Get excited and make things.

That's what Wil Wheaton encourages, and today that's what I did.

I got home to find my mum in the living room making beeswax candles, and after a moment, I agreed to the offer of making my own. My brother had tried not long before, and I'll be honest and say it looked awful. He'd rolled the wax alright, really, but he wasn't gentle enough, and there were dents from fingerprints or something.

But mine was good, I think. I started with it being green, because I couldn't decide between the options of green and yellow, and shouted for my dad to choose. Once I'd finished I was given the option of decorating, and chose red striped to signify the unity of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Also the brotherhood of Loki and Thor.

Then, later on, Ivan joked that on his Bones roleplaying blog, his Spock had mentioned wanting a Sarek around. I believe my reply was 'tell them if they can get my blog sorted out I'll fucking do it'. Ivan immediately rose to the challenge, and created the lamest blog we could make up, creating a Sarek that isn't entirely sure what he's doing, and it just making super important observations about his work and his son.

This has to be the dumbest idea we've had and that I've agreed to all month.

But, it is also one of the funniest. It started as pure crack, but I wanted to prove that I'm actually capable of serious writing and worked up a short drabble that I'm actually a little proud of.

Within an hour of him telling me, we had the blog running, and Ivan set up a side blog of a stupid version of Admiral Pike that we made up a while ago, and this promises to be a laugh, if nothing else.

Ivan can be a terrible influence on my writing habits, but it's interesting to branch out into characters that don't get a lot of scope. I mean, there's a book titles Sarek that I actually intend to purchase for the wonderful price of £2.80 when I can spare it, and he turns up a fair amount in the series, in the William Shatner authored fanfiction known as Starfleet Academy: Collision Course, but I've never seriously tried to write about him. Still, always good to broaden my horizons with a character I find interesting even though he utterly failed at parenting.

The weather in Philadelphia is consistently of a bright and warm nature.

Lately, I've discovered the joys of a cult tv show known as It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia.

As a result, I've been thinking up, and voicing, a multitude of puns twisting the title. The title of this blog is just one of the many I have written down.

While the show consistently treads dangerously close to the 'people will find this offensive' line, I actually have started to love it, and everyone is totally flawed. It's written in part by Charlie Day, the fantastic scientist from Pacific Rim.

I don't know if anyone reading this experiences this, but when I watch a show for an extended amount of time, I sometimes feel like parts of my life mirror it. Here, I'll give an example.

A short while ago, I was searching for my phone for some reason. My laptop, which was playing an episode of It's Always Sunny, slipped and fell the few feet down to the floor. The laptop fell shut and the episode kept playing, and I just sighed, swore a little, and picked it up.

The screen had gone white, with vague blue lines only visible at an angle.

In true comic fashion, I closed my eyes and shut the laptop again. I had hoped it would sort itself out if I did. It did not.

Instead of directly freaking out, I left it on my bed, and calmly walked downstairs, and made tea.

While I was there, I picked up the flatscreen TV we have so we can watch stuff on our laptops on bigger screens. Hooking it up is the only way I can see what's happening, because the sound is just fine, but the screen is utterly fucked.

And this honestly sounds like a subplot of one of those episodes. I keep hoping to god that the guys will all come in, solve the problem, and we'll all go back to the bar, and start over. But this is real life, and I just have to try to sort out this problem of mine.

Weirdly, I'm not freaking out too bad right now. I might, soon, once I realise I can't use my laptop anywhere except my desk. I can't use it in Sweden.

Oh god. I can't use it if I travel.

The world may as well be over right now, let's be honest.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness.

Today, I feel like I've made some sort of progress with my parents, as well as coming to a strange realisation myself.

It started as soon as I got home, and my mum asked when I'm going to Sweden, and said once more how she feels I should have mentioned it or asked, because this is probably the last year they could have had me. I, like the good son I am, said I can come back next year, but mum pointed out that I'm not even good at being here when I am here. I didn't answer because I'm not fond of lying more than I have to.

Somehow, it moved to my transition, as always. And while my parents have a terrible understanding of how transgenderism works, believing that no matter what I do, I'm still a girl, they're immensely relieved that I can't start hormone treatment immediately. They seem to think it's a tablet, and I've never heard of it being tablets, which shows just how much they've bothered to research this.

I found out that the reason mum didn't say goodbye to Moony was because she'd been crying for four hours and looked a mess, as she casually told me before informing me that that's how she'd been falling asleep for several nights, which made me feel like a fantastic kid.

I got told once more how the brain doesn't fully develop until you hit the mid 20s, and my mind is still prone to risks. They actually likened it to my brother insisting on getting so drunk he could barely walk. As if I'm not thinking at all about this, as if I haven't spent literal years and many a sleepless night fretting over details and scenarios.

