Self Love is the most important type of love.

I think an important part of life comes down to self-love and self-care. If you're not comfortable, you won't have a good time, no matter what it is that you're trying to do.

I'm quite big on self-care. It's something I try to fit into my life as often as I can, either through taking time to rest and do something I enjoy, or picking music that makes me smile while I do work that I can't get out of.

I've taken up meditation again, and started to try my hand at yoga, and my body feels less like a place I'm not welcome in.

But for all that, I'm not as stable as I usually think I am, not yet. I still get thrown off my small things, with a bad spell of dissociation last week because I spiralled into low self-worth being a noteworthy example. Self-care isn't something short term, it isn't a plan that solves everything. For me, it's a part of my routine, and I try to impliment it as much as possible.

A big part of my self-care is building an environment where I feel comfortable. For me, that's mostly my flat. I have a few cafes I feel safe in, one of which I really hope I get to work in, but predominantly I spend my time at home.

I surround myself with things that make me happy. Our table is right next to a wall full of One Direction photos, photos of the day I met Moony, the poem they wrote me, various items my sister sent me. We have a small collection of books - nothing like what I was forced to leave behind in Dorset - and roses that I got Moony last year because they'd mentioned wanting flowers.

This is my safe space, this is where I know who I am, and I know my true personality can shine through. Whenever I feel like I don't know who I'm supposed to be, I look around this flat, and I remember.

On how my family fucked me up.

It has recently become apparent to me that I neglected using this blog at a time when I may have needed it most.

A friend wrote recently that often creative people stop being creative when they feel sad, and that's what happened here. This has been my safe space since I set the blog up back when I didn't have this name, I was still in an abusive household.

When I started this blog, I was a kid. I use that term fairly loosely these days, but it is a word that here means naive, optimistic and scared. I had a safety net that lived on the other side of the ocean, and I had no idea that those closest to me were worse than I thought they could ever be when I came to respecting my representation.

Every now and again, I scroll back through this blog, and I find that post I wrote the day Moony went back to Sweden, and I got called for an intervention in the wake of finally telling my parents that I'd changed my name legally months earlier. It's probably self-destructive, to read back through that, to see the words they actually said, the words I typed out in a room lit only by my screen, blurred through tears that didn't stop until well into the night, replaced by a constant ache in my chest.

Life is about moving forwards, about letting go of the things that hold you back, but I'm not moving on, really.

I'm going to dedicate some proper time to how my life is now, but even with all this. Even with the life I'm carving for myself as I learn how to be independent and fall in love with this town, my partner, and myself, I won't be able to get rid of the grief I feel each time I recall something related to my home, to my family.

I was saying to my sister just now, I'd love to keep up a steady contact with them. I want nothing more than to send a witty e-mail to my dad, and get some stupid joke in return without it feeling about as natural as a science-fiction horror piece worthy of H R Giger. But it isn't easy, and it isn't possible at this moment in time.

And that's still with me, every day. Brighton is often a place people flee to in order to escape something, and it works, but you can't escape your past.

This was a bit bleak, and not very helpful in the grand scheme of my recovery, but I'll do better next time.

So what if I love each feather and each bangle, why not try to see things from a different angle?

Jake and Alex got invited to Summer In The City (basically LA's VidCon but for London) so that Alex could talk on the Gender panel and the LGBTQ+ panel. They were fantastic, as I know since Jake was sweet enough to record it all.

But there was an interesting point in one of the panels. All the speakers were asked how they came to terms with their identity that wasn't through Youtube, because not everyone had it around, and we weren't all lucky enough to find the It Gets Better project early on.

These two were idols for me, to be honest.

As everyone answered this, I was thrilled to see so many people mention Willow's story in Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Moony, too, cited this as one of her first introductions.

I think it's safe to say this was a strong leap in TV history, and it properly portrayed the relationship delicated and professionally. I love Willow.

But here's the thing. I've never actually mapped out my own story. Sure, I lived it, but I've not experienced it in retrospect, and that seemed like a fun experience, the results of which are certainly interesting. So here, let's talk about how I came to be the queer little creature I am today. It's basically a picturesque thing, full of photos of the things I'm talking about to make this massive post a little less boring for you. So just enjoy looking at the gay things and the neutral beings.

