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.

If I said I have to leave for New York tonight, would you come with me?

Today in Media, we watched American Beauty. I had my suspicions, because even though it won several awards, so did The King's Speech.

But actually, it turned out to be one of the best movies I've watched in school ever. I think History Boys beats, though.

While the main plot is about Kevin Spacey having a mid-life crisis, there's an entire subplot about a boy called Ricky Fitts.

Ricky is just intense, but mostly harmless.

Ricky, as you can see, loves filming shit. He finds beauty everywhere. I really like him. We think he's a little psychotic at the start, but he turns out okay. But honestly, I always thought he seemed interesting, even when he didn't have a name and was just filming the girl in the film.

But oddly, he really reminded me and my best friend of Sylar, from Heroes. There's something about how they both move in an incredibly precise manner. Every single action has a purpose, even if it isn't that obvious. And they both have the same intensely staring dark eyes, where you don't know if you want to run or get closer. True, Ricky isn't actually a bad guy, he's just got repressive parents and a habit of dealing drugs.

But his relationship with the girl turns out fine, and they're good together, I think. They're both not very happy with their family situations, and they live next door to each other.

Sylar is both terrifying and beautiful, which is a bad combination.

Ricky has this scene with the girl, who I think is called Jean, where he's just showing her footage of a plastic bag in the wind, surrounded by leafs that are blowing around and stuff. He says it's the moment he realised true beauty. He also filmed a woman who'd died in the street, frozen up without enough layers, because he believed that in that image, God was staring out. And that if you tried hard, got the right angle, you could stare right back.

Ricky is one of those characters that you find both fascinating and a little worrying at the same time.

But that line, the line of my title, it speaks volumes to me. He's been told to leave his house, told not to come back, and he has the money from dealing, so he asks his girlfriend to run off with him. And you know what? She's so in love that she agrees. Those are the relationships I think people need to see more. The kind where the people involved will do absolutely anything for each other, will drop everything and run away just because their partner needs to.

Despite a strange ending, and some weird scenes, I actually really liked this film, and I might end up owning it in the future. Like Withnail & I, or The Good Night, or Donnie Darko, it leaves a lot of questions, and a lot of ideas that make you feel like you should maybe do something that day, something good, something for you.

I go to school, I write exams. if I drop out, if I fail, does anyone give a damn?

Post from the past. I'd estimate this around early September. I completed it today, and it seems a shame to start a post and never publish it. Especially since everything I was saying is still appropriate. So have a look at my past, today! It's like time travel but not very interesting.

I made the mistake of telling my dad my exam grades this evening.

My best friend and my partner were both out and unable to talk, leaving me to occupy myself by catching up with my dad for the first time since I got back.

As I should have foreseen, he told me to knuckle down into my studies this year. That much I can agree with. I mean, I am going to University next year, that much is decided, but the choice of Uni depends on how good my grades are, and I'm not about to let Brighton slip through my fingers.

The only thing I have to argue against is the fact that he assumed I didn't really care about my studies last year. That my hobbies and obsessions came first and studies were like the secondary, when they should obviously be primary.

This is because back in my previous school before sixth form, I would never have got a D grade, much less an E, which I got both of (as well as an A and a B, so it's not all terrible). If they asked me how my day was at that time, I'd have instantly launched into what I've learnt, how my friends are, how good my day was.

Now, when they ask, I don't really say much. I shrug, say it was alright, but that's about it.

Long story short, everything I have to say is about my transition, or some other aspect that either they don't know about or they don't care about. I'm regularly told they don't really care about my choices, these are all just observations to do with what I will.

They told me a year or so ago that they felt they were losing me, because I didn't tell them much, but I'm sure I'd be more open to conversation if I felt safe. I'm pretty sure media teacher knows more about my state of mental health than my parents right now. She said she wasn't sure about my name when contacting home, and I told her that it's fine, my name is legal now, and since I'm not actually allowed to answer to my given name by law, that she can use the right one. When she laughed in relief and said it's stupid that teachers are scared of parents, but it's a fact, I said it's fine, because I'm scared of them too. And sure, I threw it out with a tone of nonchalance, but I wasn't joking at all.

But then, that's my default, right? Like Jim Kirk, I cover my problems up with jokes.

But back to the point at hand, I can't really help getting the grades I am, because I'm not exactly having a grand home life, and it's pretty much fact that that affects your learning, because a lot of studying is done at home. Not to mention that the exams are getting harder, because last year I was competing with people that had at least a B or higher in the same subject as me, meaning they were already elite, and this year it's only the people from that exam that got through with a good mark. My family doesn't believe me when I tell them that a certain amount of U and F grades have to be given out, and it's all one bid to not be the kid that gets it, but they haven't been in the educational system for many years. I think I know what I'm talking about.

But I'm not going to get any grades unless I work for them, and I've only got the support of the people that aren't in the same house as me, so better shape up so I can ship out.

Spooktober. (AKA 'Am I a nerd yet?')

Hallowe'en in my favourite time of year.

I love the idea behind it, of trying to ward off the evil spirits, and I love that it's an excuse to dress up. I love how it's a given that you're supposed to watch scary films and talk about horror like you don't at any other time of year.

And yet, I feel like it's being killed a bit by the spirit of Christmas. Already, people are excited for December, my local charity shop already had a tree in the window whereas the newsagents next door is advertising horror make-up, capes, fangs, glow in the dark wands that look awesome.

It's like, people obviously don't care enough, so they just brush over it in their haste to get to the other stuff. But honestly, Christmas isn't such a big thing for me. I'm psyched about the Doctor Who special, which has been a big part of my day since 2005. But that's always my highlight. Maybe it's just that my family isn't the most hospitable thing I know at the moment, and I've always been more comfortable in fiction.