They assume it hasn't occurred to me that job interviewers may treat me differently because I changed my name. But if a placement discriminates against LGBT* minorities then I don't want to work there.

They think that if I'm not allowed in the disabled bathrooms in public (because apparently you might be told you aren't allowed?) and I try to go to the mens, that I'm breaking the rules because I'm a girl.

But what McDonalds or chain coffee store doesn't have disabled bathrooms?

And if I tell people what I am, they're still always going to think 'she' and correct themselves to be politically correct, but essentially they will see me for what I am, so who am I trying to kid? By taking hormones I am conforming to the societal views of gender that I so despise.

Except that isn't true. I'm taking hormone treatment because I feel sick sometimes when I see curves where there shouldn't be any. Louis Tomlinson can get away with a feminine figure while still being seen as male, but I can't.

I was also informed of how selfish I am.

I've been told by many that I'm not selfish at all, that I'm actually selfless, but apparently, as I'm starting to consider, my parents have been saying how selfish I am for years. It's not how they raised me, but it's happened.

And that's worrying, because if I believed myself not to be selfish, what else about me isn't true? Or is this just more things my parents think they understand?

And yet, despite all that, I actually feel okay. I've got a good free weekend ahead of me, and I've convinced my friend to be a dungeon master for an eventual game of Dungeons and Dragons. It feels like a step in my nerd-life to take on the joys of a roleplaying board game. I'm going to finish Game of Thrones at last soon, and then embark on comic books or more of those games, or something, and actually just have a nice weekend.

Who knows, maybe I'll even book an appointment on Monday and ask my GP to refer me to a psychoanalyst while telling her of my name change. I think that maybe if the GP contacts the hospital I was born at, maybe they'll sort out the problem that my title and gender are different. At least for the next few years.

In truth, I feel better than I have for a while. I'd become used to my home life being horrible, to it being totally unbearable, but it isn't, not right now. I think I'll be okay, somehow. But then, I'm always okay.

Order out of chaos.

Two posts in a day, it's a miracle.

I finished the second draft of my personal statement. I finished my Wheaton work yesterday. That's two pieces of coursework/work in two days, and that's impressive, given how much I don't usually do anything. I'm better at pretending and trying to work than actually being productive.

As a reward, I've spent the evening watching Game of Thrones. I started watching it several months ago, but then I got distracted by some other show. Either Heroes, or Star Trek, or something. The length of the episodes got to me, I guess. And I fucking hate Joffrey, so that didn't help.

But Supernatural made Sam and Dean watch a marathon with Charlie, and I've since remembered how much I actually enjoyed it.

It's been a nice day, really. It's nearly the weekend, and I have two hours to work on the other piece of coursework I have. It's starting to look like I have a free weekend. And I'm going to actually not be guilty about watching shows, reading comics and playing stupid retro games.

I look forward to it. I look forward to feeling like I know what I'm doing again. Some order in my life where there isn't much else.

When I think about what's happened, how things were just a few days ago, I can't really believe it. Right now, I feel alright. And for me, that's like being on top of the world.

There's always something.

Things are good, today.

Yesterday, I got back my first draft of the Wil Wheaton analysis coursework, and by 11pm I'd finished redrafting it. We're supposed to spend a double lesson tomorrow doing that, but now I've cleared the space to do other things.

I've not felt so productive for a while now, and it made me realise that right now, at this point in time, I have literally nothing better to do than coursework, and that's really sad, but it's also really true. If I want to get out of here, to go on with my life, I'm going to have to work hard this year.

Doing work, reminding myself that I'm not quite so helpless as I feel like I am, it helps me out. This burst of enthusiasm is likely caused by the fact that I'm back into reading high school AU fanfictions, and I'm embarking on Twist and Shout, the most well known Supernatural fic surrounding Castiel and Dean Winchester. I'm barely half a chapter in, but it reminded me that all the characters I admire, they get their work done as best they can, and I should, too.

I completed another part of a long assignment booklet we were given, too. Since you're required to only do one every half term, it means I don't have to worry about that until next term, but that I'm probably going to have to put myself through Great Expectations over the holiday. I have a fondness for Dickens' work, but I'm not sure I'll find all the time that I'm in Sweden that's required to finish it. But then, I've got until the half term in February, really.

I promised myself I'd try not to fall behind, so this is me, pushing to get it right again.

