# Transsexual hazard map (2024-present)
## The whackadoodle brigade (2024)
### I'm just a Progynova baby (Q1)

I woke up on New Year's Day, not even aware of my surroundings yet, to a *very loud* message in my head.

> You *aren't* Alyssa Jones

If I was to keep following the white rabbit, this sign was undeniable. It was another ruse. Whoever Alyssa might be, she *isn't* my future self.

For a few weeks, I felt myself to be in a Netflix show hole. That's just *it*? My tormentors made me think I had a future with my childhood best friend who's been *doubly*-friend zoned for decades, and just ripped it away from me as a New Year's gift?

Eh. I guess it makes sense.

I continued experimenting with hormones, trying to find at least 6mg a day of estrogen that wouldn't make me sick after determining the spiro to be safe. In January, I decided to give the Progynova another chance; taking it real easy to avoid a repeat of the last time. I was still getting sick after meals sometimes, but I struggled to correlate it with my meds.

I quickly found that the Progynova was *fine*. In fact, I found my nipples doing stuff they hadn't done before. I experimentally determined the threshold dosage of sublingual estradiol valerate to be 6mg/day, the molar equivalent of about 4.5mg regular estradiol; this is what I'd expect.

---

I didn't know what to do next. In an effort to methodically eliminate problems that might be causing the Freemasons to blackball me like I was pulling shit out of `msconfig`, I decided to confront my mother about the possibility of my being retarded; before telling her I wasn't even going to keep doing that weekly text I let her intimidate me into doing.

!lbubbleis Susan

!rbubble {Saturday, January 06 2024 10:07AM}
Do you think I have special needs?

!lbubble {Saturday, January 06 2024 10:15AM}
I am not aware of any, but if you do, please let me know. I am your mom and will always, always help you in any way I can. I love you so much and would do absolutely anything for you.

!rbubble {Saturday, January 06 2024 11:45AM}
Why didn't I take the WISC?

!lbubble {Saturday, January 06 2024 11:49AM}
I didn't know about it. I just had to Google it. No one ever suggested it to me. I wish that you would have taken it, now that I know what it is.

!lbubble {Saturday, January 06 2024 09:03PM}
I love you, my darling daughter. I will be happy to help you in any way on your journey.

!rbubble {Sunday, January 07 2024 04:38PM}
I'm still okay. I'm not going to continue texting. I assure you, I can take care of myself.


I know she can't *handle my absence* or whatever, but I have felt a little better. Any sort of "regularly scheduled" thing with her is a liability, that's more likely to get cops unnecessarily involved in my life than it is to actually help me.

---

The first contemporary train of thought, began with yet another of these messages; somehow more grounded than everything before.

> There are *way* too many trans people.

Like, *orders of magnitude* too many of them.

Oooooohhh, boooyyy...

Remember 2017 and earlier? I sort of *did* think they might be transtrenders. I was grumpy about how these kids on Tumblr decided to change our words around because we were being problematic... but then I decided to give the LGBT community a chance *largely at the encouragement of my doctor and therapist*, I thought Regina and Samantha were pretty cool, and the rest is history.

I haven't been able to shake off the feeling. In middle school, I read statistics claiming only 1 in 30,000 AMAB people, and only 1 in *90,000* AFAB people, were actually *transsexual*. We were like *never nudes*. Beliefs like this certainly played *some* role in my choosing not to pursue transition when I was younger. It seemed much more likely that I was something *else*; especially with what I perceived to be the weird sex stuff going on with me at that age.

!embed https://youtu.be/lKie-vgUGdI

I grew older and *laughed* at numbers like that. I guess we've been here the whole time.

But; how many of them are actually *like* me? You know... wearing mom's clothes before you know what it means, secretly wishing you could be a girl like *all* the time, being in a shit mood *all day* after someone makes you do something really gendery as a kid, or says "boys on this side of the room, girls on that side"...

They don't know about *any* of that.

But, that doesn't matter. Everybody's valid... right?

As I reflected on this, I couldn't help but put my foot down and say

> But not *Samantha*. I *definitely* have whatever she has.

Oh, Samantha? The transbian domme who just ran off with Brittany? What do you even have in common with her; being a software developer when you aren't burning down your career?

I had to sit with this for a while before I finally accepted that...

Yes. Even Samantha. These people aren't *like* me. They got sucked in somehow, after trans people exploded in popularity.

Virtually *none* of these people had symptoms before Caitlin Jenner became a thing; and if you have the same thing as me, it *isn't* hard to notice. I started researching it before I was thirteen, it was so obvious. And the community was full of people with even worse gender dysphoria than *me*; I felt like a mere *pervert* compared to some of these folks.

Goddammit; I may be a pervert, but at least I was *born* that way.

That's *so many years*. I thought I'd found my people, at long last.

It was a fucking *mirage*. I was that. Goddamn. Thirsty.

It's like, these people are in the uncanny valley of transsexualism. Take the common transfeminine stereotypes, for example: (my kinks marked with [X])

* [X] Computer nerd
* [X] BDSM; probs submissive
* [ ] Anime dork

These people sound relatable, right? And familiar, too. There was enough off-topic computer bullshit on Aunty's list to prompt the creation of `geek@antijen.org`; there wasn't an equivalent for anime, but the BDSM correlation isn't exactly a new stereotype either.

This seems like the same crowd it was 20 years ago, right? The problem is, my friend group seemed to gradually get diluted until I knew *way* too many weeaboo furries who play dungeons and dragons. I know there's always been a crossover between weirdos and other weirdos; which I've generally tried to embrace, but...

Again. I *really* think I got frog boiled. I *still* think this. I can't get it out of my head. I'm not exactly a proponent of alien mind control at this point in my journey; but if there *is* a higher power influencing my precarious and jarringly unexpected fate, I truly believe *this* might be the bedrock *thing* I was supposed to learn on my little vision quest. My friends are

Fucking. Weird.

I certainly don't feel comfortable going to them for help. Again, where's the childhood crossdressing syndrome with these folks? I remember bringing this up at TT a long time ago, and it was like me and Lauren were the only people who got it.

Look, y'all. I don't think I'm an alien, I don't think I have an alien *soul*, I don't think *anybody* has a fucking soul. I've made a most fascinating 360° spiritual journey all the way back to being a fucking *atheist*. Not even a *space* atheist. I don't think I'm Dani California, I don't think *anybody* is Dani California, and I still think America is a free country despite its problems. I don't believe in much of *anything* anymore, good bad or ugly.

I *really* don't think I can trust my new friends. I think I made a series of *very* wrong turns; each one seemingly perfectly logical in its own time. I took a wrong turn being too non-judgmental with some of these people, because I thought they were like me and I didn't want to be problematic. Either by happenstance or by some twist of fate, I continued making more and more wrong turns, as I reached out to my support network for "help with UFOs".

I'm starting to worry I've been enabling confused neckbeards in playing dress-up.

> Have you ever   
> walked through a room

The irony to all this UFO business is, I *have* felt like an alien my entire life. My friends all get to date normal men and women, and I'm just... behind.

#snippet They can't understand why I don't want to go out and "get pussy" like them. I've always wanted things I can't have; and that isn't even an uncommon problem. Most people want a yacht, or a spaceship, or a Lambo, and they can't have *that*. I wanted material comforts *a little* when I was younger, but I got over it. I kind of just... want to be *normal*. But, I want to be *me*. And *me* doesn't like pussy. I kinda just want someone to fuck me. I want somebody to want me, but nobody wants me like that. It's actually kind of a joke. #TODO This is dark and off-topic #TODO I'm talking about my dude-bro friends, btw. I guess that doesn't make much sense.

#snip It's totally not a sex thing, though.