Lorcan's Big Gay Journey

It starts at age nine. I discovered Doctor Who and fall in love straight from the reintroduction of it to British TV in May 2005. This opened up everything, but most importantly, at the time, was the gay kiss in The Parting Of Ways, the season finale for Christopher Eccleston's era.

At the time, I didn't see anything wrong with it, Jack had just kissed Rose, and now he kissed the Doctor. Makes sense, right? I was completely unaware that this was a big deal. But watching back, the introduction of Captain Jack Harkness was a gift. Boom Town remains one of my favourite episodes, simply because of how unabashedly gay the show let him be, probably at showrunner Russel T Davie's request. I very recently cleared his original series Queer As Folk in like two days flat, and I'm so proud that an openly incredibly gay man got to run Doctor Who for several years. Thanks, Britain. But Moffat was a mistake. No, wait, this isn't a post about him.

So I let that go, moved on with my life, then realised Torchwood was on TV, an evening re-run. I knew it starred my favourite side character, and convinced my mum to let me watch. I was maybe 11? I'm sure sci-fi fans remember the beautiful fight scene in the season two opener Kiss Kiss Bang Bang that ended exactly how we all wanted it to in front of a fire light on a screensaver. Cute.

And hey, look, it's Spike from Buffy! My queer heart could never stray far.

My memory of this episode is only this scene. I was sat so close to the tv I could see the different colours in every pixel, and they were fighting, it was intense, then suddenly two men were kissing? Somewhere between that Doctor Who episode and my discovery of Torchwood, my mind was opened, and I knew this was a risky move. I learnt then that Torchwood is like the adult alternative to Doctor Who, like Sarah-Jane Adventures is a gentle introduction for the little ones. I shouted for my mum and couldn't stop thinking about the kiss, even though I didn't watch the show again for a long time.

Then, probably about 2010, I stayed over a friend's house, and she had Torchwood on her TV. We'd just watched Eden Lake, we were kinda shook up, and she suggested it might chill us out a bit. That's when I met Ianto Jones, my first honest love. It's dumb, considering my options and all, but I was besotted. Imagine my innocent surprise when Jake kissed him in Cyberwoman, and episode based around Ianto's cyber girlfriend.

I can sense a pattern here.

Only looking back like this do I realise how important to my alternative education the existence of John Barrowman is. Seriously. But this is when it really started.

By this time, I think I was old enough to be totally sure that this was a big deal, this was personal, this made sense to me in a way other things rarely did. Over time, I succumbed to pressure and discovered the seedy underworld of fanfiction, known as fanfiction.net. For a while, I simply read cute stuff about these two, but then, one fateful day, I found an M Rated fic, the adult kind, and around chapter six I realised they were having sex, right before my screen, in a detailed form I didn't understand. Words I'd never connected to sex of any kind were being used, and I was so lost, I'm pretty sure I cried, while still trying to read it. Yeah, let's all spare a moment to coo at little baby Lorcan and his innocence. Now, I can write hardcore smut and feel fine about it. I'll write another post some time about how important fanfiction is to my own self discovery, because that deserves it's own place.

So it seems everything in my life comes back to Barroman. Never has that gif been better suited to a post. 

From fanfiction and Torchwood - including Torchwood magazine, with a beautiful cover that I still own and sometimes weep over thanks to the false hope it gave me - I made a friend that owned several seasons of a little US remade series called Queer As Folk. I don't even know where to begin with this one, because it meant so much to me, and I had to sneakily watch it with headphones in the evening so my parents didn't see the hardcore gay sex I was watching. It wasn't porn, there was genuine plot around the episodes, but any show that has multiple sex scenes one episode in, including an underage boy discovering rimming from a man in his late twenties, is going to be difficult to explain to the parents at 14 years old while identifying as female asexual.

Queer As Folk is an important series to me, because there's so much diversity. Brian Kinney, the guy in the middle, is just perfect, everyone wants him. If you don't know the series, I fully advise you dedicate time to it.  This series was the first time I felt like I was included in a big thing, the gay thing, and I was completely happy about it. I felt like I'd found a place where I belonged. But still, I was identifying with the guys rather than the girls. This is when I think I started really questioning.

I discovered Tumblr not long after. I was into Sherlock at the time, massively, and I found this kid with some great fanart crossing over with Doctor Who (look how connected it all is). This kid, now identifying as genderless and by the name of Red, at the time was "genderqueer" in their description.

