The Mirror Of Erised

I'm going to take a pragmatic leap of faith and assume you all know what the Mirror of Erised is. If you don't, then you can abandon this post and go acquaint yourself with Harry Potter And The Philosopher's stone. If you can't be bothered with the whole thing, the few pages there are in comparison to the other books in the series, then just read that chapter, even though I'll probably judge you a little.

But sadly this post isn't about you, it's about me, a little. Apologies. You're welcome to talk to me or leave a comment though.

When Harry looks into the mirror, he sees his family, all smiling and looking out at him. Ron sees himself winning the cup, being head boy, basically filling the boots of his big brothers after the legacy they've forced upon him.

Me? Well that's what I've been wondering. If it shows us 'what we want, whatever we want', or whatever we believe would make us happiest of all, I think I'd be standing there, with my arms around Moony, staring right back. I'd be on Testosterone already, I'd have had surgery and maybe some awesome Will Graham styled stubble going on, and my hair - by now if it isn't obvious you should know I care a great deal for my hair - would be awesome. And at this point in time, we'd probably be in Starfleet getups. Like, Academy or the proper colours.

The thing I'm trying to say here, as well as giving an idea as to exactly what it is that makes me happy, is that all I really want, to be the happiest I can be, is to have my beloved at my side, to be allowed to transition and to be as far away from my family as possible. Space would be preferable. If not, I'll settle for London. Or Brighton or Sweden.

I can't help but wonder what Moony would see. But myself, it would probably be that. And then, once I get all that, I would look into the mirror and see myself exactly as I was.

You Should've Raised A Baby Girl, I Should've Been A Better Son

It seems Moony's family has accepted me fully as another one of the kids. Her mother, especially.

When we left the flat the other day Moony's mum grabbed her face gently and kissed her cheek, then immediately did it to me, and called us her darlings.

I made coffee for her both days this weekend because Moony was working long shifts so I didn't bother going along, and she called me a darling again. I pretty much skipped in a very unmanly fashion back to our bedroom.

Her grandpa called us his little ones at the hospital the other day when we first arrived, seeming so proud, and her brother hugs me, has a nickname for me. Calls us babies...

Her dad, well, he's difficult, kinda distant, not into hugs although I think we did once. It was weird.

And this is going to sound tragic, but I can't get over how good it feels to be loved so completely, to be called the right name consistently, to be accepted and appreciated. To have a mum that really cares and that I don't feel uncomfortable around, that I'm not always waiting for a trigger from.

What I'm pretty much trying to say, I guess, is that I wasn't lying when I said being here feels like being home.

Character Development.

I have always felt a deep, emotional  connection towards characters I admire and idolise. When I was a kid, suffering from nightmares on a near regular basis, I learnt to fall asleep imagining I was someone else, somewhere else. At the time, it was always Peter Pan in Neverland. As I grew up it became the Doctor, somewhere fantastic. Sherlock Holmes, in his rooms in Baker Street, Sirius Black in the Gryffindor tower.

Recently it became Bones on the Enterprise, trying to catch some sleep between shifts.

I used to play games in school, before I moved to my current forced home habitat, where I was always the Doctor in my group, or Freddie from Scooby-Doo (we were probably eight years old, and I stand by that Freddie is the best in the gang, I loved him). I kept up my role as the Time Lord when me and my best mate used to play in the quarries near my house just a few years ago. We created entire worlds for our versions of these characters, entire plots.

The point of this nostalgia is that being my heroes has forever been a passion of mine. It's why I love dressing up, why I never turn down an opportunity to write stories about them when it is offered to me. A couple of weeks ago I got involved with a bit of verbal sparring with my friend Ivan because he can do a passable Bones accent, coming from the same state, and it was one of the best spent hours I can remember not including all my time with Moony obvisly.