This is, precisely, what my sign was. I thought I was a trans woman. I thought I was a kinkster. Then I thought I was a kinky trans woman. Every step of the way, I struggled to find what I was missing. *Women* seem to have no trouble finding people to fuck them. They actually *complain* about it. Subby boys like getting pussy as much as any other red-blooded male. There would seem to be little advice for someone in my position.

Then I figure the problem is really just that I'm trans, and I supposed I'd just do what other trans people were doing; but, *they* don't really have the same problem either. Hell, a good number of my trans friends were *married, with children sometimes* before deciding to transition. While I see little wrong with these people "being themselves", I hardly seem to have much in common with them. Yet, I firmly believed that I *must*.

I've always been weird, and I've always been *this*; but, have *they*? Frankly, I think the only logical answer is *no*; unless I were subject to an arranged or highly pressured marriage, I couldn't *imagine* settling down with someone without realizing it. I'm just too... bottomy and subby, in a way that isn't even endearing if you're trying to be Mr. Slave.

Am I just gay? I realize lots of people in the peanut gallery might be screaming it, but that's never really made sense to me. I think gay porn is weird, first of all. There's no woman in it to imagine being. And I want someone to play with my breasts and stuff. Not jack me off like some gay man.

It's not a sex thing, though. It's not *supposed* to be, because that would make me

*(goddammit)* **an autogynephile!** *(I don't even care anymore)*

Dammit. I'm convinced *all of human existence* is a sex thing, and religious people are just in denial about it.

This whole autogynephilia thing really just feels like a bullshit way of shaming... I mean, what even *is* female sexuality, anyway?

Is it being a submissive? Counterexamples: Erika, Dana, Collene, Leslie...

Is it just about liking men? Gay male attraction is demonstrably different from hetero female attraction; in ways I'm not really qualified to talk about because I am neither.

This last section has proven a bit difficult; because I don't really know *what* I believe in anymore.

I went on a very impassioned rant about how I think most of my friends are basically bisexual men on hormones; and that I think *that's* the reason they've been fucking their whole lives while I can't seem to find the well.

Be that as it may, I don't think it's entirely fair to blame ostensibly male homosexuality for my relationship struggles. Because, I'm not sure I'd be any more compatible with an honest-to-goodness true transsexual woman than I would be a gay man; whether or not he was on hormones.

First of all, I think my biggest problem is that I had too weird of a childhood, and I'm missing a bunch of DLLs. Susan is *really* fucking weird about sex and made *me* really fucking weird about sex at a young age, then I had *all that* happen to me, and I've never really been normal since.

Second of all, I *really* think I should date guys. I've never given this a chance; I *really* wanted to be the woman in normal dating, but by the end of high school the idea of some oaf like me ever being treated like *that* by someone was just a big joke. I think I had a not-very-nice childhood that destroyed my self-esteem.

Which is the third problem. I probably need whatever it is that gives you self-esteem. Though half the time I think my lack of self-esteem is just "realism". It's really hard to get to know me enough to figure that out, and I know that because I just did it for the first time.

Dude, this is pointless. It's supposed to be about UFOs. 

I was confused why I struggled to connect sexually with April (or anyone, really), even after fixing the ostensibly final gender problem and finding an ostensibly like-minded trans person.

The problem, as I've grown convinced, is that none of these people are actually *transsexual*. As they *are* trans-something by definition, I would seem to have no other word to use for them, besides, well...

::: {.raw-image}

[![Have any of you trenders even *heard* of Erin Lindsey? (http://venusenvycomic.com/index.php?id=98)](ext/ve98.jpg)](http://venusenvycomic.com/index.php?id=98)

:::

Transgender. I think the problem is that they're transgender, and I'm transsexual. It's *ancient* wisdom, actually. I'd almost forgotten it myself.

I think their sexuality is, essentially, that of gay and bisexual men. They seem to have no trouble lusting after and fucking *each other*. The (well, a) problem with April and I was that, from my perspective, I liked it when she fooled around with me, but she was frustrated by my lack of initiative. I kind of just want to be all nuzzly and nibbly and make funny noises while somebody has their way with me; but, I think April wanted me to take an equal share at having my way with *her*, and my brain just doesn't work like that.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I *really* need to be the "woman" in bed. But with this polycule, I feel like I was cast into the role of the "gay male third", which doesn't really suit me.

It's *so* confusing. The problem's got to be *me*, right? Being a subby boy doesn't click, other trans women don't even click...

It felt like, I *wanted* it, until it was there, and then I *didn't* want it. Goddammit, do I want sex or not?!

It seems more obvious now that what I really want is the right *kind* of sex. And, so does April for that matter.

I think April has bisexual male sexuality.

I feel I'm backed into a corner, where I have to accept that I'm either a pervert, or argue for a psycho-sexual understanding of womanhood that defines it largely in terms of female sexual desire; a *relatively* new idea culturally.

I believe I've effectively argued that I *do* have a sex drive, and can be neither gay, straight, nor bi. What even *am* I? A fourth thing?

> There are only two genders!

I know it sounds perverse and like it's "really just a sex thing"; but what was with all those women being into Fifty Shades of Gray several years ago, anyway? What even *is* a woman?

#### Things I might be
* ~~Dominant man~~
* ~~Dominant woman~~
* ~~Submissive man~~
* Submissive woman
* A pervert

Again, I have to ask the reader to resist the temptation to factor out the word "submissive" as a trait that can be shared between men and women. I tried this, and submissive men *really* aren't the same thing. I really just want what *women* are having, in the least creepy way possible. I feel like we need different words for "sexual submissiveness" like the Eskimos have a bunch of different words for snow.

I feel I've *almost* been backed into the ultra-conservative position of having to argue women are these submissive creatures who belong in the bedroom. This... isn't entirely correct either, though. I'm a multi-faceted person with an entire *life* going on. Dreams, aspirations... most of them shattered, granted.

I'm a submissive creature who belongs in the bedroom *sometimes*. There Republicans, are you fucking happy?

They probably *aren't*. They probably want to scream about how "trans is a mental illness".

Well, okay. That's cool. What am I supposed to actually *do*, though? Because, I'm still *this*. I've *always* been *this*.

#TODO This section has been a bit aimless and personal, and I might edit it down.

I don't know about magic and time travel, but I *am* struggling to believe this is a real timeline. I grew up, *dreaming* of meeting another person like me, and reading that we were only 1 in 30,000 people. I got older and started hearing about "trannies", and I knew that people were aware of us. They talked about us in Women and Gender Studies, there was a higher than average number in the BDSM community... then *somewhere* in the 2010s it just *exploded* in popularity. I know I sound like a boomer, but like... *everybody* has pronouns now.

And... it's *not* the same thing. It's not *this*. I had to write a whole thing about it, because I can't just call myself a "transsexual" anymore.

There are people who've wanted to cut off their genitals since they were toddlers, there are people with a lifelong history of suicidality... and there's *me*. I'm just *this*. Despite the extant vocabulary, I feel like our words have become meaningless to the point that anybody can call themselves anything.

I've long suspected there are different types of male-to-female transsexuals; and I've long thought Blanchard and his supporters were hitting on a, perhaps distorted, manifestation of this fact.

Whatever subtypes of male-to-female transsexual may exist, I'm afraid there's far too much noise *now* to make any sense of them. I think we could at least coin a new subtype called the "whackadoodle" or the "weird internet person"; but I imagine that would be too simplistic, and might fail to capture the full extent of the problem.

It's like... the general public just can't cope with our existence. They either want to kill us, or they want to *become* us. It's *surreal*. And I'm... it. It's almost like I'm...

