Schlagwort: personal

I kind of like having long hair, wearing dresses and red lipstick. That does not mean that I identify as female.

I love wearing “men’s clothes”, bowties and suits and wish I had a beard and a completely flat chest along with “male” anatomy, but that does not necessarily mean that I identify as male.

I wish I could just be a gender-identity-less someone, but I know people will call me a girl/ woman anyway, which I am incredibly uncomfortable with.

The difference

Okay, this is important to me.

I used to hate photos of any part of my body that wasn’t my eyes. I hated my body in general (figure, belly, arms, legs ), my chin, my skin, my lips, my teeth and my smile and because of that, I stopped smiling in photos altogether – or covered my face, as you can see above. 

However, I’ve been feeling a lot more (body) positive lately, so when I tried to take some photos yesterday, it didn’t go as planned because I just couldn’t stop smiling and that’s such a pleasant development.

Nervous breakdowns suck. Throwing pencils at the wall, tearing your notes, pulling your hair out, scratching the skin on your head bleeding, crying and almost throwing up due to being so nervous are all things that I would rather not experience again and again and again…

Usually, I don’t meet anybody in the woods, but today, my neighbour saw me singing to the tree I was hugging and I was really embarrassed, but then I came to the conclusion that she has been the first person to see me how I truly am, so it is okay, I am happy now.

I said it in my mind.

Er ist tot. He is dead.

Sometimes I can cope with it (it has been over four months after all), sometimes it hits me hard and I don’t know what to do.

I want to help his sister, I want to help his mother, I want to help his brother, his father, and everyone else from his (our) family. But on the other hand, I never want to face them ever again because I feel guilty for being alive and it makes no sense. I should stay close to them, they (we, I) would need it, but I can’t.

Zuhause ist kein Ort, es steht mir frei zu gehen. Home is not a place, I’m free to go. It’s ringing in my head all day, I just need to believe in it. Go away, don’t look back. The home you loved is shattered.

Except it is not. I am not his sister, I am not his mother, I am not his grandmother, I am not his aunt, I am not even his friend. Just the oldest one left, the one who has always been and will always be compared to him silently.

It just hurts so much and I feel guilty for both hurting and living. Why him? He was only twenty. Why him, after everything that happened? Why him?? They do not deserve it, as silly as that sounds.

Is there a way to justify any of this? Is there a reason? No, and no. How could anything (like this) happen for a reason?

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT.

MERELY AN ACCIDENT

and a definition of “bad luck” it seems.

vangoghsdaughter:

Stop telling kids that they’re too young to know they’re queer but also stop spreading the idea that all queer people know they’re “different” from a very young age. Some people realize they’re queer when they’re five and some people don’t until they’re thirty-five and no one should have to justify their identity at any age.

I was actually really insecure with my sexuality for a long time because I had not been aware of me being queer ever since I was a child. So when I was 14/15/16ish and questioning, I used to think I was just “going through a phase” when I really wasn’t.
Telling people they are too young or too old to figure out what their sexuality is can be harmful to them!