Anxiety: Doubts are My Enemy

Earlier today, I had a silly little panic attack.

You know, those kinds of things that are so little, you feel like pulling your own head off?  The desire to fix something you see as flawed, but knowing full well there is nothing you can do about it and you don’t want to accept the inevitable is the sort of thing that sends people like me into the throes of a whirling, spasmodic, anxious mind. I am not handling myself as well as I thought.  On some level, I feel like I am avoiding everything that is right and living within my own fantasy world.

I came across a blog yesterday, geared specifically to men that want to transform to women.  As I began perusing through the various sections, comments, topics, programs, and other stuff, I quickly came to realize that this “Lucille” woman has struck gold with the obvious business she is engaged – serving crossdressers, transgenders, transsexuals and others of that persuasion.  Granted, I’m not in a position at the present time for me to be committed to anything like this from a financial perspective, so it’s an easy decision for me to not get involved.  But I also began to notice a few other things as I perused the site, and these are the things that began to add up and frustrate me beyond measure – and now that I’ve calmed down, I think I was being silly and stupid.

The first thing I noticed, other than the money, were the pictures of different people in the comments section of the blog posts made.  A lot of these girls did a great job in transforming and some are still looking great in the process.  Well, the thing I noticed, almost immediately, is the fact that some of these girls didn’t have an over-abundance of masculine features to begin with, so I began to think their process was so much easier than mine would ever be.  Some of them had the ability to look like women, and I just don’t. I simply won’t be able to look feminine for a number of reasons that I just don’t want to share right now.

Another thing I noticed is the commitment of time.  I’m so overwhelmed with so many things in my life, I don’t know how I can even begin to make time for anything like this.  Take make-up, for example; I’ve only worn it a time or two and I’m sure I looked more like a side-show freak than anything remotely pretty. So, it’s obvious to me that is a learned skill.  And then, learning to move in a feminine manner, would take some time, I’m sure.  There are other things, when I begin to think about that would take a long time to learn – or unlearn, as the case maybe.  So , the idea that I would be spending so much time doing it, would be consuming.

There are a number of other things that began my thought process into complete and utter negativity. I began to loathe what I was looking at, as an extension of the self-loathing that I tend to do. I did a big no-no and also began comparing myself to some of the others I saw on that site – and, obviously, they all looked so much more feminine than I ever would.

The bottom line is that everything about me is wrong. I’m too manly, I’m too masculine looking, I’m too old to even bother or try. And, how can I even begin, if there is no positive outcome for me? Maybe, I should apply one skill that I learned when attending AA meetings: acceptance.  Maybe I need to just accept myself the way I am…

…I think Stephanie might remain a figment of my imagination, she would never be what I imagine her to be.

Sometimes I Want to Cry…

Today, I am struggling.
It has been several weeks, since I’ve felt this low, but it is hitting me like a train today.  I have been working some ungodly hours at two different jobs. I am putting in over 65-70 hours per week, trying to work on an advanced degree online and still managing my family responsibilities. But today my efforts feel like they are falling short. 
I am tired.
Physically, emotionally tired.
I want to cry.
I have not been tempted to drink in quite some time either, but last night I was craving a beer in a monstrous way. I am overwhelmed by the lack of balance in my life, which because evident last week, when I went to the Urgent Care for this earache and horrible sinus infection I had.  I expressed to the nurse practitioner that I Was a type-1 diabetic and hse said to me, “Are you sure you’re type 1, because I’ve never seen a type 1 that weighs as much as you do.”
I hate that nurse. Bitch!
But I hate myself more. Double bitch!
I feel like I have no time to take care of myself. I feel like I have swapped beer for eating more. I can’t seem to find the right emotional balance to accomplish all that is in front of me. I feel like it’s all going to come tumbling down soon. I don’t know why I feel the need to puch myself so hard to accomplish so little.  Because I am sacrificing myself in the process.
The fight is always the same.
I don’t know how to do it.
I need some major stress relief, and I have no time, money, motivation to relieve myself from it all.
I’m happy I stopped drinking, believe it or not. It reminds me of a time, when I never drank – except on extremely rare occasions. At that time, I was so incredibly healthy, so incredibly health conscious, so incredibly aware of my health needs. And I thought I was a sexy bitch too.
But I lost it.
I forgot about myself.
I began to loathe myself.
I’m back in a dangerous rut and I need to shake it.
I don’t know how to achieve the balance I need to meet all of my needs – financial, intellectual, emotional, physical, relationship, etc.
But I am on day 69 (I soooo love that number.)
I cried today.
I’ll make it, I just don’t know how at the moment.