A *witch*. Some fear us. Others envy us. Most question our existence. Yet, here I am. Raiding mom's lingerie drawer, recharging my magical energy by the moonlight...

It's like, I'm an *actual* witch; in a world where the sensationalized hype is louder than the real thing.

!embed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xVJOef9qkGM

I feel I may've learned the real truth about magic and witchcraft. We always talk about the crazy puritans who went about burning innocent people at the stake. But, what about the other side of the equation? The people who genuinely think they're *actually* practicing witchcraft? They exist, too. They feed off each other; their fears, their superstitions...

An environment where people are spooked out about witches, invariably creates an environment where more and more whackadoodles think *they're* witches. The 17th century version of trenders, if you will.

Republicans get more and more spooked out about trans people taking over everything, more and more whackadoodle people think they're actually a witch or something...

I'm afraid the problem may've reached critical mass.

It would seem the conservatives are kinda *right*. I can't help but think of all the counter-theories. ROGD, social contagion...

#### Ugh

I... *don't* think I have childhood sexual trauma.

Well, except for the part where I thought I couldn't be a "normal woman" in the bedroom. *That* messed me up.

A few years ago, I struggled to explain why *I* seemed to be the only trans woman I knew of with sexual dysfunction. Brittany, Persephone, Stacey, April, Crystal, AJ, *Regina*... *All* of these people were or had been married; sometimes with children.

I'm afraid a more plausible, though less obvious, explanation is that they aren't like me because they aren't *like* me. I may not have been around people with the same underlying medical condition as me since I stopped keeping up with Antijen all those years ago.

I mean, I still remember that weird, uh... *thing* happening; but, I never really even thought about it much before I started troubleshooting my sex problems back in 2019. I'd rather not spend any more time than I already have on contrived theories; like that my interest in BDSM might stem from it, or that my entire gender identity could be the result of trauma.

I feel like I "caught" childhood trauma from Crystal and Drew and Persephone and them, and I feel really grossed out by it. I never meant to misrepresent myself; and I certainly never meant to appropriate something like child sexual abuse. Writing this document has reminded me that I have enough childhood trauma as is. Then again, I think *they* caught transgenderism[^943], from their friends or elsewhere.

[^943]: I'm saying it ironically.

Likewise, I think Susan caught (or perhaps, self-inflicted) a concussion on account of *my* trauma work and associated struggle to remember and reevaluate my childhood. While extreme, this *would* exemplify the behavior of someone with borderline personality disorder.

I believe this episode is a microcosm of human society. I think human behavior... is *contagious*.

Cults, religions, speaking in tongues, magic arts, transgender people, plurals, Al-Qaeda, QAnon, dancing mania...

If you hang around a group of people long enough, you'll unavoidably become *like* them. You are what you eat.

You might *think* you have the willpower not to lose your individuality.

You probably *don't*.

Josh is a libertarian, or... something. April and Drew are card-carrying DSA members. I can talk politics with *both* of them. I'm a

\noindent
social   
fucking   
chameleon.

Spend too much time around Josh and I might inadvertently spout off a talking point about how the Fed is printing money and inflation is about to go through the roof. Spend too much time around leftists and I'll start unironically using the word "bougie" as an adjective.

Sometimes, I come away from interactions feeling like a piece of shit in retrospect; like I'm a fair weather fan, or like I don't really believe in anything at all.

I bet everyone else is just as bad, though. They just don't realize it, because they've never tried to live a double life. They go along, thinking they're a Christian or a Muslim or a Democrat or a Republican or something because of their own free will. It's nothing more than their own free will not to fall far from the tree.

I don't really like politics. I mostly just smoke weed and dick around with computers when I'm not preoccupied with some other story arc. At least leftists mean well. Conservatism is all full of gloom and doom and boogeymen, and I usually end up being one of the boogeymen somehow. Of course, the far left is no better for me than the center right. #TODO What am I even talking about?

I vividly remember a quote; from what I *thought* was Aunty's website, but I couldn't find it when I went looking for it.

> The world needs sensitive men and masculine women.

There was a *lot* of caution urged to would-be transitioners in the 2000s. This wasn't *crossdressing* or *drag*. This was *serious*. It was part of why I started to second guess myself.

Today, that caution has been replaced with a sort of cheerleading. It's complicated, because some people need a little cheerleading, and some people *don't*.

Perhaps more concerning is the near-extinction of a species once of least concern: the male transvestite.

There used to be more of *them* than there were of *us*. These days, you can't identify as a "male transvestite" without everybody poking fun at you for being an "egg".

I feel like you'd actually need *will power*[^944] not to get railroaded into transitioning today, as someone who may have a less exotic reason for wearing women's clothing.

[^944]: No, not Will Powers

With all this discussion, I can't help but question whether *I'm* really transsexual. I keep returning to the direction of causality; I found Antijen, *because* I was wearing women's clothing at a very young age and I didn't understand why. I feel bad for younger folks, for whom exposure to transgender people would be endemic, and the direction of causality less clear.

Conservatives often ask the question, "Why would *anyone* want to do *that* to their body?!"; as if to question my very sanity, or to invoke the age-old comparison of my body to a holy temple. Regardless of what it is you call me, I hope I've made "why I did it" as clear to you as it is to me.

---

I'd lost sixty pounds since the beginning of all this, my hair seemed about as patchy as ever, DIY was my best bet at getting real hormones, and the recurring GI problem could knock me on my ass for a day or two. I could really use a sane doctor in my life right about now.

![I look like a dude (January 2024)](img/rl-2401-headon.jpg)

The office eventually wrote me back and told me I could schedule a visit, but I was on to other things by then. I was no longer convinced *any* of my medication had been tampered with, and was beginning to suspect more mundane explanations for my illness.

One of the things I had discovered about these attacks, is that laying flat on my back seemed to help. I also suspected it might have something to do with a hiatal hernia I've suspected I had since my mid-twenties, that usually doesn't cause major problems. #TODO Backfill hiatal hernia or talk about it here

I took stretching before meals more seriously; and *eventually* looked up some proper backstretches online. This *really* seemed to alleviate the problem.

I wasn't so sure about Dr. Reid anymore, but I at least took her up on the vitamin suggestion. I'd been taking D, B12, a multivitamin, and some B complex vitamins that had expired a few years ago and needed to be used anyway. I was beginning to feel better; but still dealt with the aforementioned gastrointestinal attacks at random, albeit with improving technique dealing with them.

Despite having a box full of hormones that *could be perfectly fine* for all I knew, I was still anxious to get my second shipment at my new little PO Box.

> Get them to the ocean   
> Get them on a plane   
> Hurry, hurry, hurry   
> Before I go insane

In late January, I found an ominous printout telling me to go to the front desk so they could verify my ID. There was no mention of a parcel, so it wasn't clear whether this was routine or due to my suspicious package to a fake name with "Don't fuck with me" on the label. I never took them up on this, and I kept receiving mail.

And, I certainly never had any trouble receiving mail for Harris and Marion, PLLC. But I swear; Alyssa Jones, Dani Elizondo, Isabella Costello... look, I *know* they don't actually look at the name unless you have to show ID to pick up a package or something.

This is the goddamn *postal service*, y'all. Anyway.

I was in the shower trying to wash my face with apricot scrub once day, and when I opened the lid a glob flicked *right* into my left eye. And I was like

> Well, that sucks.

I rinsed my eye out as best I could, and it felt like things were back to normal enough when I got out of the shower.

So, that's January. It was this sobering month, where at the beginning I still thought I was the subject of an ethically-questionable medical experiment, and by the end I was pretty sure I'd simply lost my fucking mind.

I had my biggest "porn relapse" since I stopped really looking at it years ago. This was almost certainly hormonal, and only lasted a couple of weeks. It wasn't very long before I was riding the Progynova train.