As well as that, I feel like the characters deserve this level of commitment. You can ask anyone, I'm incredibly invested in minor characters as well as the main heroes. Colin Creevey and Oliver Wood from Harry Potter being prime examples. I feel like they don't get enough attention but there's so much about them that can be explored. What's Colin's home life like? Is his dad the kind of muggle that is just as excited and baffled by the wizarding world as he is, or is he mostly confused by it? Did he buy Colin that old camera or has he always been interested in photography? And where's his mum? Other than Dennis, does he have siblings that might also have magical blood and what side did that blood come from? And what the hell is Dennis really like? Okay, maybe that's more than anyone has ever really wondered about him, but it matters to me because there seems to be so much there to learn.

To some people, characters are just there to find attractive or to watch without any real investment. But to me, the only time I'll ever feel satisfied with my emotions towards a character is when I can be them. Until I know them like I know myself.

It is because of this that I write as them, dress up as them, impersonate them, why we got the Star Trek video game so that we could be Jim and Spock fighting of the Gorn and saving the galaxy. And even though we completed it yesterday, we're going to play it again.

I guess the reason I'm writing this isn't to go on about my childhood, or to give you all a better insight as to the kind of person I am, because I hope that comes across with all my posts, given that I try my best to be as honest and personal as I can.

It's because some characters deserve more recognition. Some people need to better understand just how complex characters can be in well-written narratives.

This started because of a conversation I had with Ivan today, regarding our personal portrayals and thoughts towards Leonard "Bones" McCoy and Mr Spock. I hope he doesn't mind me sharing this, but it pretty much sums up what I have been trying to say this whole time. And is one of the reasons he means so much to me.

'The characters mean a lot to me. I get attached. We sit in my head and share secrets and life stories. I like to learn them as intimately as I would any real person, because they deserve to be portrayed as the round, full, complex characters they are. They're supposed to be people, after all, and people are so much more than what you can show of them in a show or a movie.'

While I'm here, this seems like a nice place to mention that this lovely guy has a blog where he's willing to write with anyone that's interested in trying it out. He's a lovely person, honestly.

It's like what my parents used to say, something that never really got away from me. They told me that I could have been an A* student, could have got into Oxford and Cambridge, if I hadn't let my obsessions rule me. But the thing is that I've never let my concentration on my studies really slip, and school just got more difficult. It's a common problem, that sixth form is always more difficult than kids expect, and we don't heed the warnings we are given. But I need the characters I love to keep me going. The amount of times I've used the incentive that 'this is what they would do', or 'what would they do' as a way to motivate me, to convince me that I'm doing the right thing. I sometimes wonder where I'd be without them.

Some people need to fall in love with characters, and to become them in order to better understand themselves. I'm just one of those people.

I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

(This was actually typed on 24/07/13, last week. I was too lazy to post it until now, for which I apologise.)

I am safely in Sweden now,  and I somehow forgot how much I missed Göteborg. It feels like coming home after a very long time away. 

We visited Moony's grandpa yesterday, because he's recovering in hospital from a stroke. Luckily, he seems just fine, and we're hoping he can go home in just a few weeks. 

It turns out that Swedish hospitals are very different to English ones. But that may be because we were in a different ward to ones I am used to, from when my father was hospitalised for a little while. The environment seems warmer, and apparently it's normal to go have tea or coffee and biscuits in a lounge that the patients can get to. 

It was the stroke recovery ward so all the patients were fairly elderly, and one woman was actually Norwegian.  Moony's grandpa introduced us as his granddaughter and her friend from London, later her boyfriend from London. He kept commenting on my glorious hair and teeth, which is fine for me since my hair is the most important thing to me about my appearance, and Swedes have great teeth, so if I'm getting a compliment about mine then this is a big deal. 

The outcome of being surrounded by these people, though, was like I was the one in hospital. I was surrounded by people talking to each other and laughing, yet I couldn't understand any of them. I felt like I should be able to, that understanding was just out of reach, but I couldn't get to it. 