Red had a complete tag full of information about gender identities, and it was the first time I'd ever realised there was a chance that I wasn't feeling weird because I was crazy, or stupid, or exaggerating. It was the first time I felt comfortable, and like maybe I was getting somewhere. 

Around the time I started talking to Red about coming out to my parents, I got my first haircut. I used to have it halfway down my back, but when the lady asked if I was sure I wanted it so short, I couldn't say yes fast enough. They said my parents would be okay, which was a fucking lie, but they didn't know that, and I massively appreciate their helping me. 

I started identifying as genderqueer, and felt I needed to be in the trans* category, and I chose the name Zak. Around this time, I rediscovered John Barrowman, to nobody's surprise. I have a strong memory of spending every morning listening to his cover of I Am What I Am in my earphones on repeat while I sat at my laptop writing stuff before school. It got me in a good headspace, and I think it's a habit I need to go back to soon. 

From here, I had a two year gap of no exploration, thanks to parents, but then Chase Ross came into my life through youtube. Up until here, youtube had no impact on who I saw myself as and understood myself to be.

This is Chase as I like to think of him, back with the scruffy cute hair, the trans* flag in the background, fresh from his Ellen show, on T pre surgery. He's basically one of the reasons I feel so comfortable not wanting lower surgery, and he taught me that there's no such thing as being "trans* enough". The path you take is yours to choose, and nobody can take that from you, or should feel like they can tell you how to transition in a way you're not comfortable with. 

Since he got top surgery he's changed, and I'm no so happy about his message, but these days, back in this room, I appreciate them and cherish them.

I found a lot of other youtubers through Chase, including the FTM Transtastic video blogs, and personal vlogs through that, and again, seeing a wide spectrum of people helped me feel a little less on my own. I'm a little embarassed that I didn't find Alex, to be honest. He was right there the whole time, right when it would have been great to know he was there, and I completely missed him. Sorry, man. At least it meant I didn't freak out when I met you and cry about how important you are to my individuality or something? You know I would have done that.

how does this fetching genderless thing
exist

We also need an obligatory mention of Ivan, of course. We met on my sixteenth birthday in a chat room, and have gone through a lot with each other's help. I can't praise this loser enough, and I'm glad we met, I'm glad we talk a lot and that we've learnt a lot about ourselves through really complex discussion or fanmixes for each other. Truly, he's maybe my best friend - Moony, you're my fiancee, you know you win all the things - and I adore him. 

It's always nice to actually befriend people like him, because it serves as a personal reminder that I'm not suffering these things on my own, or because I'm overreacting to things. Sure, Moony does all that can be done, but like I can't properly sympathise when there's a day of bad anxiety, we can't intimately understand everything. I'm a little relieved, because I'd never really push transgenderism onto anyone by choice. It isn't easy.

 AJ is a cutie

Since then, it's just been a long journey of discovery that I'm still working on. I started talking to YA Author AJ Amaro, who is really sweet and easy to connect with, and we keep in touch, loosely. Every now and then I go to their page and check up on things, coo over their relationship and cats, and generally feel like I'm so happy for them that I can't possibly feel bitter about how far in transition they might be.

I feel like talking to trans* people in all areas of the spectrum and all walks of life has really helped me out, and given me a broad view of how 

things can be for me. I've had the chance to pick my identity with the help of seeing how others choose to portray theirs. 

I'm glad I know these kind of people, even if we don't talk, because it really helps me out to know I can fall back on people if I need to, and that there are actually nice people in the world rather than the elitists that we all get warned about. I've luckily never interacted with any myself, but given that I have a move to Brighton coming up, I feel it's only a matter of time before I might have my first angry queer sighting.

literally my favourite scene in Different For Girls

I think as well as all the serious aspects of transitioning, of the path to finding yourself, and all the heavy stuff that comes with it, it's important to seek out the things that help you feel good about yourself, too. Again, Different For Girls does this. It's the opposite world, given I'm not MtF, but it's heartwarming to see this awkward guy (oh Rupert Graves) struggle to accept this his best friend is a beautiful woman now, and try to make her feel comfortable whenever he can. Things like this film remind me that it isn't all doom and gloom, and I can actually have a good time while learning who I am, which is an ever growing process, I can assure you. 

Over the years, I've been blessed with so many chances to expand my understanding and smash down what gender means to me, and I'm glad that it keeps being a wonderful place for me to be, when I feel like I need a little support, I have all these resources to keep me strong.

