The writing on the stall

Years ago, when I was still living in Cleveland, I experienced a low point in my reputation as a bleeding heart. I was working for a publishing company at which a male coworker was transitioning. The "T" of "LGBTQ" was smack in front of me. I wish I would have handled myself better at that time in my life.

I honestly don't know why trans issues have been more difficult for me to express tolerance. Seriously, as I think about that time of my life and look at the hate bills in places like North Carolina, I feel a sense of shame. Why was it such a big deal around my office? Did it need to be? I think maybe things could have been handled differently to help everyone with the transitioning. The thing is, I don't know how. With legal rights and political correctness, maybe things just weren't set-up for a successful handling of such a situation.

Guilt plagues me to this day. Was I petty? Mean? Yes. Mean girls don't stop being mean once they are out of school. Do I wish I would have been a nicer person? Yes. But, I'm not going to pretend that I would like to have befriended her. I didn't like her. That is part of my problem with guilt. I need to realize that it was okay for me not to like her. The dislike wasn't because of her being trans, it was because we just weren't a match. I need to acknowledge that we weren't friends because it wasn't a fit, not because I was a bigot, anti-trans, bitch.

When it comes to public restrooms, it's entirely a matter of trust. I'm an in-and-out ASAP user. People are pigs and public restrooms are the their sties. All that matters to me is getting in, doing my thing, and getting out. This is my hope for how others view the experience, too. My same office where I worked with the trans woman, I experienced shit smears, used tampons, and other messes. THOSE are the things I don't want happening when I'm sharing a bathroom with people. I can tell you people in the office who did not wash their hands when finishing up in the bathroom. Those were the people who I didn't want to touch food they brought or I didn't want to hand off a visiting baby to because they were disgusting.

Michelle Duggar and other hyper-conservative-anal-retentive-sexually-stunted-types want to to turn the bathroom issue into being all about sexual perversions. It's NOT FUCKING SEXUAL. It's, hey, I just need to drop a deuce or take a piss. The other stuff, gay or straight, pedophilia or consenting adults, is not supposed to be happening in public restrooms at all. PERIOD. So, those laws/ordinances already exist. The ego of people who think that other people are obviously looking to have sex with them or their children and loved ones is mind boggling to me.

Guess what, Michelle? You have already been in restrooms with trans people. I'm willing to bet on it. Oh, and how'd those bathroom rules work at your house with your kids? Maybe it would be best for you and yours to get a gig with Depends to protect you from those scary public restrooms and get you some income since the T.V. series kind of fizzled.

Third Treatment Eve

I wish I was writing to say that this has been an amazing week of amazingness that has me filled with all kinds of joy and optimism. My first treatment left me feeling physically beaten up. I came out of anesthesia with some violent flailing of my arms and legs. There is just a brief snapshot of the faces of the staff trying to speak to me.

Each session starts with me filling out paperwork. Paperwork wanting to know just how shitty I feel about myself at that moment in time. So, pretty shitty is how that works. Then, I get asked some other questions. What's the date? Where am I? City? State? Country? What treatment am I receiving? I'm also given three words to remember and after other questions, I have to list back what the three things are. I couldn't tell you all six things from this week so far. I think a tree and a shoe and maybe a basket were involved.

Things are surreal. I'm in bitch mode today. Jarvis got yelled at because I didn't have patience for his wining at me as I sat on the couch. He didn't deserve that. My fear of actually just being a horrible person are building stronger.

And there goes that

Our loan for my infertility treatments is now paid off. Yep, I have a similar thought about it as I had about paying off my student loans, "Well, that was a lot of money spent on a whole lotta nothin'."

In other news, ECT starts Monday. Not sure how I'll be while going through all of it, so I'll post updates here if anything remotely interesting happens.

Help me help you to stop not helping me

I am not sad. My experience is not some Facebook-sad-face-emoji post. This isn't a bad day or a bad few days that will blow over.

I also don't claim to be some kind of depression Lorax. I speak for me.

So, telling me about the importance of a positive outlook is not helpful. Posts with mountain vistas or sunsets or waterfalls that have inspirational messages about tomorrow being better are actually very close to being counterproductive for me. Why? Because I am not sad.

My iTunes has R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts" that should help me to understand that I am not alone. I also have "Carry On" by FUN, which can really pump me up like some kind of anthem to inspire a positive attitude. Sometimes, I do listen to these songs and others and have a nice moment. But, again, this doesn't help. Why? Because I am not sad.

The things I've mentioned, again, speaking only for myself, can seem like wrapping "suck it up" or "get over it" with some warm fuzzies to make it seem helpful. I feel a tremendous amount of pressure when I hear these things. It's like everything is so simplified that I feel worse for being a failure who can't just read some meme and go, "YES! Why I haven't I thought of this? I just need to change my attitude!" It adds more "proof" to my stockpile of evidence to just how much I suck at life.

I am not sad. This is very important to understand.

I am not sad. Sadness can be rational. Depression cannot.

No sad-face emoji here.

Everything is wrong

Today is the worst in a long line of bad days. I have lost all control of emotions, rational thought, and even some bodily functions. I have a ping-pong match, pinball machine, and a handball game all taking place in my head with nothing to slow them down. This is not a joke.

There is nothing that is working for me today.

My ECT is to start the week of April 18th. Right now, I am completely honest in that my hopes for it to work are not high. Statistically, the odds are in my favor. However, someone has to fall into the fail rate in order for there to be those statistics. In this moment, I believe I will be one of those statistics.

If ECT does not work for me, I don't know what that will mean.

I love April 1st

This is one of my many loved pictures of my husband. I can't handle the cuteness. His little fists curled up like he's going to burst with excitement.

Today is Shawn's birthday. Yes, April Fools' Day. Because our relationship started with snark and sarcasm, I didn't believe him when he told me he was born on April 1st. But, he was and he is anything but a fool.

Well, unless you count his being a fool in love. BA DUM TSS!

Seriously, he is no fool. He is self-taught in computer programming and has made his career in software development with all that he's learned. As I've written before, he is an inspiration with his courage to follow his dreams.

I love him. Loving me has not been easy, I know. We've been together a little over 12 years. Those twelve years have been, not a roller coaster, maybe more of a tornado or hurricane. He is my constant when my winds of fury storm through our lives. When depression weighs heavily upon me, and therefore on him, he is able to keep grounded. Now, as we prepare for my ECT to begin, he is able to look for hope when I can't. When the idea was thrown out there for me to get this treatment, his reaction was, "Okay, if this is what can make things better than this is what we need to do." When I start to get anxious about how I will need an around the clock babysitter as part of this treatment, he is there to say that it will all work out; he will work from home if that's what it takes to get me better.

I'd like to think I would have the strength to be for him what he is for me. I hope I would.

I love you, Shawn. Happy Birthday!