balefire

CW: Not rational, overreacting.

I’m unlovable, useless, impossible to want. I’m too odd, too pretentious, too different, too messed up by dissociation and hypochondria and body issues, too theoretical, too skewed. I’m fat and ugly, aged, caught in androgynous limbo; my voice keeps going too deep. I’m clumsy, I can’t even remember people’s triggers or boundaries, I’m not empathetic enough, not caring enough, not sharp enough to be able to interact with anyone so that I will not hurt them, except possibly by being so focused that I myself can’t stay present as a subjective being.

I’m too selfish, too needy, too clingy. I know too little, I am too forgetful, lazy, undisciplined, I am not smart enough, I don’t feel passionately enough to be interesting, I am almost entirely fake, not authentic, not genuine, useless, uninteresting. I don’t have enough of genuine life or genuine interests or projects for anyone to want to participate in.

Well, more accurately, people sometimes want to try me. I can be a curiosity, a safe game for a night when someone first comes out of a period of celibacy, perhaps. But once anyone tries once, a few times perhaps even, no-one can hold any passion for me. I’m like a corpse that perhaps can entertain a little through dissociated touching and D&D-style fantasy narrating, or who can use a sex toy clumsily, but that won’t last. None can hold passion for me, for what is there to be passionate about? So people fade away and leave me behind.

Or perhaps I am scary? Too weird, too cold, not empathetic enough, too odd, elitist, weird.

What can I do? Well, I can build my own self. I can do the things I should to succeed career-wise, scientifically. Even if I am no genius, at least I can do that, maybe sometime even making a difference. I can be a good friend, I can help and support my friends, entertain them sometime, with no need for reciprocity, though my friends do indeed reciprocate.

I can do some about this disgusting body. I must continue strictly to lose weight, for if I do, my shoulders will slim a little more, by belly will diminish, and my tiny hips and breasts will look a little more feminine by comparison. I can get into shape, because then if I am fit then I will seem healthy, despite my increasing age, and that is something people like. If I like moving in my body, learn more motorics and grace, then I may become actually attractive to some.

I could fix more body things. Bottom surgery is all for me, not to look a certain way to others, but I could reduce forehead some, lower hairline, maybe change cheeks. Weight loss will help there too, as will giving hormones more time. That might make me look a little better.

I will fix my voice, I will somehow get around the laziness and lack of focus and discipline that keeps me from being able to maintain it. I will train, I will focus, I will maintain. I can sound more so that I like myself, and then perhaps others will catch on.

I can learn style. I can learn to tidy up and keep a clean home, not living in a pigsty. That would make me more impressive, and would make it easier for others to stay near me, to want to share some of my everyday life with me.

Getting in better shape should involve sleeping properly also, because then my brain may start functioning better too so I will be able to offer interesting conversation at least. If I can do that then I won’t continually bore or trigger people like I do. I will be able to keep my stupid shit together better, and maybe that will make me more likable.

What else is there? Get more control of my life so I have more freedom to follow the rhythm of others, again letting me become less uninteresting.

Perhaps.

I am a useless needy wreck in real need of therapy and to stop being stupid and passive-aggressive.

And it is very very real that I am loved, I have loving partners who would come to me when I need it, with whom I share crucial sides of myself, with whom I share passions specific to each relationship, whom I would burn continents to save, relative to whom nothing can be more important. They do love me. I cherish this. I treasure this.

Still, the sort of passion that so many other people do experience in their everyday lives, that is beyond me. I am not the kind of person that makes anyone want to prioritize me like that. I will always be less important than various other things, because there is nothing in me that could make me important to others in a way that would inspire romantic devotion.

I should dissociate and get to work. But I don’t want to. I need to stay in pain if I am to be able to heal.