I might do an update one day, on this. Because it's been really interesting to look at my life like this, and actually realise where my roots are, so to speak. I hope I can convey my thanks to John one day, even though I probably won't. 

Surprisingly, I'm okay.

I feel like I've neglected this blog, and I feel a little bad for it. I'd like to get back into the habit of regularly updating, if only to give myself something productive to do.

I've hit a really important part of my life, now. I'm in Sweden for a few more weeks, then I'm going back to Dorset, but I'm moving into a flat with my life partner just weeks later, and starting University in two months. This feels like such an amazing thing. Holy shit, adult stuff.

We've packed up the bedroom, mostly, sorted through everything and realised that between us, I am the one with most possessions, but far. I need to remedy that when I get home. I've enlisted the help of a friend who's a pro and just clearing stuff out.

Admittedly, it's different for me. I can leave stuff and just come back on the train, without hopping countries, but it's still a good idea to see what crap I own, and getting rid of it.

Sweden, as ever, is treating me wonderfully. I've spent two days now on the balcony doing my own thing while Moony's at work, and it's nice. As much as we love being together, it's nice to get used to not having that. There's a lot to look forward to, with two good friends already planning to visit as soon as we're settled, and while I sometimes get a little freaked out that there's so much riding on my grades, I know I can't do anything about them right now. I'll find out how I did in 12 days. And they usually take you on anyway, right? They seemed interested in getting me involved. Worse case, I've got Bournemouth. And if we get a long term flat in Brighton but I don't make it, that's fine. I can commute that. It's only like, three hours there and two hours back. Sure. And not too expensive. I don't know, I won't fuss about that yet.

Personally? I think I'm doing good. I'm happy here. I like knowing I'm making a physical positive difference to somebody's life, and being in a safe environment is so good for my mental health. I've barely had a bad day here since I arrived, as apposed to very often in my parent's home.

It's exciting. I love it. I hope it all goes as well as we're hoping. We deserve this break. I've done all I can for applying for flats, we'll decide as soon as we can. I can actually just relax, marathon tv shows I've been meaning to get around to for ages, and have fun.

I want this to go well, so badly.

The sum of the parts.

God look at these cute dorks. The inspiration this evening.

I've realised something. Maybe it's because it's past 2am and I always get so weird in these hours. Maybe it's because I'm seeing Moony in tomorrow/today, and maybe it's because Alex Bertie just got gay at me on Facebook. 

I met Jake last year at my first group session, the first time I met a group of trans* people and the first time I felt actually accepted. We got on instantly and I've considered myself lucky to know him and get to be such good friends ever since. 

Then he met this cute YouTuber, Alex. They're sweet together and all but this isn't a proper promo, god knows they get enough attention already.

The thing is, I was incredibly nervous about meeting Alex. We were suppose to all hang out for a few hours until he had to go to the dentist, and Alex kept commenting on how me and Jake had this 'weird connection', a habit of sharing glances and understanding each other. Admittedly most of them were Jake looking at me to say 'look at this cutie do you understand' and me nodding. I think at some point I helped manhandle Alex into a jumper. That was fun.

We ended up holding hands (all of us in a queer little line but 'the hetero way' with me because interlocking fingers is too intimate) on the way to Alex's bus stop, we barely spoke unless it was through Jake, who was totally useless at talking about me beyond "he's cool, he wore that Star Wars shirt literally to appeal to you but he actually really likes Spock's dad", or something close. All accurate.

Me, Jake, Alex. Actual dorks.

So yeah, I was a little concerned that Alex was uncomfortable with me around for this reason, but it seems to have settled down. Despite being mostly iffy about contact, he'll hug me, and I feel like we've managed to get on pretty well, probably much to Jake's delight. 

Today, Alex just went to sleep after some sweet messages where we basically discussed our affections for Jake, I realised something. I've been worried this whole time that I was screwing up the situation between those two, but I've actually somehow helped. 

What I'm getting at here is a massive Star Trek analogy. It was going to happen, you know it.