There was also an adorable interracial old couple. The husband was the patient, and he was cuddling his dark skinned wife, commenting that she was the most precious thing he had in his life or something. It was heartwarming. 

Today, I have been up since 4am(ish) and am spending a majority of the day in the restaurant area of Moony's workplace. Her shift is 6-15 and if I stay home I'll just sleep so we decided on this. This shift is four days in a row, and while I relish the chance to see her work and to finish some of my summer reading stuff for school, I'd obviously prefer to be at home asleep. 

These past two days have made me realise just how young and unaware I really am.  I don't have a job, I just bullshit my way through school (ask anyone, this really is my method) and laze around at home. I don't know which of my friends have jobs and I don't know what jobs my family even have. I simply don't think it matters. But apparently it's something I will come to realise does matter as I get older...

I can get dressed easily, at least in physical terms since I have a daily 'am I dysphoric this morning' battle, but Moony's grandma needs assistance and takes a while to get ready. 

Lord Henry, in The Picture Of Dorian Gray, comments that youth is the one thing worth having, but you never realise it until it is gone, and I'm starting to understand what he meant. 

I have my own issues to deal with, but they are mere trifles against the difficulties some people face with age. 

Did you know it's practically proven that if you live long enough, and nothing else kills you, you're near guaranteed to get cancer? 

I don't think anyone takes the time they have with enough understand of just how precious life is. 

To once more quote Lord Henry, 'Live! Live the wonderful life that is you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing.'

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light.

I'm becoming more aware of how beautiful life is now that I have Moony with me.

I've always seen where I live as a holiday location. It feels like I am only staying here until I can leave again, until I can head towards my home, which is on the other side of the UK.

The truth is that I no longer feel like that. Today, I watched the sun begin to set before the fog hit it, and the sky was thrown up with pinks and purples, and the deepest of reds. It lit up my room, my partner, everything I have and will ever need, and it stopped feeling like a holiday home, and more like my life.

I've never been comfortable here, I like the location but not the way it makes me feel. Everything is like something from those old books where the old ideals ring true and nothing is as brutal as the papers say, as if it can be ignored. But in truth there was a suspicious death at a house near the bottom of my road that I'm sure was the fault of the husband. All the evidence points to him but he got away with killing his wife, as far as I believe.

My town has the highest rate of teenage pregnancies in the UK.

It's not perfect, but it seems it. And I've never really liked that, how everyone is close to each other and don't talk to outsiders. They know everything because everyone talks.

But when Moony is with me, it feels different. Like I can handle all that, because I've got her, my own little piece of calm.

It's the same with school. I feel like I don't need to worry about what's going to happen next year, or just wait for it, because I have everything I need right here. And that's fucking beautiful.

I wake up scared, I wake up strange, I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change.

As disastrous, unplanned, unexpected weekends go, this one was pretty good.

I stayed at my best mate's house, we watched Doom, RED, Star Trek (all because of Karl Urban, and I regret none of it), V For Vendetta and History Boys. My mate got the new Bioshock game so I wrote and spoke to Moony for the day, and Ivan, whenever he was around.

In honesty, I partly regret not going to Pride. I do not doubt it would have been a brilliant day, but I enjoyed the day I got instead. It was calm, it was normal. My mate's mum loves me, and I'm pretty sure she called me dear, or darling, or something, at some point when she made me tea.

Moony called me a few times, somewhat drunk, and it's rather impressive, how good her English is even when she's intoxicated. Bravo, love.

I've taken to wearing the shirt Ivan designed whenever I feel down, or like I need cheering up in any way, because it reminds me that everything is going to be alright. I have people who really care about me, and sometimes that's enough. My mate said he's noticed this already, so it's like Ivan is my go-to, my signal that I'm not in the best mood. One of many reasons my bestie means so much to me.

