So, I should probably sit down and write something. My therapist is reading this blog and she wanted me to post something. She gave me some questions, but I'm going to talk about more than that.

What do I do when I feel stuck at my house?
Once recently I went on a bike ride, but mostly I just talk to people on the internet. It feels like socializing and I tend to say more than I do when I hang out in person. Plus everyone I talk to online knows I'm a girl. There are people I've met who I don't correct when they misgender me, because it scares me to confront them.

The experience of riding your bike through a small town?
Honestly, it's been positive so far. When I nod to people, they mostly nod back. The part I really don't liek is that I'm so out of shape that biking has become hard for me.

What gets in my way?
I think fear? And a lack of motivation. When I last applied for a job, anxiety attacks stopped me from scheduling an interview. I think out these elaborate issues with each thing I want to attempt to do and it stops me. Also, not having energy to do things. Not having the desire to do them.

Other things: I recently broke it off with all my partners. All five of them. I don't have a lot of regrets about this, other than that I regret I stopped being into those relationships. Now I've developed a somewhat shitty crush on another girl I met online.

Something I submitted for a zine but never heard back about

So, I don't cry. Not easily at least. Usually I go months without crying. Not for lack of wanting or trying. There are so many things that make me /want/ to cry, too many to list here, but chief among them the hopelessness of my own life. I have spent nights with my face buried in a pillow, shouting into it, "Cry, damn you," but I just can't seem to. The only things that really make me cry are happy things, like when a partner does something that makes joy bloom in my heart. This is pretty rare, I can go days without even smiling.

Crying is an emotional release, one I desperately wish I had more access to. I'm sullenly envious of the girls who say they cried all day. I wish I could do that, to release this heavy burden on my heart. I can't, though. My face remains slack and my eyes remain dry. I can't cry. I can tell you what makes me hurt, but I can't tell my face that.

Maybe it's the childhood of isolation, maybe it's all the time I spent denying my own feelings, but whatever it is, my ability to cry is broken. Even writing this, I want to cry, but it brings me no tears. I remain stolid, stoic, seemingly-unfeeling. I am so jealous of your tears. So don't curse them, hold them to be something sacred. Because they are. You can feel and you can cry and that, to me, is a wonder. If you can cry, cry for me. Thank you.

Short story I was working on, but have since abandoned

“Ours is a story not told.” (too dramatic, but lampshade it?) I surveyed the room as I said this.

Meeting in the laundry room of the same apartment building. Awkward fumblings and getting to know yous.

If we had sex, would I still be a lesbian?
I think so -I turn and look away- but some people don’t think so, they think I’m a man

Shh shh shh, I don’t think you’re a man.
Do you think I’m a woman?
Of course I do, I always have. Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I’m not beautiful

Don’t say that

Well, I’m not

Don’t say that to me

Why not

Because that’s really how I see you

How could you? I’m so hideous.

-she traces a finger along my cheekbone- No

I am

-she grabs my hand away from where they’re twisting knots into my hair and holds them together- No. Listen to me

-I look away-

Listen to me. You’re not ugly. I do like you. Here, let me kiss you again

-she guides my face back to hers with her hand. tears are streaming down my face, but my lips meet hers and it’s like drinking the nectar from a thousand blossoms-

They start fooling around again

Can I touch it?
You can, I hope you don’t get grossed out.
No, I wouldn’t -she puts her hand down my pants-

It’s just different, I haven’t touched one of these before.

It’s gross, I’m sorry

-she takes her hand out of my pants and rests it on my jawline. I look back at her-

No, it’s just different. Something new. That isn’t bad.

I want to do it

You do?

Just take off your clothes
-I take everything off but leave my panties on-

Really?