My only issue is that on my UCAS University application form, I had to put my name and title, but my gender marker is unchanged, meaning I'm Mr Lorcan, but my gender is female, and the form doesn't understand. I've since realised that I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to change my name on all records. Is it simply enough to alert the NHS/hospitals? Do I need to write to the hospital I was born at, across the country? If anyone reading this knows how UK name laws work, I'd love to get a message.

I might try that trans* forum, see if people there know what I'm supposed to be doing.

You're so fucking selfish, Lydia.

These are the words that are going through my head right now, the words that have spurred my tear-soaked fingers to tap out harshly on my laptop keyboard with little regard for what I should probably do to mend my damaged psyche.

I thought I was safe.

I thought, now Moony was gone, I'd had the worst of my day. I tiptoed around the house like a common criminal, trying to avoid my parents so that I wouldn't have to talk about my name, about the letter I left on Saturday, about how I legally changed it without their permission, the first thing I've really done against their wishes, ever. I thought I'd be allowed to go about my business, because as they keep reminding me, 'you're just going to do what you want, anyway'.

But a short while ago, I was called downstairs. I was feeling good, I'd changed my name at my dentist after a visit there, and I felt fucking proud of myself. I'd do anything to feel that again.

They begged me not to go into treatment. They are so sure that I might regret it, that I should be happy just announcing myself as Lorcan and presenting as male. Even though they won't call me it.

The only times I've ever heard them say my name are when I've been crying because they don't understand.

My mother broke down. She started sobbing, right there in front of me, and I couldn't even apologise, because I'm sure I'm doing the right thing, and what's necessary is never unwise, as Spock taught me.

I made my dad cry.

I feel like I've just told them I'm dead.

I might as well be, the way they reacted.

The daughter they knew, I'm certain that was not me. Just because I was a happy kid, just because I liked pink, because I love dressing up, because I wasn't 'gifted' with impressive breasts, it doesn't mean I'm making this up. That's a sexist, patriarchal stereotype that doesn't allow me to accurate express myself how I feel I should.

I'm not convincing myself, I haven't been convincing myself that 'she' is something to shy away from, for two years.

Just because I don't want lower surgery doesn't make me 'half and half', it doesn't mean I'm not serious, and I'm not forced to have surgery if I don't want it, just because I'm trans*, because nobody but Moony will see if I have a cock or not. And I do, it's down the side of my bed. But they don't need to know that.

It isn't true that I'm selfish. That I'm doing this before I change my mind because I don't want to be wrong. Well, kind of. I don't know any more.

I have no idea who I am any more.

When my mum thinks of my name, my given name, she cries. Because she isn't allowed to call me it any more.

'Imagine being a mother, giving your beautiful daughter a name only to find out seventeen years later that they, still a child, have decided it isn't good enough for them. Imagine that. Why couldn't you keep your middle name? You're so selfish, you didn't even tell us for three months, because you only think of yourself.'

'I raised you on comics, on fantasy, because I hate that kids are taught to repress their imagination. I honestly believe there's something in it. But you've never been happier than when you're dressed as Spock, and I'm seriously worried about you. No, you're not in your right mind, are you?'

'You say want and like but I feel like if you really need this, you should be at the end of your tethers, you should be unable to go on without it. I believe you get dealt a deck of cards when you're born and that's the hand you play. If you're born poor and you're going to always be poor, or if you're born rich and always going to be rich. But to go against that is just bullshit.'

I'm not selfish. I'm one of the least selfish people I know. I held off for three months because I didn't want to upset them. Because I'm terrified of conflict and it's easy to make me do anything because I don't want anyone near me to be unhappy. Even if I end up worse off. I am not selfish. Maybe if I say it enough times, I'll believe it.

I can hear my dad laughing about something now. Fireworks just went off outside my window. The world is still going, with or without my own happiness. But I'm sat in my room, in the dark, still crying. One hour later.

I've never been one for self-harming. I've been fascinated by the idea that people would feel the need, but I've never understood it. Right now, though, if I could feel anything that wasn't crippling, nauseating grief and guilt, I'd happily trade it for physical pain. Because that will go away. That's literal and logical.

Spock cries when Jim is dying in the warp core part of the ship in Star Trek: Into Darkness. If this is a spoiler, and you've still not seen it all this time later, tough shit.

Jim asks how to block his emotions because he's scared, and Spock replies that he does not know, and right now he is failing. I get that. I've been doing good all day. I only cried a little when I saw Moony off, but I was smiling. Now, I'm at my lowest.

'And you didn't even ask us before deciding you're going off to Sweden with your friend for Christmas, for the last Christmas we'll have together as a family because you'd rather be there.'

Surely that's no surprise, when being in the same room as my parents does this to me.