Every year, right about now, I start a Doctor Who book called Forever Autumn. According to this image, there's an audiobook, too. I can't work out how long I've held this tradition, but the book's been out around seven years, and I'm not sure if I owned it that long. I'd estimate every year for four or five years, I have read this in preparation for Hallowe'en. No real reason, just that the Doctor is perfect in this, and the plot is sufficiently spooky enough. I have a nice habit of not quite remembering it each time, too.

Moony doesn't want me focusing on my bedoom moving until she shows up here, so we can sort it out together. I'm slightly apprehensive, because we fear change. But it allows me to play around on various indie computer games in my free time rather than fussing over my room, whenever I'm not doing coursework.

I found a post on tumblr about RPG horrror games, such as the somewhat infamous Ib. I've always been a secondary gamer, so to speak, choosing to watch others rather than try out for myself. Although I have a few nice memories of playing Doom '95 and Half-Life 2. I want to try out Doom again, to freak out over the pixellated creatures from my nightmares that I've never actually faced before, because I was always a sissy and played with the safety setting on until one fateful day when I left the room and my big changed the settings, so when I returned and a monster started snarling at me, I screamed. And I haven't dealt with them since.

In honesty, I didn't expect to enjoy the games half as much as I am. I've never actually completed a game on my own before. I can't even promise I've got through a Pokemon game before because the constant training got repetitive for me and I probably just abandoned everyone. I don't have that kind of patience.

I don't think it's possible not to love Garry after playing this.

But Ib really had a strong affect on me. Not just because Garry is the kindest, most awkward guy I've ever found in a game before, but because it's a wonderful concept, the music is fantastic, and while it's a little tense in places, the humour makes up for it.

There are seven different endings, too, so that's a nice reason to go back a few times. I really liked this game.

I guess over time, I'll work through the list. Me and my best friend got through Misao today at school, and I've watched Ivan play some way through Mad Father a few times. Misao was fucking disturbing at the end, but pretty damn good.

So I've finally made the last step. I have glasses and I play video games all the time. Stereotypical nerdom, here I come.

I'm not okay [I promise]

I'm fortunate enough to have never actually fallen pray to depression, or have been truly sad enough to consider it a mindset I was in. But what I'm feeling right now, it's maybe the closest I've got for a while.

I can't exactly tell what the problem is, only that whatever I do, at the moment, leaves me with a heavy feeling in my gut, a kind of longing and desolation that I can't shift, and it's been there since this afternoon, when I was heading back from my only lesson of the day at sixth form and felt a welling energy of frustration and helplessness.

Moony was texting me about work and her new coat, but then she stopped suddenly around 11 hours ago, and since her best friend is in town again, I can only assume she either went to hers, or she'd been working so long she was too tired to stay up, and fell asleep instantly. Either way, we've had limited conversation all day, and the lack of knowing why has left me scrabbling for footholes in my empty bedroom in England.

Ivan's in a bit of a bad place too, for various reasons, and although I managed to get him in a pretty good mood yesterday, happier than he's actually been for a long time, it seems to have shot down again, and I'm so sorry that I can't help him.

Moony will be here on Friday, so I want to get my coursework done by then. I have media work due on Wednesday, an essay to write in class on Thursday, and a first draft due on Friday that I only just got pointers on. Truly, I should have done that today, but I've been on the edge of tears since I got on the bus to come home, and I feel like I couldn't focus, honestly. Or perhaps I could, but I'd get limited sleep, and I don't have the energy for that considering I have a full six hours that I have to be in school tomorrow.

I listened to My Chemical Romance, because I thought it'd help me feel better, but instead I'm caught with a crippling sadness about how they broke up, and how far they came since their first album. I'm reading a Spock/Kirk fic, and they just got back to Iowa, and instead of being fully invested, I'm feeling a strange sense of homesickness, because I realised something strange.

I've never actually lived somewhere that I feel I can consider 'home'.

Think about it, right now, there's only one place I can honestly think of with utter happiness and a sense of knowing I belong, and that's the flat that Moony no longer has, back in Sweden, that I visited two years back. She moved out because her memories aren't happy, and it was too lonely for one person, but I only remember a weekend of watching movies, cuddling, listening to Kent, and basking in the fact that we were alone, entirely, and we weren't being disturbed. That little flat, with the weirdly shaped corridor, tiny kitchen, and bedroom/living room space, that was home.

I can even identify when I was there, because we watched the Sherlock season two finale together there, crying in the darkness with our 'Reichenbuddy' as tumblr had suggested we have, muttering at the screen.

Even thinking about how easy things were then is making me almost cry. Maybe I'd feel a little better if I could actually cry.

Things have changed a lot since then. I've admitted my identity, started transitioning, and things have become tense with my family, even if we're all pretending absolutely nothing is wrong. But something seriously is.

I didn't intend for this post to be so disheartening, but it's about all I can manage.

Maybe I'll read a bit more of the Trek book I have nearby, or a Dredd comic to cheer me up, even though it's late enough that I could consider sleeping.

It just seems like right now, more than anything, I long to get away from the life I have right now, just for a few days. I would love for the Doctor to burst into my room and say he needs my help, or for Starfleet to recruit me and take me for a quick spin around the galaxy, or to be thrown into Mega City One.

I just need a distraction. I need something that isn't this cage of a bedroom, that isn't close living proximity that's making me feel more stressed than I have been for a while. I need to be near people that accept me properly and don't make me feel weaker than I already do just by throwing the wrong mix of letters that make the wrong pronouns in my direction.