Love of Cousins


Love of cousins

Yesterday, I went over my cousins that I haven’t seen in a long time. Usually we see each other for special birthdays or some other special occasion. We don’t see each other often enough. One of my cousins gave me a special gift yesterday. I am now the owner of a replica World Series ring of the 2013 Boston Red Sox! I am wearing it as I type this. It is heavy. But I love it just the same. I nearly had a coronary in the car when my cousin gave me the ring. She knows I love the Red Sox very much. I have more Red Sox things than I have any other Boston sports team. I own just one Patriots hat. I lost interest in the Celtics when Larry Bird retired (more than twenty years ago) and I don’t care for hockey. All I know about the Bruins is what I read on Twitter or Facebook. But the Sox to me are special. I have been a fan since I was a little kid and that hasn’t changed. Even when they suck, I still love them. My cousin knows this. I will always treasure this gift. I might not wear it publicly, only because it is huge and heavy, but I will wear it in the house.

I slept late today, a rarity. I woke up around 0530 and miraculously, I was able to get back to sleep around 0600. Yesterday was a difficult for me, mostly last night. I feel like I am a failure in my mother’s eyes because I don’t do much around the house. I would try but I know that it hurts so I don’t. My mother telling my cousin that I was basically a lazy ass did not sit well with me. My cousin wasn’t judging me at all. She knows that I suffer from chronic pain and she knows a little something about it because she has fibro.

Last night I was in bad shape. My mother got me very upset. I think between the sleep deprivation and being up all day, I was more vulnerable to her attacks. Normally she doesn’t get under my skin. I really wanted to die last night. I even thought of going in the hospital just to get away from her. But I feel now that will be giving in to her suspicions that I am not well. And that will infuriate her. She doesn’t get my mental illness at all. She thinks I should just let things roll off my back or not think about things. Even more damaging, she thinks I should “talk” to her. I tried talking to her when I was 10 and suicidal. I got no response. So why should I try talking to her now? She doesn’t understand my pain, my depressions, my insomnia. None of it. Hell, she didn’t even want to read my book that I wrote. I don’t even know if she read the New York Times article I wrote. If that isn’t a shun, I don’t know what is.

I need to go to Walgreens to pick up my prescription today. I really don’t feel like leaving the house. It’s cold, damp, and raw outside. Of course, what do you expect in November? The days of it being warm are over. I am not in pain at the moment. But I am afraid that if I walk to and back might cause my ankle to hate me. I really need to get PJs that I can also wear outside. I have sweat pants but it’s the idea of getting dressed that stresses me out. I hate the indecision of picking something to wear, of which socks to wear. I am glad I only have one good pair of sneakers otherwise I doubt I would never leave the house. I would never decide which pair to choose from. Some days it’s easier to just throw something on and leave the house. But days like today, I am dreading it. I just want to listen to Adele and Eric Church and just stay under the covers.

My menses are slowing down. I am going to ask the pharmacist, if I do go to Walgreens, if I can restart the pack today. Course, that will mean I have four pills that I just am not using. I never should have stopped mid-week but I had no choice. I really didn’t want two weeks of bleeding. Just talking about this makes me feel so low. I feel so degraded. I know no woman looks forward to that time of the month but it’s different when you are transgender. I have put up with so much. I just wish I was dead so I don’t have to deal with this at all anymore. I feel so alone. Other than my blog, there is no one I can really “bitch” to about this. I know that this particular mense breakthrough has caused increased suicidality more so than at any other time. It’s just so difficult. Other than my sisters, I haven’t really told a “real” person about my TG. My therapist and my psychiatrist know but they are not people I see every day. But then, there are no people that I see everyday other than my family. I feel so isolated. I know part of it is my own doing. I don’t reach out to people. I could blame my paranoia, especially now as things have kicked up a notch since the Paris attacks. I just don’t feel safe anymore. And I don’t even think being on a locked ward of a hospital will help.

any thoughts?

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