Jake is Kirk, enthusiastic, full of ideas and an intense desire not to owe anyone anything, to just help where he can and get nothing in return. Alex is Spock, hardworking, more relaxed around Jake than anywhere, and passionate about his subjects. This leaves me as Bones, Kirk's  best bro and reliable source of personality boosts while patiently sitting through Kirk talking about his relationship and how great it is. Totally ready to help or tell him he sucks. Bones and Spock only interact because of Kirk, and while they're different (I can't work nearly as much as you, Alex and I could not make videos I just type things), they get on. 

I did it guys. I'm Leonard McCoy. I'm Karl Urban. I'm finally there.

My best friends are idiots.

Beyond that, most shows have this Triumvrate dynamic. Three main personalities that work together despite differences and create a stronger, triple the awesome version. Like the combo moves in Power Rangers. Scott, Stiles and Derek in Teen Wolf. Cas, Dean and Sam in Supernatural. It's a tried and tested method.

But more than the two cute homos pictured above, I've come to the realisation that I often set myself into triumvirates. 

When I was a kid, I always had two friends that I kept close, we worked together best. Then, as I grew up it became a rotation of my best friend and whoever else fitted at the time. Now, it's two really awesome guys that I consider close, and I appreciate the heck out of them. 

It's Emily and Kati on Skype/Tumblr keeping me going in the Dredd fandom and bouncing ideas off each other, letting me talk about my godawful AU and slowly wrecking this once hardcore Lawman when we're not having identity crises together or lamenting our lives. 

It's my partner and Erika, friends since Sixth Form and now considered a good friend of mine. Alternatively, my partner and Aniz, brother pictured below.

The strongest Triumvirate. Moony and my Swedish brother.
(Singing 1D, which explains the bottles).

I'm almost always Spock or Bones. I never fit Jim, which I'm fine with. I'm not good at direct sunlight. I work best when I'm reflecting the glow of others back at them so they'll understand what I see in them. 

Moony is the Kirk to my Spock, and I'll always cherish that most of all. I'm like a young Spock that hasn't learnt to turn off the human emotions yet, but the ideals remain the same. 

Basically we surround ourselves in triumvirates because they make everyone stronger. And it's a really interesting concept. Everyone builds on each other's weaknesses and they're practically unstoppable. I want that. I have that, everywhere.

Has Godzilla been misgendered this whole time?

Even the strongest fighters can get tied up in the traps of heteronormative society.

I guess this is a new installment of the projection onto fictional 'villains', continued from the Dalek metaphor post.

Disclaimer. My total knowledge of Godzilla is totally limited, I'll admit this. But I'm completely committed to watching the terrible old movies and learning all I can. Instead, I've done a little research online, and thought I'd share it all here. We all know sex and gender are very different, but I feel like Godzilla has bigger issues than that, so for the purposes of this post, I am discussing pronouns in direct connection to biological clues.

So, back in the early days, it appears the creator intended Godzilla to be female, though the Japanese narrations used neutral pronouns, which is super considerate. There are several instances wherein Godzilla is pregnant and has adorable babies, yet American dubs began using male.

As Moony pointed out when I said I was writing this, it shouldn't matter. And that's totally true, but I'm amazed at how big the confusion around all this is. It is as if the American narrators thought it would be cooler or more realistic to have a masculine radioactive creature emerge from the ocean and attack cities, ignoring the obvious signs that some form of explanation should maybe be given at least.

(It's kinda like how when Otachi was discovered to be pregnant in Pacific Rim, it changed how we understood the Kaiju, and since then it's been sort of understood that all the Kaiju must be female, if they're clones of each other. Because of course there is a Pacific Rim comparison here.)

Objectively, Godzilla probably doesn't give a fuck if we use an extra letter when referring to them, but I can't help but wonder if maybe there is some immense misgendering happening here that nobody is noticing. Which sums up trans* awareness perfectly.

I'm likely projecting massively, after an incident when a hetero guy on the train this week loudly asked his friends if I was a girl or a boy, and it still makes me uncomfortable. But it's a consideration.

There is a popular theory that there are hermaphroditic concepts as at work, allowing Godzilla to reproduce without another being, which would make sense given how nobody expected one, let alone two of these things to be created after years of toxic waste and planetary abuse of the oceans.

Either way, I adore this thing, and it was refreshing to see the focus be on how heroic this character is in the latest movie, so I didn't have to feel alone in my sympathies.

My hope is that one day, someone like precious Nick the worm guy of the '98 movie will ask 'wait, pregnant?' and we'll get some sort of closure, because nothing makes me more uncomfortable than getting things like pronouns wrong. As it is, I'm more confident with 'she', and I will fucking fight you about it.