Hilda’s Rant

So, I’ve tossed this idea back and forth over the past couple of days, but I can’t contain it anymore.  On the one hand, I don’t want my delicate ego to be impacted anymore than it has – yeah, right, who am I kidding? It’s been fucked for a long time.  But I certainly feel like bringing these things to the surface means I will have to relive the feelings, but at the same time I want to let them go and try and understand where they came from.  Also, I haven’t done my Day 9 Beautiful You Journal entry either, but after reading it, I feel like I’ll only be flirting with the underlying issues.  I want them out of my system, honestly, I’m ready to be positive and I feel like I have to recognize where they come from and what they are.  So, here is an example of how Hilda speaks to me and then it rolls down hill in one epic snowball of depressive misery and anxiety.

Before you read it, please be forewarned that it is full of vulgarity, irrationality, and kinda scares me a little. Oh, and don’t expect proper writing, because I’m freestylin’ this bitch and writing with emotion:

Here goes, Hilda:

Why don’t you go work out?

Cause I’m fat and it won’t matter in the long run.

Why not? If you ever expect to recover from this divorce that’s supposed to happen, it’ll relieve stress.

You caused the fucking stress.  You know this is all your fault, if you would have just kept your little dick in your pants. You’ve become everything you hate. You know how it feels to be cheated on and you went and did it. I’m shocked you can live with yourself.

15 years is a long time to hold on to a mistake.

Yeah, but you’ve hold on to other things longer than that. When she’s mad and calls you a fag, you know it’s right.

I just wish it would go away.

You suck dick. You’ve always liked sucking dick. How can you even consider yourself a man?

Maybe I’m not? IS that so bad?

You shouldn’t even try to get back into shape? No one is going to love you anyways. Your pathetic, and it won’t matter if you’re into guys or girls, no one is going to want you.

I can do like I did when I was a teen and just throw myself into what I’m good at.

Why bother? You threw it all away. You were healthy, you were good looking. You were confident and you took it all for granted.

Why can’t I find happiness? Why can’t I make her love me? Why can’t I make anyone love me?

You know why? You’re a fuckin’ freak of nature – you can’t even tell if you like girls, guys or both and you want someone else to want to fuck you?  Fuckin’ wierdo. You should have never told anyone that you’re bisexual, now you can’t even hide from that.  Why don’t you go get fucked in the ass, just like {Spouse’s name} tells you to do everytime you piss her off. 

Actually, come to think of it, you can’t even stand up for yourself to her, so you’re not a man.  You might as well keep feeling sorry for yourself.  I’m surprised you can even maintain a job.  What was the fucking point of you going to school anyways?  You’re practically fuckin’ broke.

Fuck, It wasn’t my fault I got laid off!  But fuck, they didn’t lay off the people they liked…just the shy, fucking loser that can’t tell if he wants to lick dick or lick pussy and has a failing marriage because he isn’t man enough to be what she needs.

You’re fat, lazy, pathetic, fag, with a tiny cock, hairy body, ugly fucking face and you’re never going to be where you want. It’s too fucking late, you fucking pathetic piece of shit.  Why don’t you take the easy way out like your brother? Oh, that’s right, you’re too much of a pussy, because you can’t even make decisions for yourself.

