"i/dea/l"

Hello, I wanted to tell you I'm a liar
Placeholder for the ones you can't forget
Your lost and handheld sympathies
Which keep everyone in suspense.

The dirt beneath our feet knows all you're feeling
As the stink of four-foot forceps bears witness to the chaos
To the crimes they once called hers; she calls bemused
To tell me there's another stratus on the rise

If there is enough pale platitude in this
Can we throw on one other:
habeas corpus, ergo sum
ecce homo contra ius commune

It's no great i/dea/l (as you will)
to give water to the drowning
Painting portraits of the days

Which once called home.

All Silver After All

I've taken my sleeping pill, and I'm in my room, in bed. I should be laying down with my lights out, but I needed to write about something that made me angry and scared and sad for a longfuckingtime this summer.

Prestory: Doctors intimidate the hell out of me. They've undermedicated me, mismedicated me, overmedicated me, and ignored me when writing me scripts for medicine to which I was allergic. I've also had one particular doozy, when I was my most physically ill, that told me "So you have (diagnosis). What am I supposed to do about it?"

...I do not trust doctors. Fast forward to Modern Times....

The local go-to for trans hormones in town was not adequately covering my needs. Fighting through my fears and the power they held by being the Only Known Doc In Town, I brought these concerns forward to be ignored and condescended to. I made another appointment, attempting to politely, but assertively advocate for myself. After pushing a treatment agenda both illogical and not-recommended-by-professional-literature,  doctor so-and-so literally told me "Don't FUCK with me, Jester."

I walked. Between distance, time, energy, money and other life situations, this has left me without testosterone shots for the majority of the summer. I have experienced a lot of pain at (another) rejection and betrayal of my damaged trust no screw that--I knew from the start this person did not have my best interests. I've got to acknowledge my gut, and that I went forward anyway because this was the 'only game in town'.

I've had a lot of exhaustion, weakness, and other Unfortunate Offshoots of this lack. It felt very threatening because I still have not had the progress I would like to see by now (18 months when I ran out--now 20 months). A friend had suggested that my dose was too much (0.85ml/week @200mg/ml = In Effect 170mg/week where cismen average 100) and at first I didn't agree with him because LOOK HOW FEMININE.

Somehow I'm still progressing in my transition--in fact, my voice is deeper, my shape is more masculine and I have had an increase in progress of body hair (Lovin' It!). I think while the doctor was going on about a possible former case of Hashimoto's and ignoring my *ahem* issue, I was seroconverting.

So! This "betrayal?" Maybe we should call it a Blessing instead.

Angels of The Silences (acoustic)

I started this journal because I've had a rough life and some ugly things have happened. Somewhere along the way, the weight added up. I lost my ability to Be Easy. Lost my Joy. Lately I find it difficult to smile or have normal conversations.

My mind has been damaged by the difficulties of life, my body worn from carrying baggage 7/24. But I also see friends and community that have seen similar experiences and have so much freedom! As a father, I feel a responsibility to choose health so that my child has a loving chance in this world. But this must be engaged with carefully--there's a lot of work ahead.

I've never trusted authority, so god/religions don't really help me--which means the only 12-Steps I'm into involve country music. Therapists take a lot of work to trust... and friends? Well, codependency sucks. That means I have a lot of work to do on my own time and terms.

This blog is to stand as a document of my journey to healing. Sometimes it'll be entertaining. Sometimes it'll be frightening. Sometimes it will be boring. But in the end, I'll be Alive.

SWT seeks antidepressants, testosterone

Jester says, "hehe, you messed up." Gets back, "i'm going to snarkily point out your error." HAHAHAHAHAHA.  IT IS FUNNY BECAUSE YOU'RE THE ONE WHO MADE THE MISTAKE. GET IT? GET IT?

On a related note, fuck your "clearly I'm a better friend/more educated person than your other friend....aren't I?!" And their "Yes."

If he's hostile, he's hurting. When the river of blood
flows from Mama's wounds he will exclaim about
injustice and invisibility. Interrelation with irritability
may be extrapolated so far only by the initiated.

And when her heaven walks across his soul,
it reminds him of the hell he carries within.
The years of fists and tears beneath his skin
These bags he tries again and again
To put under the radar, or tear asunder.

They pursue him doggedly without regard
For any sense of earthly reward
The poison is not the cure, stop recommending
It to him.





I've been watching films about media and war again. I also got to watch fish killed, their bellies ripped open--but only the fish that had eggs within. Fish carcasses containing Milt (sperm) were given more time and attention. I find this interesting.