Regardless of the sex of Godzilla, clearly producing model kids.
Don't share, just take the whole damn bag.

It is no sign of good health to be well adjusted to a sick society.

It's 4am blogs with Lorcan, yaaaay.

This explains the lack of beautiful metaphors and so on. And punctuation. I'm on my phone. 

Since it's totally Saturday now, I can safely say it is my birthday tomorrow. I'm going to be 18 years old. I'm going to legally be an adult.

I know it's typically a thing in older people, when they hit a new benchmarker and realise how little they've achieved, but I'm getting that right now.

I can't believe that I'm almost 18 and today I made plans to borrow my friend's boiler suit so I can cosplay as my favourite character in the Lego Movie. 

I'm nearly 18 and my aunt got me elastic/rubber brightly colored dinosaurs. The aforementioned Lego character is dancing with a T-Rex on my desk right now.

I'm nearly 18 and I regularly ask myself (and am asked by Moony) how I'm still alive when I fall over my feet and burn myself making tea, a task I conduct multiple times a day. 

I'm nearly 18 and sometimes I feel so much older. You know, they say you can see in the Doctor's eyes that he is far older than his face, that he has seen so much more. I wonder if that's like with me, to a less impressive extent. I don't want that to sound like me saying I have the same cred as the Doctor, that's wishful thinking. 

But let's go meta here for a second.

The Lorcan has to deal with a lot in life. They have a fiancée on the wrong side of the ocean, a family that doesn't really accept them to the point that a slip-up of pronouns is a massive breakthrough. There's mental health, dissociation, exams, legit over abundance of stress hormones, not the correct set of hormones in general...

Don't get me wrong, there are awesome things in Lorcan's life, too. There is that same fiancée, for starts, and a support group that is full of completely lovely people. The Godzilla movie was hecking awesome, too. 

And they're getting presents tomorrow. Which would be great except it's two days before an exam, too.

And while we're here, let's take a moment for neutral pronouns. Wow, they feel strange, but they're hella. No assumptions made, perfect for raging Dysphoria, which is a thing today. 

Every time I revise, I either actually cry orI end  up close enough to it that I crawl under my comfort duvet - it has a space theme - and listen to music until I calm down. But that takes hours out of my time, and lead to things like this, where I'm laying in bed at 4am unable to sleep because I'm trying to work out techniques to pass - both the exam and in life generally. 

Maybe tomorrow I'll work something out. Maybe I'll find a kickass track list online and there'll be a study montage. 

Maybe Uni will let me in regardless. It does happen.

Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows.

Today, I was waiting in my brother's girlfriend's car until a closer time to board the coach that would take me the hell away from the seaside town where people go to end the portion of their lives that could be called interesting, and it was raining pretty bad.

I don't even just mean it was unpleasant. Anyone reading this may be unaware of the storms that have gripped the bottom half of the united kingdom for the last week or so, but there have been floods and road closures around where my family lives, and I've been worried about my flight back home, to Moony. It's that bad.

But I digress. Next to the car, on one of those low flower installments you get on promenades to make the place look nicer, was a crow. I think it was trying to get into a shell or something. Now, I know the phrase 'water off a duck's back', as in 'don't let it get under your skin, but let it go without touching you'. And it's always been kind of a good idea. It's a good job I adore cliches, because I think of that line a lot.

The water droplets on this crow were first apparent when it shook, sending the water everywhere and leaving its' feathers blessedly free of water for a few seconds until it began gathering again. What struck me, in that moment, while my brother's band played music through the speaker system and cigarette smoke curled over the top of a window, was that while the water fell onto that crows' feathers, it seemed utterly unphased.

Now, this is a hell of an extended metaphor, because what if each droplet of water were an issue of some kind. The faint ones were the little things, like doing the washing, e-mail that freely gendered individual. The more noticable droplets were things like, say, essays, university money costs. The really big ones? Well they'd be parent issues, gender identity dysphoria. You know, to take examples at random.

Sometimes, the droplets fell together, small things combining into bigger things. Deadlines, mock exams, pressure to do something to make someone blood related proud.

And then, just as if they were simply droplets of hydrogen and double oxygen, the crow would shake free its' problems, and continue on whatever undecided course the small creature had picked out over the dirt.

