Second blog in one day.
I have so much swirling around in my mind today. I can’t concentrate on anything.
I have ideas for stories and characters and potential books, at war with ideas for houses and financial plans for the future, thoughts about my computer and things I’d like to do to it—though none of them are necessary—along with ideas for artwork and projects I’d like to do, mixed with thoughts of the book I am currently reading and the prospects of D&D tonight, and thoughts of what time it is right now and how many hours I still have left of work, and how work seems to be just dragging by because it’s friday, and that I am hungry and would like to get a snack from the vending machine but I know that I’ll be having banana splits at D&D tonight and that uses up all my dinner calories so that’s all I’ll be eating today though maybe I’ll have one of my 250 calorie lunches when I get home to hold me over a bit, and thoughts of the things I still wish to change about myself and the problems I have with certain aspects of my personality such as caring too much about what people think, and my burning desire to have someone to discuss my passions with who cares about them as much as I do but then guilt that that is selfish and it’s not all about me, and thoughts about a Handmaid’s Tale and how good it is and the growing list of books I want to write and the writing podcast I am listening to, thoughts that I’m not a very good friend and I could be a better friend and I should be less selfish and less overemotional, and thoughts about things I want but I can’t get them I need to save money for my future, worries and fears about how long this good life will last if anything bad will happen, worries about my car and how long it has left, fears about my cat and she is getting older and her fur isn’t as soft and as shiny and she has more white hairs on her face and I’ll miss her, and guilt that I am doing this instead of working and wondering how long I can possibly keep a job that pays so well and yet 70% of the time I’m on facebook or my blog or reddit and not working because there isn’t enough work to fill my day, and these thoughts are all mixing around in my head vying for attention and my brain wont just take a break.
I started this blog to document my adventure of building a tiny house. It was a premature venture as that wont happen for a couple years if it happens at all. But then the blog turned into something more, it turned into a dumping ground for all my jumbled thoughts constantly at war in my head.
I have followers. That surprises me at times. 27 people follow this blog, and only one of them is someone I know in real life. Each time I post a blog I get several likes on it. Why would people be interested in my continued rambling streams of consciousness about everything from wanting to build a tiny house to wondering if I am transgender to progress on my dieting and calorie counting to my visits to a therapist? But apparently some people do.
But this blog doesn’t replace a person, it can’t talk back to me. It can’t discuss my ideas and passions with me, it can’t geek out about Doctor Who with me, or gush about our favorite Harry Potter characters together, or help come up with names for cities in my world or help come up with ideas for sentient magical items for my D&D party to fight over, or look at pinterest images of old timey looking kitchens with me.
At the same time though, I am selfish. If I did have someone like that, and they were passionate about robots and woodworking and interpretive dance and loved music and liked to talk endlessly about their favorite indie ska bands, would I be able to talk about those things with them, or would I respond with a halfhearted “that’s cool” and then launch into why I love the show Bitten. Such things are not a one way street.
I haven’t lost much weight. Well, 45 pounds is a fair amount. It’s almost 1/4th of what I needed to lose from my starting weight. 5 more pounds and I’m 1/4th the way to victory. As I do begin to lose weight I begin to think more about myself, about things my therapist has hinted at. I’ve told myself I’d rather be alone, and I believe that is true. But I’ve also lied to myself about it to a degree.
The truth is I want to live alone, and I still have no desire for sexual intimacy. But I do want some intimacy from someone, someday. I want the occasional cuddling on the couch to watch a show. Sometimes to hold hands and walk together, talking about this and that, maybe with a dog or two. Someone to go kayaking and fishing with me. To hug me when I need to cry. I don’t mind kissing, just no further than that, I think. But that’s how I feel now… how will I feel when I’ve lost weight, when I no longer feel uncomfortable in my own skin? I also know that I don’t care if this imagined person is male or female. I honestly, completely, entirely don’t care. The imagined person in these random thoughts is an indistinct blob, and I don’t feel uncomfortable imagining that figure to be a girl or a boy.
The truth is also that I am selfish. That I value my own space. That people get on my nerves. That I would want to spend a good amount of time alone. I’d want to fall asleep in their arms, sure, but I’d also want to be able to go home alone. To curl up with my favorite book in a big chair by the window with a cup of hot cocoa and my dog and read.
The truth is I like being alone.
And the truth is I am lonely.
These truths don’t war with each other, they don’t contradict each other. The exist together as one truth. I like to be alone, and I am lonely.
I also know, I believe, that I am not transgender. The FtM video I saw that created such an emotional response in me, was a response to how happy that person was finding their true self. It was a sympathetic emotional response, because I do want that happiness, a happiness I will find when I lose weight and can feel comfortable in my own skin too.
The truth is I want to keep my computer. When I realized I probably wouldn’t be able to have it in the tiny house, that it would take up too much room, too much electricity, I was sad. I went over a month without it, and it was fine—I didn’t miss it, because I’m not addicted to it. I’d survive if I could never have one. But playing the occasional video game is something I enjoy doing. As is watching shows and movies. I don’t need to cut those things out of my life, but I do need to take them in moderation if I want to have time to draw or write or sculpt.
And I do want to write.
The truth is I care too much about what people think. The only reasons I am still debating between tiny house on wheels and just a small cabin in the woods is because I don’t want people to see this as just another phase I’ve gone through. It goes back to my struggle with persona. Me, who I really am, is someone who gets really passionate about something, then gives it up, or fails, or quits, or changes their mind on a whim. I hate that about myself, and I hate that this tiny house idea is just another in a long line of things I’ve abandoned. I hate the idea of people thinking of me in that light, as someone who doesn’t keep their word, who gives up, who fails.
The truth is this blog shows so much of who I am, more complete and deeper than anything I say or do in real life. My worst fears are here, my thoughts, my desires, the bad things about me and the good things. I’ve been candid and honest here, and the fact that 26 strangers know me more intimately than my own family doesn’t bother me, it actually helps. It helps me admit things to you that I struggle to admit even to myself.
The truth is I want to be a better person, but I also fear that I can’t be. That I’ll always be selfish, emotional, unstable, that I’ll always abandon things, that I’ll never follow through, I’ll never publish a book, never build a house, never pay off my credit card, never lose weight, never find someone special, never feel comfortable in my own skin, never ride a horse again, never live on my own, never get better at art, never sculpt my own D&D minis, never create my own tabletop RPG system, never love myself, never live my life.
The truth is I’m selfish.
The truth is I’m scared.
The truth is I’m bi.
The truth is I want to be an author.
The truth is I hate myself.
The truth is I want to live alone.
The truth is I need a hug.
The truth is I am emotional.
The truth is I want to be a better artist.
The truth is I’m lonely.
The truth is…