I resurrected my old VM of Slackware 13 off my barely-usable Macbook, and went nuts torrenting *gigabytes* looking for these *one or two specific things* I liked the old pictures of. It really wasn't worth it. This little hormonal spell didn't make me feel any more "like a man", and the extra testosterone really just made me into a *much* dirtier submissive.

!embed https://youtu.be/BfkWKjDPpFQ

I'm sorry that we have to talk about my sex life or lack thereof. But, we *do* have to talk about my sex life. Because, I think *I'm* real and *they* aren't. And, I think that *could* be part of my problem, if there even *is* a problem other than my fragile psychology. I certainly think it's *a* problem, at least.

---

I saw that I had the daunting task ahead of merely even *explaining* what has happened to me over the last three years. Yeah, I think I've lost my mind; but, it seemed *everyone else* had too. My therapist egged me on for a whole year before dropping me as a client *under the most suspicious of circumstances*, my friends seemed content to let me play space alien *if they didn't join in themselves*... and there I was, looking for help in the seemingly most obvious of places and getting *dead-ass nowhere*. Everyone either wanted to let me play space alien, or in Susan's case, desperately vied to restrain me while failing to have a real conversation about anything.

What's wild is, I feel like I was *already* stuck in this same unhealthy situation before UFOs happened. I still had the same unhealthy mom, I still had the same whackadoodle friends, I wasn't really opening up to my therapist about serious problems and she was just smiling and nodding in turn...

I feel like... yeah, my life crashed because of bad input; but who the *fuck* named their kid `Bobby'; DROP TABLE STUDENTS`, anyway?

I may be an idiot; but so is everyone else, right?

!embed https://youtu.be/nSA2wYUQTrg?t=25

I *really* need help. From *somewhere*. I don't even know where you're supposed to *go* with a problem like this. Hell, I'm not even sure what the problem *is*.

Shit, dude. How do I even *explain* this? It would be so much easier, if I only knew what *happened*.

* Uh, so I'm recovering from what appears to be a vitamin deficiency, I lost my mind and a bunch of hair because of it... yeah, it's totally crazy!
* So it's the craziest thing, these people told me I was different and needed to learn about the Freemasons when I was a kid, but then I *lost my fucking mind over it* when that UFO report came out a few years ago, and... anyway, I think I might be blackballed and it's really important that I get un-blackballed or something? Do I smell?
* Yeah, so I tried Concerta and that was not a good idea *at all*...
* Sorry y'all, I guess I kinda just... smoked a bunch of weed and wondered off. Yeah I've been smoking on and off since college, but I *really* fell off the wagon this last time with it...
* Well, I was starting to realize my childhood wasn't as picturesque as my mother likes to remind me it was, and yadda yadda I just wrote Slaughterhouse-Five.
* Yeah, so, uh... God is real, or something? God, gods...

I adopted the first bullet point as both the most likely, and most sane-sounding theory to introduce the problem with. I suddenly appeared to be more lucid *now* than I was a month or two ago; if I'm to look at what changed, it would seem to be the vitamins. I'm still smoking just as much pot, and I haven't touched methylphenidate for a *while*.

I decided I should try and put together a video explaining my problem, which I could then put on the internet and give to people.

I pulled out my condenser microphone, and started talking into the webcam with an inflated Volcano balloon.

There was *so much* to untangle. There were *so many* layers. It was like... dependency hell, or something. I couldn't really explain this one thing without explaining this other thing... it felt unavoidable that, due to the compartmentalization of my lifestyle, I would have to link in vast amounts of personal information to explain *everything* to *anyone*. And the size of this statically linked binary was...

Hours. I spent *hours* in front of my webcam, trying to explain all the prerequisites and dependencies, so that I could explain the *other* thing, so that I could ultimately give a complete picture of *what* events, exactly, led to me crashing my life into a ditch.

Okay. So, maybe I have to tell an abbreviated slice of my autobiographical history to explain the problem. For a while, I *really* thought I could edit it down into a watchable video.


![It was too much shit](ext/videos.png)


I spent most of February working on these videos. I'd had trouble getting it all out of me with people face-to-face; I think just because all the layers are so overwhelmingly daunting. And *that* was a couple of years ago.

At the same time, I sort of feel like most of the layers were bullshit. I'm probably just a pot-smoking burnout, who smoked a little too much pot and got a little too burnt out, and... look, I don't really know *what* happened, okay? I didn't even think this was *possible*.

I felt like I had to *explain* it, though. I sent *very* strange letters to a handful of people believing there was something incredibly profound happening to me, and... there just *wasn't*. I guess it just *happens*.

#snippet How long could this possibly take? I *really* thought I could make a 20 minute (or, certainly no longer than 60 minute) video explaining it all.

After a few weeks, I could tell I was making a huge tangle that would take weeks to months of editing to be presentable. I tried doing it from the top in one take, but there was just

*(sigh)* So. Much. Shit.

I needed to talk to Tommy. Let's just start there. Because, I really *do* remember some really weird shit about me, him and the Freemasons, and he sent me that *suspiciously* timed text message a few months ago. But, I could have a faulty memory, I'm probably seeing patterns that aren't there, and I've been acting crazy. I need to have an adult conversation with him that isn't all weird and riddled with paranoia, innuendo and bizarre assumptions.

!lbubbleis Tommy

!rbubble {Wednesday, March 13 2024 09:35AM}
Hey Tommy. I'm sorry our prior conversations haven't make any sense. I'm recovering from a severe vitamin deficiency, I'm afraid I lost my mind and a bunch of hair over it, and I'm trying to piece the last few years of my life together. It would be helpful if I could have a talk with you in private soon.

!lbubble {Saturday, March 16 2024 02:01PM}
Hey Rachael! Thank you for reaching out and for sharing.  I don't judge you. It sounds like you have had a rough time. I would love to have a conversation with you. Forgive me for not getting back with you sooner.

!rbubble {Monday, March 18 2024 09:04AM}
Thanks Tommy. Is any time this week good? I don't mind driving over to Greensboro.

!lbubble {Monday, March 18 2024 09:07AM}
Good morning! I will be in Sanford tomorrow and Wednesday and back in Greensboro for the rest of the week. You are WELCOME to come. However, the next time I am in Cary, I could meet you in Durham. It's up to you! Again, I will be back in Greensboro after Wednesday.


I was still having GI problems, and I remember *considering* meeting him before having to nurse myself for a day or two and deciding *maybe I shouldn't go on a road trip if I can help it*.


!rbubble {Thursday, March 28 2024 09:06AM}
I'm sorry I lost touch with you last week. Would next week be alright?

!lbubble {Thursday, March 28 2024 10:21AM}
I'll be in Florida next week. The following week would work.

!rbubble {Thursday, March 28 2024 10:43AM}
Okay, thanks!


It felt like I was *crawling* toward having a meeting with this guy, who was already talking to me like I was a relapsed crackhead. It didn't instill confidence that Tommy was about to give me the keys to my spaceship; on the contrary, my future was looking pretty bleak.

### Q2

I nervously occupied myself, as if to take my mind off the impending train wreck. All I know is that I *fucked up*. Bad. I set up `make` to batch render my videos, before piddling with Rhinote because I was unsatisfied with *all extant sticky note applications for Linux*, and finally laying in bed playing my switch.

Without much of a plan, and with large amounts of my day spent either recovering from GI problems or stretching in various ways to prevent them, I had little in my playbook except to keep trying to make this meeting with Tommy happen. Maybe I can at least put this past me and work on moving on with my life.

!rbubble {Monday, April 08 2024 09:01AM}
I hope you had a nice trip! Is this week still okay?

