Another long absence.

I must be the poster child for clinical depression for skipping time in such fashion. Hibernation is not just for the bears. As much as I try to be part of the daily social routine I cannot. Why is it so important to be seen as a functioning normal human when you are anything but. Yet, my dark side is no one's problem but my own so why do I wish to relate it to anyone? Good question. I write to prove I am? Maybe but I think there is more to it. I think it is an attempt at self-healing, to expunge bad humors without having the aid of leeches. So, in fact, I'm writing to myself. A fact-check memo to a self-loathing entity. Poor mouse, courageous to the end. Fighting the good fight yet never gaining an inch. What is the limit to altruism? Everyone has unfulfilled needs. Does that mean it is my place to aid everyone I come in contact with? Hardly, I think, yet everyone affects me. Empathy is a curse. The mercenary has it right, pay up front. Self-preservation is the only raison-d'etre. There lies the real problem, that self-preservation thing. Shall we rehash the details?; I am a transsexual mouse, knowing from as long as I can remember that I was born in the wrong body. Timing for that was terrible, society was an absolute binary - man, woman,(preferably white). A boy-child expressing feminine thoughts was to be beaten or worse. I learned to adapt, becoming what they (parents) wanted to see but never bonding as a real person. Such a burden to play the role of the opposite until it became the norm. What a ruse to believe in the actor knowing all along you are insane. Until I was fifty years old I played that role and so abruptly the play ended. A few messy years sorting out the what-am-Is, losing everyone you loved and who you imagined loved you, not to mention everything you worked for, then being summarily dismissed. If there is a place below "rock-bottom" I certainly lived there for a couple of years then slowly climbed back up to street level society. I used what talents I retained from before the fall to build a new persona and found a way to maintain a poverty existence but never able to afford the changes I need to feel human again. In raw terms, no one understands a woman with a penis or even wants to, let alone fight for change in a medical system that sees no need in caring for such a person. I'm getting tired of this life. No, I don't need an intervention, I need a change of location. It's time to go back to the ocean. I need the smells and sounds of shore life. That's what I'll live for.