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• 30. sex and boredom
• 29. first drafts and writing critique

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2025-04-11: I was looking through old images and I found this from three Halloween's ago. I don't normally dress up, but I was working a shift on Halloween and the others were dressing up. So, I freestyled this- hold your seahorses- Patrick Star balaclava. Yup. You heard me right. I personally thought it was really funny (and to some uptight people, I would imagine, probably weird). I made it in a weekend while I was visiting family out of state. The time crunch really lit a fire under my ass and it's one of those projects that made me feel like I was possessed by some otherworldly god that I was even able to pull it off.

Would you believe that I ended up frogging the balaclava? It just sat on a shelf for a few months and I knew I'd never wear it again. Plus, bad memories attached to it so I didn't like looking at it. So, now it is no longer, only memorialized through a photograph. A part of me wishes I still had it. But, seriously, it would've just sat around like the clutter it was. I could've gotten one of those foam heads to display it on, though, if we're arguing this counts as art.

I tend to look back at old photos and think, "Wow, I was cool once," as if I am no longer cool. This one was just especially cool because I normally don't freestyle crochet and get loose with it, as I am creating something original. But, okay, I do this all the time. In the moment, I tend to feel uncool, ugly, or no longer doing cool things, but then I look back at a photo even a few months ago and I'm like, "Woaw!! You were so pretty and cool [and you couldn't see it then, and you're ugly now, haha!] ..." as if I've changed so much ...

2025-04-13: I recently picked up the webcomics Encore! and Cherry Crush upon recommendation and, over a couple of days got caught up in each. I went to reddit to find more bl recommendations and many people were recommending this one specific title, so I went and tried it out.

Well, it wasn't my cup of tea. I tried. I felt the writing wasn't very strong and the antagonists were cartoonish and flat. My biggest gripe is how the author uses transphobia, homophobia, and sexism as a tool to further the plot. It'd be different if it existed as some type of commentary, but it doesn't. The conflict isn't even compelling either as I fought boredom and hoped it'd just get better eventually.

Reading this story made me realize I've grown accustomed to stories with queer representation in a universe where transphobia and homophobia are near-nonexistent, and it's really relieving. It's nice to have trans and/or gay characters who just get to exist and have "normal" people problems, and where their identities are secondary (trivial) to others, just as cishet identities are. It's nice seeing none of the characters bat an eye at a gay couple, or having trans characters who don't have to enforce their name and pronouns; it's just accepted. I think there's a place for stories like that- a need for it, even.

I don't want to watch the "homosexuals" be ushered out in chains for a mere plot device as much as I don't want the main character's sister pointing out he's "biologically a girl." The story also makes a point of the mc's transness being this big secret, and I don't like what message that sends to the audience. Even as the author reminds us that their character's transphobia does not reflect their own beliefs and are merely a product of this fictional society, and are destined to undergo character growth, it just feels icky and for no other reason than to shoehorn in cheap drama. Seeing transphobia and the like in stories like this often elicit such a visceral reaction too. It's just too real and it's just too close to home, and now I'm unnecessarily uncomfortable while reading your story.

That's not to say your story can't have any drama surrounding queerness. But, honestly, I'd much rather read stories where queer characters are being suppported, loved, and celebrated. If there's conflict, consider making it internal. Have a trans guy experience dysphoria about how he doesn't feel manly enough and then have somebody enthusiastically reassure him otherwise. Innummerable trans readers may be living vicariously through that character and find a relief in it, or even just witnessing a good example of healthy love and acceptance, as they may have never experienced that in their own lives or knew it was even possible. Basically, I don't want to see more trans struggle stories. What value do you even add to the world when you're writing that stuff in? I'd rather us imagine a better world through story. I want to read more about trans joy.

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2025-04-15: In the remaining months I was set to finally move out of my dad's place, I leaned a lot on my aunt (and surrogate grandma). One night, I made a bold-faced statement to my aunt. I said, "When I move out, I want my room to be empty. I want it to feel like I was never there." The heaviness of that statement hung in the air, and I was a bit shocked at its own potency. My aunt did not wince. I think she understood the gravity of it all. Black sheep to black sheep, we are the same, only differing in generation and temperament. She's a master at tempering her emotions; I can only hope she hurt for me when I said that.

It was a statement made out of anger and hurt and, still, I stand by it. I always felt invisible in that house. I hoped it would sting if my siblings or my dad walked in and saw the stark, cold emptiness and felt my absence. I'm inclined to think they wouldn't feel anything for me; I always felt invisible in that house. My aunt did note how odd and distinct my choice was- a final severing. She noted how all my other siblings left stuff in their closets and decorations on their wall as a promise they'd come home. They did not denounce their home as I had. I don't plan to return any time soon.

I harbor a lot of anger towards my siblings because they long gave up making even a basic effort to know me. I always felt invisible in that family. It's not personal, necessarily. We're not the kind of family that knows how to connect with each other. Every one went to live their own, independent lives and everyone on the outside was nearly forgotten about. However, my sister was the second one to tell me, in a roundabout way, that I was unable to feel my family's love and support. And, y'know? She's right. I don't feel it. You eventually learn, in a dysfunctional and abusive family, that words mean very little. What's the phrase? "Actions speak louder than words?" Yes. I might be the "insane" one, but my felt intuition is tuned correctly.

I loathe that I'm the "crazy" one. I loathe that I'm somehow the bad guy just for existing. I'm cursed to forever live with this burden; that is, the burden of being born to dysfunctional people and punished for merely existing. I haven't been so on the nose lately regarding trauma- I refrain from obsessing over it anymore- but I felt moved to write this one.

Edit: The sticky thing about trauma narratives is that they're seldom revised since they were first written into stone. The story might be years, even decades, old. I could write a fuller post about this, but I think an important step in resolving trauma is updating your story to reflect your present life. Usually, there's some type of information or perspective missing from the story.

As I'm thinking about what I wrote, I notice the parts I've been repeating over and over, carving a deeper pathway in my brain. Yes, I continue to suffer for being different, but also, I don't need to blame myself anymore for it. Being alienated by my family is a reflection of them and not me. But I will also say, it's hard to accept this when the validation is so lacking. It's hard to feel like I'm not going crazy when the majority is telling me I'm going about life all wrong when they can't possibly see the whole, holistic picture. It's certainly complicated, but self-compassion is crucial to healing in conjunction with forming new perspectives.