Me and my mate have the kind of friendship where we tease each other, make stupid jokes, and often say the same thing at the same time. It's really nice to have that kind of support net when I feel stranded in my own home, with my soul mate out of reach for whatever reason. This weekend especially, I really needed that.

This friend, I'll call him Zed, turned 17 yesterday. I was openly invited to go to lunch with him, his wonderful mum and Zed's grandma at a cafe/restaurant that's near the lighthouse where I live. I was introduced as Lorcan, of course, and I was a hit.

She complimented me on my haircut, said I was handsome and intelligent. Afterwards, she asked Zed's mum on the phone why he isn't more like me. So it seems I'm pretty much accepted into the family. I got away with lighthearted jokes about me and Zed's mate, and everyone laughed. I feel awesome about that.

I had my hair like this. Also look Karl yay. Shut up Moony I think he's brilliant.

A family friend visited while I was there, and once more I was accepted as male, got to talk about Moony for a while, and me and Zed contentedly freaked the poor woman out with our 'complicated lingo' (the code is Tumblr.)

At the end of the day, it kinda sucked to go home. My room is somehow already a mess, even though I barely spent time in it. But for realsies this time, Moony will be here tonight. I'll go pick her up at the station and our affection will freak out the locals.

And now we have the part of the post where I awkwardly link to the title.

Sleeping in Zed's room is really cool, because he has a really minimalist layout, and it's very different to my room. I got an awesome space-theme duvet - I have a space-theme thing at the moment, in case anyone is new here and doesn't know that yet - and it was sort of like being room mates or something.

I kept being woken up by the sun from about 8am onwards because the edge of the blind lined up with where I was sprawled out and I ended up laying with an arm over my face to block the bastard out. But it was at moments like that this weekend that I've wondered what I'd change if I could. God knows I'd be on testosterone by now, my name would be changed, and I'd love to be in Brighton by now, but then I'd miss moments like this, moments of just hanging out with my best friend, making stupid jokes to give the other person equal amounts of humour and pain.

Of course, this weekend could have been better spent with Moony, but since I was forced to find my own amusement, it was a good way to pass time.

I dig down deeper, and you fall so much faster.

Today isn't how I expected to spend my Saturday 13th of July.

I'm not in Bournemouth. I couldn't sleep all night, I'm still exhausted. I kept waking and thinking it had to be late, but by the time I gave up it was only 9:17, the time I would have been in Bournemouth to meet Jake. Or, the time me, Jake and Moony would have been there to meet the group.

I spent a few hours in my room, trying to ignore everything, and found that when I laugh, it hurts.

Let me tell you a short story.

A while ago, my phone died for three days due to the influx of texts it kept getting, and I couldn't get a new one, or get to a reliable internet source. It broke me, I was a complete mess. My parents told me to shut up, to sort myself out because it's not like me and Moony are married or anything.

We don't talk about those three days, because they were the darkest days of my life. I don't remember much past complete pain, sending packed e-mails of my day each day to Moony through school.

But it was horrible. This is what it feels like. Did you know you can actually die of a broken heart? It can cause the heart to malfunction until you die because your beloved died.

I wouldn't believe it unless I was experiencing it.

But my best friend demanded I stay at his for the night, to get me out of the triggering environment. And if that isn't one of the most amazing things anyone has done for me, I dunno what is. We're just watching films, having a Karl Urban marathon, and a Marvel marathon. His mum is fantastic.

Me and Moony sorted out our sort-of argument. We were both emotionally compromised yesterday and said stuff we shouldn't have. It's alright though, because we know we'll never stop loving each other, and that's enough to get us through anything.

But now she's gone to have a drink with some friends, and I'm gonna watch DOOM, because it's a completely amazing film that is like watching back my childhood (because I played it a lot, not because I ran around killing aliens as an eight year old.) We're nearly one day closer, one day through the sudden hell we didn't expect ourselves to be in.


And if this posts seemed more disjointed than usual because my other posts are so very well structured then you can blame Tony Stark and his PTSD.