No Apocalypse So Far – and if we make it to September, I get sideburns.

Lying in the darkness last night, in the comforting stuffiness under my blankets, hugging the wall and feeling the hazy beginnings of sleep, a thought hit me, strong and immediate and intrusive, jerking me suddenly back into the waking world: Is the fucking grate closed? 

Sorry, that was it.

Then I went and checked it, of course. Of course I did. And you know what? It was closed. But I had to touch it several times just to make sure, and then a little later, mercifully, I was able to fall into bed, bury myself under my weighted blanket (Weighted Blanket: Crushing Away Your Anxiety – Since 2012!) and sleep like a petrified log until the morning. Today I faced my two new classes, Math and Science (or Jekyll and Jekyll, heh heh), the first time since the new term started on Monday. On Monday I missed school because my appointment getting the blood drained out of my arm went late, and on Tuesday I skipped it because my anxiety was making things feel apocalyptic – and that’s never a good feeling, apocalyptic. You want post-apocalyptic, at the least, but preferably pre. So on Monday, I just walked around in the chilly sunshine until three, when I caught the bus back home. My mom wasn’t mad like I thought she’d be, she just suggested I not try the morning co-op anymore, and focus on the afternoon classes. That’s what I’m doing now, and I think it’s all I can handle without an apocalypse forming in my head.

If the subjects alone aren’t enough to daunt even the stoutest of hearts, Science and Math prove to be daunting on other levels. For one thing, I don’t have any friends, despite some vague English class acquaintances in Science and a nice old lady with a Scottish accent but who’s apparently British who sat next to me all throughout math. I initially believed, as is well-founded if you’re me, that she was one of those learning support teachers, dragged out from the blue to help me and make it obvious to everyone in the vicinity that I have issues – but she wasn’t for me, she wast just a general class helper. Oh thank God, by the way, for that. But she was certainly nice, and although I must’ve looked tremendously stupid fiddling with the scientific calculator and pressing the wrong buttons because I thought I could do shortcuts (all those six times), she didn’t necessarily treat me like a moron. I did a quick look-through of the class when I came in to see if anyone looked friend-worthy, and received a staggering instant crush on a boy with green in his hair. This is completely bizarre, first because I’m usually attracted to girls, and second because I never like people like that on sight. It always takes some getting to know them, and even then, it barely ever happens – the other person I’ve liked this year is Claire from History, but she was on a separate plane of existence than me, and that proves difficult when liking someone. Anyways, that kid is ludicrously handsome. And I mean that. I don’t toss around “ludicrously” just when I feel like it.

Imagine me noticing a handsome boy! No, it doesn’t happen. 98.7% of the time the looks of male life-forms flies right over my head. 95% of the time I like girls. (Maybe I should mention the guy is 100% gay.) But it’s so strange. It could be my accursed girl hormones talking, or it could just be how I like certain splendid things – trees, blue skies, nice paintings, Math class gay guys – but it’s certainly a thing now. I almost wish it wasn’t, because I think he’s a bit annoying; if he was five notches more socially anxious and a pinch more alternative, I think I’d start drawing up plans to crawl my way slowly and painfully onto his plane of existence, like I completely failed to do with Claire – but I don’t know. I’ll think about it. For now I’ll just stare at the back of his head.

And oh, he’s gay, all right. His hair is too pretty, for one thing, and the streak of green, and the skinny jeans – we could go on all day like this. However, I’ll keep in mind the fluidity of gender; and that makes me wonder if he’s transgender and I’m sniffing that out. If he is I’ll feel better, I think, because life is less confusing when I only like girls.

So, the next order of business would be to explain all that’s happened since I did the last post thing – but rather than writing it out carefully, I think I’ll just do it in point form.

– Zoe knows I’m transgender

– (She said “Oh. Cool!”)

– They drained six or seven phials of blood out of my arm at the hospital, to check things out before I start Lupron (whenever that might be – hopefully quite soon, and preferably before March, and apparently you need lots of phials for that shit.)