'Your teacher, Ralph,he said when we were in the pub, you must have been about 13, he said hang onto this, because you lose them. About 15, you lose touch. And you don't get them back until they're in their twenties. And we thought that's all that was happening. We have you space, gave you room to do your own thing. But we don't want to lose you to this.'

I wanted to get work done tonight. I wanted to get back into it. But I can't now. I can't concentrate on anything. I can't watch Dredd because I just remember how my dad feels his influence is what led to this, I can't watch Peter Pan because it reminds me how I'm just a kid, how I could be making the wrong choice. I don't know what to do with my evening, with my time, with anything.

They go on about how I shouldn't be doing this at a crucial part of my life where education should be my only concern.

I was fine. I knew where my life was headed, my transition was going alright. All this drama, this is what I get hung up on. If they could totally support me instead of asking me to meet them halfway, to forego treatment, maybe then I could get the grades I need. Instead, I'm crying over their misunderstanding and yet another in a long line of complete breakdowns because I don't know who I am.

No name fits me, because I feel like I deserve neither of them.

'What kind of a name is that, anyway? It's stupid, is it a character, does it mean something? As your parents, we had the right to go through and pick one, we considered giving you a middle name so you could drop your first if you wanted to and still be a girl or a boy. We didn't just decide 'oh, that one will do'.'

Then why the fuck didn't they. Have they any idea how much that would have fixed? No, I got 'star' instead. And while neutral, it's not a name. Sobbing, I explained that I'm not trying to spite either of them. I didn't meant to upset anyone. That wasn't my intention. I didn't want them to cry, I didn't want them to lose so many tears over this. My given name is beautiful. I like it. We're considering naming our daughter it, if we don't have a son. It's nice, but it isn't mine. I am my own person, I can choose the name I want, that's not their job.

I feel like I'm going in circles and I don't know which way is up. I feel like I'm sinking and my face is raw.

I feel like I'd like to leave the country forever. Or maybe just Dorset. I want to run, and never look back. I want to get out, I want to know what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing. Because this is a big thing in my life, and I was so sure. I was so sure. And now I don't even know what gender I want to be called, I can't even look at myself, I hate everything connected to me.

If they'd just said 'great, sure, Lorc, whatever makes you happy' we'd be okay. Or 'no, you're not getting our blessing, this is a stupid idea'. Instead, they're saying we have to get to know each other again and I have to promise to wait with hormones until I'm in my twenties.

But just imagining waiting that long, it's killing me.

But. What if that's just my fucked up head saying that because I convinced myself that my gender is wrong, that 'she' is not who I am, that I want to be someone else. What if I'm just trying to hold off on being an adult by any means possible. What if my mind hasn't developed properly and later on I'll be so confused and angry that nobody stopped me.

What if I'm right, and this is what I need, what I honestly truly need, and I wasted three years trying desperately to be recognised as male when my face is female and my hips are female and my binder messes up my back, and I have a further two years until I get hormones, by which point I'll be bitter about waiting.

What if I just didn't give being a woman a chance, regardless of how the idea makes me cringe, how I feel so uncomfortable at the thought that I think I'm going to be sick.

By the time I even get hormones, I'll be 20. But that isn't enough.

Chase, on youtube, talks about how nobody in the trans* community, or anywhere, talks about mental health, because it's taboo and if you're trans* with mental health issues it's always traced back to your gender issues. So this was me, talking about my issues.

I don't know what to do.

Anything easy has its cost.

This is a post about time changing. It's a melancholy subject, and slightly spurred on by a series of markers and things in my life, and more than slightly by One Direction's new single and music video, Story Of My Life.

Two years ago, I met Moony.

At that time, I didn't have my name, I wasn't comfortable with who I was, I didn't like the world or anything the reality in my life was shoving at me.

But now I'm Lorcan, and I'm okay. I'm happy and content.

The last post was my 100 marker. I meant to make a special post about it but I guess I lost track of things. Wil Wheaton writes how when he looks back at his first blog posts, he wants to cringe away and change them, because they were so far removed from how he writes now. I think I get that. I can't really tell if my writing has changed since last July, but I know I've changed as a person. A lot.

When I started this blog, I didn't have a name I was happy with, I just knew I wanted one. I was working with Sam Hall, but Lorcan fits me.

Yesterday, I finally gave in a wrote a letter to my parents before leaving for London for a day, where I explained being Trans*, said it in a way that didn't leave room for discussion, told them I'd changed my name and I'm going to get testosterone, and that's that. I channelled my inner Spock to a degree that my formality became passive aggressive sass.