!lbubble {Monday, April 08 2024 02:16PM}
Hey Rachael, to be honest, the next two weeks are better, especially if you want to meet up in person. I have a short week this week; I have out of town wedding.

!rbubble {Monday, April 08 2024 03:29PM}
Okay, thanks. I'll probably get up with you next week.

!rbubble {Tuesday, April 09 2024 11:06AM}
I still want to talk to you in person, but... Can you tell me if you were even born in Warren? I'm afraid my memory might be really scrambled.

!lbubble {Tuesday, April 09 2024 11:22AM}
I would welcome an in-person conversation. But, yes, I was born a Warren.

!rbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 08:57AM}
Good morning! Is this still a good week?

!lbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 09:04AM}
Yes!

!rbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 09:25AM}
Great! Can we plan on Wednesday, either morning or early afternoon?

!lbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 09:34AM}
If you wanted to meet in Durham or Cary, I would have to meet you on Friday or Saturday. I'm in Greensboro today through Thursday.

!rbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 09:50AM}
Okay. I wouldn't mind driving to Greensboro, but I'll probably just wait until this weekend if you're going to be here anyway.

!lbubble {Monday, April 15 2024 09:52AM}
That sounds good! Just let me know when you are available this Friday or Saturday.

!rbubble {Friday, April 19 2024 01:19PM}
Is tomorrow still good? I'd prefer morning or early afternoon, but I'm flexible.

!lbubble {Friday, April 19 2024 01:22PM}
Morning is good!

!rbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:06AM}
Good morning! Did you have a particular venue in mind?

!lbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:21AM}
I was hoping that we could meet in Cary. There are some coffee shops where we can sit outside.

!rbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:23AM}
That sounds good!

!lbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:24AM}
What time?

!rbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:32AM}
10?

!lbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:33AM}
That works! 

!rbubble {Saturday, April 20 2024 08:34AM}
👍​ to “ That works!   ”


After patiently waiting the better part of the month, I got to sit down and have coffee with this guy. I wore my halal hoodie out of self consciousness, for which it was probably a couple degrees too warm.

Leading up to this encounter, I made *no* presumption of sanity or correctness. I mostly wanted to open the door to talking about my presumed hypovitaminosis-induced insanity; which led to some very weird messages and letters, and ultimately to a very weird meeting at *a different* coffee shop two years ago.

After we got ourselves seated outside, Tommy threw me off balance when he opened our interaction by asking me

> Why do you think you're *crazy*?

Umm, well...

Dude; what do *you* think?

I took notes about our meeting as soon as I got home, because I didn't want my already-questionable memory to distort the facts.

If there's any thesis statement I could make about this visit, it's that

... Look; this dude is *hiding* something.

It's... the *last* impression I expected to come away with. I expected us to talk about how I was coming to from the *craziest* experience where I thought I had an alien soul or something?

I said I remembered him telling me I should explore the Freemasons when I was younger.

> I never told you that! If anything I'd have told you to stay away from them!

> ... Okay; thanks. I've been through a lot, and I'm not sure I can trust my memory.

> Well, let's say I *did*...

Alright, you sly fuck. Who is this guy, the fucking Riddler?

He seemed to know an awful lot about Freemasonry for someone who thought I should "stay away from them". When I suggested I didn't seem eligible on account of my gender stuff even if I *did* want to join them, he was quick to point out that

> Oh, you could join Eastern Star...

He parroted off lots of generic information about them; that often seemed to contradict the more "underground" things I remember hearing about them over the years. For example,

#### They're old, they're like a secret society, they're from Europe, think Knights Templar...
Okay; I *have* heard a lot of things like that, and it tracks with publicly available information. Yet, I feel I've *also* heard they had origins in Ancient Egypt; if not also some bullshit about "how to build King Solomon's temple".

And also, aren't these Freemason people really quick to say "Ah ah ah; we aren't a 'secret society'. We're a 'society with secrets'..."? *(eyeroll)*

#### They have traditions that "go alongside" traditional religion and spirituality; they have special funeral rights; he keeps religion and Freemason stuff *very* separate.
Well, I know that much is true. Stephanie talked about there being a special section of her family's graveyard for Freemasons.

#### The Freemasons can tell you about what they do, but you can't ask questions
This one *really* sticks in my crawl. It's the exact *opposite* of what I remember from Heather's weird discussion about the "Simon Says" rules.

I could've *sworn* the deal Heather and Maureen (and even *Tommy*) seemed to know about was that they could tell you *once*, and wouldn't know anything about it if you asked again.

Ugh! I really feel like this dude's gaslighting me.

Okay, maybe those are their rules; but goddammit *what am I supposed to do?!* I tore my life apart because I could only remember these goofy "Simon says" rules halfway, and the Freemasons just have... *nothing for me*? I can't help but feel these Freemason people careened me into this bullshit, even if my memory is only half right.

I feel like they gave me this extra life in a video game, that you only get *one* chance at. I feel like I killed Marcus in Fire Emblem.

!embed https://youtu.be/ItUECpFi9_s

#### The lodges don't have windows.
He went out of his way to point that out. I thought that was a little weird.

Back in 2023, I had "visions" that the lodges lacked windows so that they could be used as a spaceport in a pinch; however, I no longer believe this to be even remotely true.

#### His church before Elizabethtown was "full of Freemasons".
Umm... okay? They seem to be walking a thin line between being a "secret society" and telling all their friends, but whatever.

Partway through, he saw a couple at the coffee shop who he knew from his church at Cary. He called them over to our table, and we exchanged greetings for a minute or so. After they walked away, Tommy pointed out that *the guy* was a Freemason. He had officiated their wedding just before transferring to his new church in Greensboro, and referred to it as the most unique and eccentric he'd ever done. The couple looked pretty boring to me.

> I enjoyed talking to your therapist! Are you still seeing her?

> Uh... no. Not anymore...

I eventually mentioned the weird reincarnation thing I remembered point-blank; but tried to make it clear that it wasn't my present belief, and that I thought I was just a little nuts.

> Well, I think you're on a *path*...

Goddammit, that's what you people[^941] always say!

[^941]: I don't mean you *people*... Is that a slur against Freemasons?

I brought up Warren at some point; mentioning that I *did* think we were both from there, despite my prior lapse in judgement.

> Yeah, I was born in Warren. My mom is from Cary, and I grew up down here.

*Okay*; I can see how "Born in Warren, mostly 'from' Cary" may've gotten lost in translation with Vickie as a middle-person. I'll... allow that; *maybe*.

After proving to know a little too much about the Freemasons not to rouse my suspicion at least a *little*, he changed the subject to Susan.

> Susan's eccentric. I've met a lot of eccentric people; but your mother is *really* different.

> You know who Susan is? A *survivor*.

This is *another* point that really sticks out at me; because, I had just recently made the *opposite* conclusion. Most of my life, I've parroted that belief to *myself*; Susan had a rough childhood, she's been through a lot... it's only lately that I've come to the conclusion that she's really just being an asshole, and there's little excuse for it.

I'm her *adult child*, not her lover. While I certainly don't mean to suggest she's ever attempted anything romantic or intimate, I *do* think her emotional attachment and expectations for our relationship are... confused, and unhealthy.

Her trauma isn't my fault, *or* my responsibility. Children are supposed to go in the "liability" column, not the "asset" column. Anyway...

He made it *very* clear that anything we talked about was private. He kinda made it sound like he was mostly avoiding Susan at this point, although it sounded like Nancy might still talk to her sometimes.

He kind of *did* make me feel better about Susan being a whackadoodle, at least. He pointed out that she's, apparently, *known* not to be a very honest or reliable person.