Yeah, you’re no man. A man would have never worn dresses like you did, a man would not take it in the ass like you did, a man wouldn’t suck cock like you do so well. Fuck, I’m surprised women enjoy sex with you when you do fuck ’em.  You know you can’t please them, because they like men, not pathetic pussies like you.

It doesn’t matter if you lose weight even, because you’re way too old to ever get in another relationship. Besides, you’ve proven in any relationship you’re in that you’re a fuckin puss.  You let women walk all over you – even your fucking therapists have picked up on that shit quick.  It’s like they’re reading you’re fucking mind – actually, that’s probably why you do get taken for a fucking ride – you have a flashing neon fucking sign saying, “I’m a pussy, please take advantage of me.”

Even if you were straight, there’s no woman that’s going to want you, because you have nothing to offer any of them. You’ve given up on everything…literally everything is given away and women only want a man with a backbone you pussy!  And if you were gay, you damn well know that the kinds of guys you’re attracted to won’t ever fuck you….oh no, not those kind.  OF course, that’s fucking okay, because they’re going to be with the women that won’t date you.

Better exercise your right hand, you fucking prick.  You’re gonna be punching the bishop an awful fucking lot. 

I can always just throw myself into work and read like I’ve always done. I could always get back into shape and just work towards the person I used to like.

Why? Don’t you get it? You’re gonna fucking hand it all over again, because you have no fucking ability to stand up for yourself.  Just like when you were forced to suck dick. Just like when you got your ass kicked by your mom’s boyfriend. Just like when you lost your job and couldn’t find another one. You give up the fight. You give up the chance to do anything. You’d rather someone else make the tough decisions, because you can’t.

And why do you even try at work? It’s not like you really care? You haven’t cared since you got married? You don’t give enough of a shit to perform the way you used to, because you’re weak, you don’t trust your ideas, so why should anyone else.  Besides, you’re fat and ugly and you never get involved, so why would any boss want you?  You get chances of a lifetime and you find some reason to hate it…in fact, you’ve adopted the attitudes you hate….hahahaha! Fuckface.

You’re fucking done. Worthless. Pathetic. Sexually confucked. Unable to have an adult relationship.

And now, I just want Hilda to stop…

Internal Debate: Do I or Don’t I…?

…let an epic rant of self-degradation rip out of me?

I am really enjoying this new book, and it has me really looking introspectively at a lot of things.  But tomorrow morning will be Day 9 and in that day there is a distinct look at analyzing the WHY behind the negative things you day to yourself.  By the way, I have decided to name my Inner Critic as Hilda – this is a variation of a name of a person I didn’t like as a kid – like I can count how many times I have ever seen her on one hand. I had VERY little interaction with her, but that woman could remember things FOREVER (Literally, like 25 years after the fact). Well, there are some things that I struggle with, things that I am worried about putting right out in front of me.

Recently, I had someone mention that I am a mystery, complex. I took that as somewhat of a compliment, because it means I have done a damned good job of masking myself.  But truthfully, that is my biggest problem – being vulnerable. And I am at a point where I really want to make some changes, but I have this barrier I’m currently dealing with – the idea of being completely vulnerable or maintaining somethings as strictly confidential.  On the one hand, I feel the need to get so much out of me, but on the other hand I feel like Hilda will take over and control the episode of confession, if you will.  I think it is important to understand where the negative thoughts come from, but at the same time my last therapist never explored those with me.  Rather, she just felt that the negativity’s source wasn’t nearly as important as not letting the negativity control me.

But for me, I almost feel the need to let a lot of it out and just deal with the outcome of such an action. There are some horrible things I say to myself, things I have held so tightly, I don’t know how to let them go.  Some of these things feel dark and disasterous; some of these things feel like no big deal in the evolving society around us, but still feel shameful to me.  It’s mind boggling to me, to say the least.

Anyways, I’m going to sleep on it and make the decision tomorrow.