If I could do that, just shrug it all off and be content with myself, I would love to do so. But then, that's what these trips to Sweden are for. However, then the water started falling onto the same ink black feathers, and I realised that no matter how frequently you free yourself from problems and issues, you're never really going to be content, because the water will keep gathering. All you can do is try to make it a little easier on yourself by only attracting the small droplets, and not letting the bigger ones weigh you down.

Unwritten

I recently read a piece of fiction based on Jim Kirk and Leonard "Bones" McCoy, wherein Jim works for a publishing company named Enterprise and ran by Christopher Pike. Jim also publishes the ten book Captain Fine series aimed at young adults. He finds an unfinished manuscript by one Leonard H McCoy, MD, and tracks him down despite hippy-background Mr Spock's requests that he not do that.

Leonard is, to say the least, uncooperative to finish the work he stopped six years previously, and while I knew this fic had promise, I didn't anticipate how inspiring it would be.

The way the characters discuss writing, why they pursue it and how they feel about it, it made me consider for the first time in a very long time why I actually want to be a writer.

There's no doubt about it, for me. Writing has been my dream career since I was a kid, and I love how words can make you love or hate a character your previously never met. How it can light a feeling in you or make you long for something you never considered.

I lost track of it, amongst my education and transition, but I want to pick up my old ideas, shake them off and add a little more of an LGBT* spin, and write for young adults. I want believable and interesting characters of my own, and maybe I'll get there, one day. 

I can't stop thinking about the possibility of ever actually publishing a book, seriously.

In Michael Jackson's final moment, he thought about? Passive aggressive post-it notes.

If there's one thing that frustrates me more than my parents not trusting who I say I am, it's when my own mother is passive-aggressive towards me over matters that I am not in the wrong for.

In my travel to Moony last month, my suitcase - mum's suitcase - got broken. Or rather, the handles snapped except for the main one. It was not my fault, and I was pissed but it was done, and I could still move it easy enough.

I didn't see it as a problem, and I was just happy to be there. I didn't think about it again until I got back here any my mum told me to either get a new one from the airline or buy it myself. It's not my fault, and nobody travels anywhere in this house except me. And I got back from Heathrow just fine, even though I was welcomed by nobody upon returning to my town. They couldn't be bothered to journey 20 minutes to meet me after a long and emotionally draining day, and I'm never going to ask because I don't want to owe them anything. 

I tried to complain, even though it's very against my nature, but since it was more than seven days since it happened, I couldn't. 

Today, mum asked if I complained. I explained the situation calmly, and was told I should have said it happened when I got home. It honestly never occurred to me to lie about what happened.

I was told 'thanks a fucking lot' and general other things that clearly state no thanks are in order, and I rarely raise my voice but this was not my fault, and I won't let my mum blame me for it.

But I'm not even upset. I'm just frustrated. I can't stand up for what I believe in, I can never tell them I don't answer to that name any more, or that I'm not female (today). 

I probably seem really confident at school, but the secret is that I'm not. I can tell a class who I am because I trust them not to hurt abuse with a teacher in the room, or to my face. But I don't trust my parents. I hide in my room, don't leave unless I have to get to the kitchen or something, and some evenings I don't voice a single word because all my friends are online. Even though one or two aren't talking to me much, and I miss them. 

And I wish I were strong enough to stand up for myself but I know the resulting argument will achieve absolutely nothing but tears and a stressful night of hatred on my part while my parents cry downstairs and my mum strongly hints that her headache of several days is caused by me. 

I can't be let down after throwing my heart at them any more.

I'm fading in this place, and I need to get out before I disappear. 

You've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, punk?

As you may be able to tell, I have discovered and fallen in live with Dirty Harry, yet another in my line of Clint Eastwood marathons.

But this quote seems oddly fitting, because I had some fairly good things happen yesterday.

I'm going to resit my media exam because the examiners were dicks and it seems like if I do it again, my D grade might be pushed to a C or B. 

I finally know were my media coursework is heading, too. We mapped it out yesterday so I feel more sure of myself. And I have a book to get that will actually tell me what to revise.

I got an offer for Bournemouth university, so long as I get the grades. This is really great news because it seems I'll definitely get at least the grades for there. It's close to home, and if I go there I get the feeling my parents want me to stay here, but me and Moony have dreamed of our own place for years and if I don't move out In August I might crack.