> Oh, she *lies* about everything!

He said at one point. I at least felt a *little* exonerated hearing *that*; people from Bladen County mostly treat us like a normal family, even though I know we're not.

I left; feeling both defeated, and like I still had *something* I needed to grapple with. There isn't much more time and money and Rachael to keep going with, though. Hell; I might even need to chalk *Tommy* up to being a whackadoodle person. Sometimes you've just got to cut yourself out of toxic situations and move on with your life; even if you'll never find the closure you're looking for.

---

I at least felt a little better, having talked to Tommy. He couldn't really help me with anything, but I could at least cross him off the list now.

#### The list
* ~~Tommy~~
* Maureen
* Heather
* Josh
* Kristina?

Shit, dude. I need help. I *really* need help. I feel I've got my wits about me more than I did, but I *remember* Heather, Maureen, and even *my therapist* before I went all Pepe Silvia, knowing about the Freemason-UFO-reincarnation thing. And, Tommy's *still* acting like a goddamn sketchball about it all these years later.

I'm chasing my goddamn tail. I know what I remember! And, I know *these* people are acting about as squirrelly as *I* was. I'd *really* feel a lot better if Heather or Maureen themselves could tell me I was imagining things; or, maybe explain what it is I'm misremembering.

Like; Lyra. I've known the star Vega was in the constellation Lyra since college. Since Junior year, when I had that talk with Heather, and she told me *she* was from the star Vega in the constellation Lyra. I didn't, and still don't, know jack shit about stars and constellations. I think *science* is cool...

Vega being in the constellation Lyra is, like, about the *only* fact I know about the subject matter. I can *verify* it. It's on Wikipedia. And I *know* it, because...

*Heather* told me. She told me she was *from* there. I can't verify anything she told me about Freemasons, or reincarnation, or "exploring mysticism", or *any* of that. But, I can verify *that*. I learned a *lot* of really weird shit, along with *a single* verifiable fact.

I mean; if my memory is failing me, this would seem to be a *highly specific* memory glitch. It's like...

I mean, *come on*. I feel like I'm in a Key and Peele sketch or something. This thing jumped the shark like, 18 months ago.

> Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh   
> duh duh duh   
> duh duh duh duh

> We are live! Keep moving!

> Duh duh duh duh duh duh   
> Duuuuuuuuuh duh duh

Maybe I just need one of these Freemason people to tell me to fuck off. I'll do it, too. Again; wrong turn hundreds of miles ago, no idea how I got here... I swear, everything felt so *logical* at the time. I feel like I was supposed to meet friends at the beach, and drove my car in blissful ignorance all the way to Wilmington, DE; wondering why everything felt so much further away, for only me.

---

My left eye had been bothering me lately with itching and burning, but eye drops seemed to help. I'd often wake up with that happening, and would reach for the drops that I'd needed to buy more of. Whatever.

I started doing *actual* backstretches that I'd found online, and could tell this was greatly alleviating the gastrointestinal problem. It was only *then* that I began to realize how contorted my body had become. My back had curved far inward, and my entire pelvis began tilting back as I stretched. *Ridiculous* amounts of stomach began sliding back through the aforementioned hernia; I didn't even know I *had* that much stomach.

While I had since taken to eating meals standing up in a vain attempt to avoid discomfort related to the hiatal hernia, it was now obvious that no amount of gravity would have caused my stomach to drop down like old times. I *really* just needed to stretch, like *a lot*.

It has since become abundantly clear that *this* is what was causing my symptoms. Not only have I had no gastrointestinal trouble, I'm also able to breathe easier, and I feel much younger and more alive. I probably still spend about two hours a day stretching on average, but it's vastly improved my quality of life.

I've attributed the root cause to an utter lack of lumbar support, or even normal day-to-day physical exercise whilst this UFO business has been going on. I suppose I did it to *myself*, in a way.

Ugh. That's just my life, isn't it? It's all your fault sweetie, try not to be a dumbass next time alright?

I could tell my hair was starting to fill back in, and I noticed a return in my "Cousin Itt" hair for the first time. My weight had also leveled off at around 160 lbs; the skinniest I've been since *at least* middle school. I didn't think that was *possible*. I've already told myself I'm just going to stop eating if I ever weigh over 170 again.

I've theorized that the weight loss may've been caused by the long-term mis-positioning of my stomach. It probably reduced my appetite without me realizing it, akin to having your stomach stapled. If there was malnutrition, it might also explain the hair loss and vitamin problems. The other obvious conclusion would be that the lack of vitamins was making me lose weight and hair; if it can't simply be attributed to the extreme amount of stress I was under.

---

I spent much of May debating whether I should talk to Maureen or Josh next; before ultimately deciding I should probably just start with Josh. He's already involved, and I don't really even *know* Maureen that well. I was starting to think UFOs and Freemasons might not be my biggest problem; as much as I'm left hanging for the final chord.

!lbubbleis Josh

!rbubble {Wednesday, June 05 2024 07:41AM}
Hi Josh. I'm recovering from a vitamin deficiency that caused me to lose a lot of hair, and I'm afraid I may have lost my mind for one reason or another. I'm sorry I've been so weird the last few years, and I feel awful for missing your wedding. I'd like to catch up soon if you would.

!lbubble {Wednesday, June 05 2024 07:45AM}
Morning Rachael! I'm so glad to hear from you! I'll be in Durham on Sunday if you want to meet up

!lbubble {Wednesday, June 05 2024 04:36PM}
No pressure, just lmk


Right. He'll be in town on *Sunday*. I, uh... forget about that sometimes. That we don't really...

Umm... talk about religion. I don't talk about religion with *anyone* from Bladen County, really.

I'm *very* open about being an atheist when people ask what I believe in. I'm not sure anyone from Bladen County has really *asked* me point-blank if I'm still a Christian; except for my mother once, when she was *concerned* that I watched South Park.

Okay; so Susan is just weird, and unreasonable, and *very* incompatible with who I am as a person. I've had to accept that. *She* probably won't ever...

So, I guess it's just... never come up. Not that it has to be a thing, or whatever. Except...

Well, yeah. It kinda *does*. Because I was an atheist, then I *wasn't* one, and now I'm one again. I don't know if I'm about to get a probationary warning from Richard Dawkins for that or...

Okay; so he's a *wee* bit conservative, and he kinda sorta liked Donald Trump *a whole lot* last I knew, and when we *do* talk about politics we tend to bond over the time I went through a libertarian phase when I was younger that I sometimes pretend I never grew out of.

*(Sigh)* My, uh... childhood best friend is a Christian conservative, isn't he? There's a *word* for this...

Dude. What am I even *doing* with my life? Have I managed to make even a single friend who actually *knows* me? I think my entire life is a collection of masks I wear around people to feel safe. Because I'm afraid the entire world is going to disown me or something, for being different

> and acting like a queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnn

This was a bit like a splash of cold water to the face. Let's just... grab lunch with the after church crowd, and catch up on what's been *happening* in this crazy little brain of mine!

Do I *really* want to go straight to sweet little Jesus boy Josh Johnson with this?

A few days later, I decided

> Dude. Fuck trying to make a video. I need to *write*.

I created a markdown file, and started writing at the part where I was born in Warren, Ohio. I knew this was going to be an *incredibly* personal piece of writing. I knew this wasn't "after church special" material.

I kept writing. I looked for something to beautify markdown, and that's when I got into pandoc. Have you done pandoc? It's a drug. I did it when I got tired of writing. I started putting latex in the frontmatter to tweak the appearance, until I'd done enough of that to make a `.sty` file.