And we haven't discussed it. Not once. My letter is crumpled up like it's been held in a loose fist, my documents are still on the footrest, but its been read. I've done all I can. They haven't spoken to me about it so I assume they've taken the same approach they always have, the idea that if they ignore it, or if they don't, I'm going to do whatever the fuck I want anyway. And that's pretty legit. I am doing my own thing, but I would have liked their support.

Today, I told them I'm going to Sweden for Christmas. They were unwilling. I said that since Moony was refused to stay here last year for the holiday, and my mum muttered that this is payback, then. They missed my point entirely. But my brother's girlfriend is allowed, because she lives here. I firmly stated that flights are expensive between Christmas and New Years, so why not be there for both. They're angry about it, but ultimately they can't do anything, and they have no choice but to allow it.

And this has awakened some sort of realisation in me. Something that's terrifying and invigorating.

They just don't care any more. They've given up. Whatever I do, they're not going to help me, they aren't going to support or back me up on anything, they're just going to sit through it.

And I've done everything that I have the power to do. I've given them all the information I can, and they haven't called me on it, asked how I'm doing. Nothing.

So I can bind wherever in the house I want without fear of upsetting them. I can start the process of meetings to eventually get testosterone, I can have stuff sent to me to start the legal name changes.

They can't do anything about it. If they wanted to, really, they'd have tried harder. Or better yet, they'd have told me they were willing to help me.

I have all the support I need. Family don't end with blood.

Use the Force. In that one direction.

In the past few days, me and Moony have watched a lot of Star Wars. We watched IV, V, VI and III, in that order. You know, all the ones worth spending two hours of our lives each on.

Star Wars was the first fandom I really had any interest in, and it got me through a lot of lonely days back when I lived in one town and everyone else lived one town over, with no way to get to them. I memorised the New Hope intro text, I idolised Han Solo and feverishly absorbed anything I could learn about him in the character analysis book I had, spent hours with the visual encyclopaedia.

In short, I was a total nerd fanboy, even though I had no internet access to develop my knowledge, just a box set and a couple of DVDs, and I followed the publicity lead-up to Revenge Of The Sith with a strong sense that it would be better than it's recent predecessors that I won't talk about.

I forgot about it, really. I still have my Millennium Falcon on top of my DVD cupboard, a C-3PO sadly a model from one of the other films beside it, and a couple of Darth Vader heads around the room, but I forgot how much I love the epic saga that stole my heart so long ago. I forgot how awesome everyone is, how badass they are, and how watching movies that you loved as a kid can make you feel just as safe and comforted as you were when you first discovered them.

We wouldn't have even embarked on this if not for Harrison Ford's appearance in Ender's Game, a fantastic film we saw a few days back in the cinema.

What I love about my partner being from another country is that we have different stories about the same interests. We both come to them for different reasons. It's like listening to different people's transition stories, because they're all unique, all fascinating and all something I can relate to, somehow.

But it definitely reminds me how young I am when I say 'I couldn't see I and II in the cinema, thank god, I was too young' and Moony saw them in her own local cinema because of our age difference. She has a lot of memories and stories about stuff we both love from a different generation.

And yet that's what is so fantastic. We both have different fandoms and interests, and that's inevitable. but at the core, we've got the same things, like Sci-fi and Fantasy. I've been pulled somewhat reluctantly into the One Direction fanbase because she's so in love with them, and that's alright, even if I had a few weeks of not really knowing what to do when she tried to talk about them all to me. I know now, I've been introduced to the boys and their music, and we have a whole new range of in-jokes based on interviews and ideas about them.

I've spent the day in a shirt demanding the reader to 'Love Louis', and it's a bit of a lie, because I'm not sure he's my favourite, but the shirt is comfortable, and Louis' a nice enough lad. I'm leaning more towards Niall, if anyone's even remotely interested. I even have a spectacularly gay, glittery sticker of him on my laptop next to my Stark Industries logo and my TARDIS, and that's pretty cool.

 It's a pleasant clash, too, mixing the world's most influential and famous boy band with the world-famous saga we're watching through. It shows that anything can collide, that genre's and stereotypes can overlap, and they do, all the fucking time.

Tomorrow's our anniversary, and we're going to London for the day. Moony will wear her One Direction shirt, and I'm going to wear The Clash, because it's silently saying that tastes like that, they don't really matter. We're both passionate about what we love, and you can't help who you fall in love with, even if they're a band many many people have prejudices about, because once you look past that, as I've learnt to, they're a wonderful collection of personalities and voices, and while I'd never have personally tried to understand them, I feel kind of blessed that my partner has, because they're important to this world, everyone knows of them, and they deserve a bit more cred than the general population give them.

See, I managed to easily transition from Star Wars to One Direction, and isn't that an interesting yet wonderful mix.