– The new term started

– The teachers have been asked to use male pronouns

– Despite how much I look like a girl

– And that’s the most stressful situation I feel I shall ever experience, next to the apocalypse

– Which hasn’t happened so far, on the bright side. Rejoice!

Yes, and also, well, that may be it. I don’t know. Things happen, but I forget them; they all kind of seem to fall into the void, the smaller things, so that my memories are large flashes of momentous experiences, dotted in between with tiny randomly-remembered things. I cried during my blood test, which I feel stupid for, but it was better than the alternative, which was flinging aside the curtain and running away. And I got an x-ray for bone density, and got a look at my skeleton, head to foot – I said it looked freaky, and the guy laughed. It wasn’t supposed to be funny, it was just the first thing that came to my mind. To think that’s somehow me, below all the nice stuff, is horrifying, so I’ll stop thinking about it. I’ve worked out how far I’ll have gotten (in an ideal world), by the beginning of the next school year, September: three months on Lupron, which is the bare minimum of time before testosterone, and then three months on testosterone before school starts up again. My mom and I have been joking about me growing sideburns and being distinguised, but I’m serious, in a way; I want sideburns. My main goal is of course to be able to get happy about myself – but figuring into that, honestly, is the ability to have sideburns. I’ll make all my friends uncomfortable, probably, but it’ll be worth it – and I don’t mean little fiddly half-assed sideburns, I mean it’s going to be serious. Like Aaron Weiss early-mewithoutYou serious, and then I’ll be in a band and write great songs. Joe Sideburns and the Beardless Boys, we’ll be called. It’ll be like a gimmick.

I hope people know when I’m not serious. Anyway, tomorrow is more school, and after that – hey! – more school! And then more school, later! Oh, wow!

How come society isn’t satisfied when you have enough knowledge to tie your shoes, speak in decent English, and understand that money can be traded for goods and services? Why all the extra crap? As long as I can stumble through life with reasonable ease, I don’t feel as if I need to know exactly how to use a scientific calculator and write a good Science hypothesis about ski wax. Unless I’m going to be a ski wax applier when I’m older, in which case I’m sure writing a good hypothesis about it would at least be helpful to have as a skill.

It’s latish now, so I should possibly go to sleep. I don’t really want to, because sleeping means waking up, and that means school in the afternoon. It means dealing with a classroom full of people I wish I didn’t have to sit around (just because they’re people), and it means thinking about work, and possibly doing the work, and definitely being frustrated because Math always goes too fast. English, though, always goes at a nice, comfortable pace – I’d rather have that, of course. Not understanding math makes me feel stupid, but I really can’t do it – back when it was easy, I actually enjoyed it; but now we’re fiddling around with a+bx3xa and are expected to understand the most outrageous loads of complete nonsensical crap. I miss everything and what I do understand I can’t do anything with. There’s no leeway with math, and that’s what I find hard, probably; in English class it was all about ideas and thinking, and math is thinking without any ideas. It’s computer work. Make a fucking computer do it, then, not me. My brain won’t go like that, or if it will, only after I push it into places it really doesn’t want to go – for instance, those horrible algebra things, the equations that are just letters and things stuck together to make people go crazy. Why am I doing that? My mind objects greatly – as I think it has every right to.

But anyway, I’ll still go to math, and probably just sit there making friends with old Scottish ladies who are British. But that’s all right. At least I’ve got people on my side, and it isn’t just one big mess of annoying kids who I can’t make friends with for whatever reason. And Science is going to be easier to suffer through, I think, because for one thing it CAN be vaguely interesting, and also I don’t mind some of the people there, who I know from English class. Meanwhile at least I see my friends at lunch, and that’s the one thing that keeps me from running off to the library every day to sulk.

And that’s it for now. I’m tired, and there’s stuff to wake up for tomorrow, as much as I wish there wasn’t. I’ll muddle through – I manage to muddle fairly well. I’d say it’s my specialty.

Thanks for reading, if you read. You have won a very fine, imaginary distinguished handshake.

~Cellarboy

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About thecellarboy

17. I write, play music, and have a cat that likes to bang his head against doors until they open. View all posts by thecellarboy

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