While randomly scrolling around on Wikipedia and reading about the Jay and Silent Bob universe, I discovered that "Alyssa Jones" is the name of the lesbian love interest from Chasing Amy. I've never watched any of the Clerks movies; though I do feel a spiritual connection to the character of Silent Bob.

!embed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAeFPZ-yXYM&t=57s

### Q3

I got to writing about high school, and this realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Why I'm blackballed.

It's *Emma*. Remember? She spread a bunch of lies about me after our thing fell apart.

It brought me back to what Bill was trying to tell me all those years ago. Dude... I bet if I look bad to people for some reason, it's probably because she told everyone I was a rapist or a pedophile or something, and people still believe it. Maybe I was supposed to defend myself more vigorously or something, but I mostly just ignored her. It felt like she was feeding off my heightened emotions from being outed.

!embed https://youtu.be/cK98jx7gw7w?t=150

I was *really* pissed off about this for like a week; I kinda doubt it's even the problem now. I *had* completely forgotten that Emma exists; it might actually be a good thing I didn't go to Josh's wedding if she was going to be there.

I kept writing. I got off to a really brisk start, but I was losing steam.

My left eye kept sucking, and when I woke up with really annoying burning one night I went into the bathroom and was like

> Alexa, set a timer for fifteen minutes.

> Fifteen minutes; starting now.

And I was all like

> *(schwiffiffischwiffischwiffischwiffischwiffischwiffisch)*

Cupping water into my hand, until I got to like minute twelve and I was all like

> Arghhhaaaaafuuuuuuuckgoddammitaaaaaaaa

And like, a *bunch* of apricot started coming out of my eye.

Like, I didn't know you could *have* so much bullshit in your eye without realizing it. It was like my eye had hammerspace.

This knocked me on my ass for, like, *at least* a week; but really, more like two or three with recurring problems after it was *mostly* out.

One of the more annoying problems is that it made me *really* sensitive to light, to the point my eyes couldn't adjust to the light outdoors and I could barely drive. I had already become largely nocturnal, but this really encouraged me to get food at night and early in the morning; where I was often *still* blinded by the lights in the drive-through or elsewhere.

The other annoying problem that might go without saying is that it was like having to work a million little grains of sand out of your eye, that are bound together by what I can only describe as "Satan's mucous".

Ugh! Just... don't, if you can help it.

I got some proper eyewash from Target, and it helped a lot. After a while it felt like it was maybe loosening up a little *too* much and making my eye burn like crazy; the little cup was *always* helpful though, even when I just needed refreshing tap water.

Anyway, I'm done with that now, but was *still* getting a little bit of gunk out sometimes as of a few weeks ago.

Sorry, this is supposed to be about UFOs. Jeez, I wonder why this is taking so long...

Josh sent me *this*; which frankly reads like some sort of weird copypasta. I need *real* things I can actually *do*.

!lbubbleis Josh

!lbubble {Thursday, August 01 2024 08:47PM}
[](https://www.docdroid.net/file/download/Tc0VFp6/disclosure-on-technologies-and-applications-being-used-against-american-targeted-individuals-pdf.pdf)

!lbubble {Thursday, August 01 2024 08:52PM}
[](https://archive.org/details/disclosure-on-technologies-and-applications-being-used-against-targeted-individuals/mode/1up)


Okay -- so, my childhood best friend *might* be a right wing conspiracy theorist. I guess I should've... well, he's already involved, for better or worse. I swear to god, everyone's either a neo-Nazi or a literal commie these days.

To be fair, maybe I'm not one to talk. I'm not sure *I'm* entirely sane, and I *do* still think there might be something a bit "out of this world" going on with me. I think there's a scientific explanation for everything, and I'd certainly like to find the scientific explanation for *this* some day.

I couldn't really work on writing for a week or two, and used it as an excuse to figure out how to write filters for pandoc, as well as pull my old Jekyll site off my disassembled server. I *had* planned to simply build a PDF with pandoc and share it out of Google Drive.

I wanted to see how bad things would look just running my markdown through Jekyll, but after writing my own pandoc filters I ended up just running the HTML out of pandoc through the templater.

I was eventually able to get back into writing again, picking up where I'd left off around 2016. I kept telling myself I wouldn't waste time on various cosmetic aspects of document preparation, but I kept making excuses. There's still a lot I'd like to do, and I'm trying to control myself.

I had a conversation with ChatGPT to try and see what AI would think of my basic problem; and was [amused when it seemed to take the same missteps *I* did back in 2021, all the way to starseeds and indigo children](parts/gpt-on-freemasonry). I felt at least a little vindicated.

I decided to similarly start back at square one with *Google*. One source said most people who became masons in the 19th century were doing it to get *insurance*, of all things. I've never heard that one before.

At the time of writing, searching "Freemasonry's big secret" on DuckDuckGo produces [this](https://www.gaia.com/article/freemason-secrets-ancient-masonic-rites-rituals-and-myths) as the 5th result; a *seemingly* benign article from Gaia.com, which I remember from 2021 as peddling weird goddamn UFO shit and this dude Steven Greer who strikes me *now* as a sort of cis-male Persephone.

[This article on Wikipedia about Gaia.com](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaia,_Inc.#Lawsuit_and_accusations_of_Luciferianism) is an absolute *doozy*.

Chasing my *goddamn* tail. Chasing my ever-loving *goddamn* tail over here.

![I've been better, but at least I'm not in gitmo](img/rl-2409-dead.jpg)

The seasons just. Keep. Changing. I'm still just... *this*. Wearing my halal hoodie around, taking my vitamins and my DIY hormones, waking up a few hours after sundown... asking myself whether I should stop smoking pot and eating fast food as I'm careening into oblivion, before ultimately concluding it won't make much difference either way.

> Take my vitamins, check my messages...

I just... *never* thought I'd end up here. Everyone always acted like I was going to be *successful*. Like, I was destined for greatness or something. They acted like I was going to be the next Bill Gates, or Curtis Brown or some shit. But, I never had my shit together at all. I prioritized finding companionship over building my career, and ultimately succeeded at neither.

Well, that sucks.

Going through my Discord messages while preparing this document, I found one from Erika I'd either missed or forgotten about.

!lbubbleis Erika

!lbubble {Thursday, September 22 2022 01:07PM}
hey so like I am the absolute worst at everything and apparently 8 months is the same as 8 minutes in my timeline 😂😂 just popping in to say hi and we miss you and uhhh we’re both eggs! Lmao

~~I... *don't* think Erika is transsexual. Not that *(he?)* explicitly mentioned T, but they were already experimenting with non-binary pronouns, so I'm just gonna assume...~~

Actually, after reading this again it sounds like she may've been telling me *Jason* is a trans woman. This is somehow more believable; Jason's the only other subby boy I've met who likes doing it with a Hitachi (not that that's unheard of). I already knew Erika was non-binary.

Dude. Is this a *real* timeline? Despite my now-disbelief in any whackadoodleness about me being the face of an errant timeline or something, it *does* feel a bit like I'm... the *thing* here, right? Like, the goose in a circle full of ducks?

It's like... transsexuals are ice-nine. And we turn, like, *some* percentage of the population, upon exposure, into

... transgender people.

Despite no longer thinking I'm being pursued by the government, I *have* grown concerned conservatives may institute a pogrom against the transgender population.

It feels inevitable, really. A world full of witches and people who fear them... like a sort of microphone squeal, that starts with one too many trans people whispering into it.

I mean, it's only a matter of time before the research catches up, and we realize a lot of these people are just *nuts*; right? *Then* it's a *public health* crisis. How do you handle *that* through policy?

... Quarantining the infected?

I'm very concerned that, nearly ten years post-Jenner, this is *at least* as big an issue as it was at the start; with a voice that's managed to grow *even more shrill*.

