with bacon layered over the top and a bottle of cider. It's so moist and delicious! I need to get some dried cranberries and pear cider for the next time. SO good!

And now, for fun, heeeeeeeeeeere's kitty!