I also got offered Judge Dredd comics by a teacher I'd never met because she had some in her garage to get rid of and noticed my Dredd badge on my coat.

I know it's not a great belief, but I very much feel that sometimes the universe/life does little things to remind you that the world can be a kind place.

I picked up that badge in the morning on a whim because I was looking for a pen, and decided to pin it on at the bus stop because it's seriously awesome.

I was walking in a different part of school than usual, because I was meeting a somewhat friend so we could pick up food someone got us. The teacherwas walking   past at that exact moment, and now I own some things that I love utterly, and can actually call my own. A series of small adjustments have led to something great. This is amazing to me.

I also watched a cool film called Gigola, which I recommend to future me reading this and anyone else that likes french films about a classy dressed lesbian and her group of pretty ladies, and incredibly classy sex scenes.

So it was a good day, and I do feel lucky. Me and Moony have nearly survived or first week until we next see each other and I finally know what to do for school. Things are looking up.

I want you to tell me what the word 'home' means to you.

The title is a question from Andrea Gibson's poem Asking Too Much. I'd like to answe most of the questions in that poem some time.

Home.

To me, home means safety. It means hot cups of tea and warm jumpers, it means not being scared or furstrated by anything or anyone around you.

Home is the chance to rest after a day of whatever you've been doing, or a place to hide from the world and recover from the difficult things it pushes onto you.

Home is feeling accepted and happy, feeling comfortable enough to cry or be incredibly intimate with someone, feeling secure in what you're doing.

Home means trust.

Right now, I do not feel at home. I feel out of place and like I'm just visiting, still. I've felt disconnected recently. But yesterday, my Uni application gt cleared, and I started pushing to finish coursework, and I'm starting to feel a little better. 

I also tidied my room and opened the curtain for once, which has really made a diffference.

But I should finish my coursework, now. Writing blog posts sprawled on a beanbag lounger is not how I should spend my evening.

Look, I'm growing up.

Just.... Sometimes.

I've always thought that gender is fluid, and I've long understood that some days, I feel like nothing fits me. Yes, I predominantly use and prefer male pronouns, but sometimes I don't.

I use the term genderqueer, because it seems to fit me best, but I think that's wrong now. Not by much, but slightly wrong.

Lately, I've lapsed into thinking about nail polish, I've had days where I feel perfectly content in tighter cut shirts that on other days make me feel utterly wrong.

I think that sometimes, just sometimes, I might like being a girl? It's weird, and it feels like I'm born male and considering being female sometimes, but that's just how I feel recently.

I haven't had much time to consider it with coming to Sweden and Moony dealing with a lot of stuff, but I really do wake up sometimes unsure who I feel like that day.

Hell if I'm going to mention this, to anyone but Moony, because it's difficult enough to convince people to accept my transition, and I do still want to transition. There is no doubt in my mind about that.

I just... I might sometimes wear more androgynous things, or things that boys would never dream of unless they were curious.

Lately, me and Moony have noticed my voice change. I've been told before that I sound more male, deeper. But lately, it seems to have reversed. Moony said something last night, and I suddenly realised how much lower her voice is than mine, and I don't know when this happened.

I guess we'll see how it goes. I'll try to work out what's happening and report back.

It was the heat of the moment.

We've fallen upon some hard times recently, but I feel like there are good sides to this, as I always manage to feel in every situation with an annoying level of optimism.

Yes, me and Moony are temporarily homeless, sleeping on her brother's couch rather than spending another night in her previous living space, but it could be worse.

We spent the evening playing Cards Against Humanity and singing One Direction songs. As a small family.

We have made a lot of snap decisions recently, and felt like we didn't have much time to relax until last night since christmas eve evening. 

You know, I actually forgot it was Christmas. So much has happened that it escaped my attention.

But last night, I feel like we learnt the value of taking every second as it comes, of appreciating those closest to you and just living life.

Because sometimes, I think we could forget that. We spend so much time planning ahead that when we are suddenly stripped of that luxury, we feel lost and out of our depth.

I think at times like that, all you can do is take a step back and appreciate the things in life that you do still have.

Like right now, we have a warm place to stay, and tonight we'll be in a more permanent location. We got pizza for dinner last night and played a fantastic game. And we're safe now. Moony can't be hurt, we're going to be okay.

We are always okay.

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.