The Lamp

    I hate myself. More than anyone. God that is difficult to say, holy shit. I say it to myself all the time, but I never actually type it. Seeing it there is a little bit weird, not gonna lie. But it's true. Depression is a recent thing, for me, not for everyone else. It would be weird if this all started with me. I don't want to be the beginning of depression. Or any mental health issues for that matter, thanks. I'm pretty sure depression has been around since we evolved; we just didn't have a name for it until recently. Recently is relative, I think the term has been around a while compared to our life spans.

    Anyway what was I saying? Oh yeah. Depression. I've always struggled with my mental health. Ever since I was young. But I'm not here to talk about anxiety. My depression randomly skyrocketed a couple months ago. I'm sure it wasn't random, but I only have some idea of why it happened. Here's why I think it happened, served to you in the most light-hearted, but also serious way I could muster.

    About five years ago, I began to question my own identity. I have no idea what sparked it. If you've never experienced the joy of questioning your gender, let me describe it the best way I can. Questioning isn't something you're thinking about at all times forever. Most of the time, I didn't even realize I was doing it. That's how ADHD I am-- I didn't notice my identity changing. But sometimes, you do notice. I found myself asking "Am I really a woman, or am I lying to myself?" or saying "I'm not a girl, I'm just weird and confused." Obviously paraphrased, I took it more seriously than that. But then I found myself yearning to wear skirts, dresses, makeup. I'd get jealous of my female friends just for being female. Not being happy with my masculine face or voice. And it was torture.

    Fast forward four years, I finally realized. I don't really remember what it was like, or even what sparked it. I think it was just finding a name I liked. Then it finally clicked. "Oh shit that's who I'm supposed to be," I probably said to myself. Nori was the name I found. I don't use it anymore, I go by Alti now, but I am so thankful for that name. (Notice how badass my name is now. Appreciate it.) I've now identified as trans for a year. I'm a woman, and it is amazing. But it's also fucking terrible.

    Gender dysphoria is constantly kicking my ass. Imagine you see a really cool lamp. You really want this lamp, it's an awesome lamp. You know you won't feel like yourself or even good without this lamp. But it's almost impossible to obtain. You try everything to make yourself feel better, like getting a similar shade for the lamp you already have. But it's not the same. Not even close. That's what dysphoria is like. I put on skirts and dresses and all the traditionally feminine clothing I can find. But I won't feel better until I transition. But I can't transition until I come out, which is terrifying and something I can't force myself to do. At this point in time, I have no idea how I'm going to come out. And even once I do, it won't fix everything. No matter how much I want it to. I can pretend it will. But Hormone Replacement Therapy costs money. And I don't know if my parents are willing to pay for it. (Side note: I'm 18, I'm still in high school, so obviously I still live with my parents. Just wanted to clear that up, so you don't think you're reading the blog of a fucking 14 year old. I'm sure being 18 doesn't help much either, but it's better.) And Vocal Training is emotionally draining. It's rewarding, but progress is going to be slow and it is going to suck. It will take me months to get rid of this stupid masculine voice.

    Now we get to the heavy part (if it wasn't heavy enough already). The next paragraph includes topics like self harm and suicidal thoughts. So if you don't want to be triggered, I suggest leaving. If you're still here, you're the cool ones. Don't tell the others. They'll get upset.

    Depression is a curse I can't escape. I can't go a couple days without hurting myself. I constantly have terrible thoughts, telling me to kill myself. It is all is so loud, so overwhelming. I can't run away, I can't hide. Even when I'm talking to my best friend, or doing something that I love, it's always there. Looming. And nobody really knows. Not my family, not most of my friends. I'm (mostly) alone in this. I told my best friend, but they don't know how bad it really is. Some days it's fine, I can go about my day without paying much attention to it. But most days, I just sit with it. While it gets louder and louder. The only reason I'm not dead is because I have things I want to do with my life. For now, I can refuse to die, but that determination won't last forever. I'll have to turn to my friends at some point, I know that. But it's difficult to even talk about it.

    Writing would be super difficult if it weren't for one thing I'm doing. I'm pretending I'm writing a story. I'm pretending I'm not writing about my own life. I'm just thrusting all my struggles onto this fictional person, sorry about that. Why the fuck do I feel bad? This isn't a real person. Oh wait. Shit.

Anyway look at this cat. Her name is Autumn, she is the best cat in the world. I used to intern as a cat socializer. If you don't know what that is, I got the just play with, snuggle, and be around cats to get them ready for adoption. Be jealous. Anyway this is the perfect cat. She was snuggly, playful, sweet as all hell, a 'lap cat.' The total cat package. Unfortunately I couldn't adopt her. But she gave me the idea to get an Emotional Support Animal (ESA) for when I go to college. The cats I already have help, but they're not the best at emotional support. All this to say, get an ESA if you need one. That's what I'm going to do.