> What about the *children*!

And, it's a *good* question. Because, *Lupron* is pretty harmless...

It goes without saying, a generation of people who regrettably transitioned young out of hype is the *last* thing the transsexual community needs right now. And, it seems a bit selfish to start with *that*, and not the *actual children* who might grow up with problems of their own.

I was too busy working on this and rinsing gunk out of my eye to really pay attention to sports, but I kept seeing headlines from the Olympics about how such and such boldly proclaimed that she ***was*** a woman. And... it just felt *weird*.

Because, I don't really know that *I'm* a woman. I'm just a human who likes female hormones and sexually submissive roleplay. I've kinda always felt like the label of "woman" was something bestowed on me by other people. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, granted, *in a very non-sexual way...*

This whole thing *sucks*. I just want my old life back. I used to have a job, and friends, and a doctor, and a therapist... I could still do without Susan frankly, but it *is* sad I don't really even have family in the mix.

In 2019, I *really* felt like I finally had my shit together. I was a late bloomer, but I was full-time[^945], and was thinking about finally trying to date "as myself" or whatever, I had a job at a "real" company for once...

[^945]: As a woman. I know this is confusing.

My life just *fell. Apart.* I found myself unable to keep up at *yet another* programming job (maybe for different reasons, granted). There was way too much shit going on with me *before* there was way too much shit going on with me, I foolishly tried involving my mother because she kept whining that I never tell her anything and yelling at me for not "loving her" enough or whatever, then there was an *emergency* with very suspicious timing under very suspicious circumstances, which only led to more suspicious bullshit...

![Maybe my hair'll grow back just in time for me to lose it again](img/rl-2409-happier.jpg)

A year ago, I was *proud* of how far I'd come. Sure, I wished I'd have transitioned younger, but...

Now, I can't help but see myself as a complete failure. I *should've* started taking hormones when I was in college; and, I probably *would have* if it weren't for the horrifyingly confusing experience I had coming out in high school. As much as Susan drones on about how much she "loves me", I *really* thought I might have Just Evelyn as a parent or some shit. When it turned out I *didn't*, I... kept making excuses for her; and decided I might actually understand her crazy ways if I were a *real* woman.

Love... isn't *words*. It's *real stuff*. Susan doesn't listen to me. She doesn't care about how *I* feel. She cares about how *she* feels. She cares about how *she* feels about *me*. And, that's love to her.

Susan doesn't know what love is. I can only assume her family of origin didn't really love *her*. I frankly don't even know them that well; they're basically rednecks who say "pop".

Susan conflates the roles of an adult child with those of a lover or long-term partner; not in some sexual or incestuous way, but like... she yells at me for forgetting things about her, like you'd yell at your husband for forgetting your anniversary, right? That's... not healthy. Susan and I are so far apart now, I don't think we could ever "make a deal". She only wants more and more of me, and I really just want to see her on major holidays *maybe*.

I don't think Susan thinks I'm retarded anymore. I don't think she's suing me for custody of myself.

I *do* think she's kind of an asshole, and I'm *still* suspicious both of her fall, and of what happened while I was in New York. While it's extreme that she may've injured herself to spend more time with me, this *would* fit the profile of Borderline Personality Disorder; which I already suspect she has anyway.

Susan's been... running a racket.

I'm convinced my life would be *way* better today if I'd never come out in high school, and if I'd have just told her goodbye in college. I would've transitioned earlier, and I wouldn't have had this crazy lady manipulating me and vying for control every chance she got.

I guess I just want to be... *understood*. Nobody's ever really gotten to know me. Maybe it's my fault. I guess I've been afraid so long it's all I really know.

I was so afraid of being *disowned* or something, after I learned that was a thing that happened to people like me. The ultimate irony is...

... If I were disowned, I'd *probably* be better off.

This is about UFOs though, right? Goddammit, what even *is* this?

I've nuked my career *twice*, I've missed two of my best friends' weddings, my house is a mess, my yard is overgrown...

And I just... can't.

My life is in absolute *shambles*. There isn't even a *government agency* for this. It's like... I need FEMA, but there wasn't a hurricane[^942].

[^942]: I wrote this just before I learned about the thing, but I'm leaving it.

I'm running out of money, and I've spent most of the year just trying to figure out *how to explain* the problem. It's just

So. Fucking. Complicated. I think I was over 100k words last I checked. I'd like to edit this down because I don't really want to make people read something this long; but there's just

So. Much. Backstory.

And I *still* skipped over bits that I need to fill in, but I've probably said enough, right? I've probably said *too much*.

I don't believe in anything anymore. I don't even trust my own memory. But, I can't deny my own reality. I think most everything that's happened to me since the summer of 2021 is bullshit, but I *still remember everything else! So fucking clearly!*

Heather. Maureen. Tommy. Goddammit, *so much* weird shit with Tommy. Like, dude; *what?*

I don't know what to do, except to tell you a large part of my life story; *just as I remember it*. And as far as I can tell, everything *else* about my memory seems to be just fine. It's just so *bizarre*.

It seems really obvious *now* that I started freaking out from paranoia in the summer of 2021 after seeing there was a UFO report and reading stuff online. Okay. I *did* recently start taking methylphenidate, so who knows what happened there. Maybe I jumped the shark people a little bit.

But; just a few months *before* that, this stuff casually came up in our therapy session. Go back and look if you don't remember.

Like; unless my memory's scrambled, that *happened*. It isn't a vision I had, it wasn't some bizarre premonition... this is a *real* conversation I remember having with my psychologist over Zoom on a Wednesday, where I brought up Persephone's enthused "mysticism and magic and UFOs" talk, and she *reminded me* that it was *reincarnation* and yadda yadda "Oh yeah, Heather!"

Then there was all that stuff about me needing to learn about the Freemasons, and then... I mean, from my POV, it kinda just seems like all I needed was the transitive property and a little nudge to put the puzzle pieces together.

Given the very likely conclusion that all the "messages" in my head are bullshit, I can't help but feel the truth might *somehow* lie in between. For example,

What if it *really is* reincarnation, just like I remember? But, it *isn't* anything Persephone was talking about. Because, I *really* think she's a whackadoodle at this point. I was *already* starting to think that a few years ago, but I still thought she knew about this stuff and I hadn't cancelled her yet.

Look, y'all. I'm a hardened atheist skeptic who doesn't believe in ghosts; but I remember what I remember, and there's still a lot I don't have an explanation for.

Maybe it's something indistinguishable from reincarnation, or something that's close enough? What if it's technology that can manipulate one's life force, or transfer consciousness? I'm trying to keep an open mind, while also being mindful of the possibility that my memory's just shot.

Whatever it is; I don't fucking *know*, and I have bigger problems. I have well less than 10k in my bank account, and I can't see myself getting back to work anytime soon. I know the world's telling me to get a fucking job, but I feel like I haven't had a vacation in *years*. I've just been *stuck*; getting tortured in the prison of my own mind.

One thing's for sure; I could *really* use a time machine right about now.

The irony is, I think "spiritual awakening" is the perfect word to describe what seems to have happened. The human mind; it's just

*This*. Incredibly fragile, prone to delusion and paranoia... it happens to the best and worst of us. Just look at history. Religion, cults, miracles, visions, ghosts, angels, spirits, demons... Hell; just a couple hundred years ago, schools were teaching that everything was made of earth, air, fire, and water.

We are *really* young as a society. And *I* thought I was better than them. *I* thought I was too smart to fall into the same trap generation after generation of religious kook has found themselves snared in.

I. *Found.* Jesus.

> Light my candles   
> in a daze   
> 'cause I found God

I feel pretty weird sending this to my childhood Christian conservative best friend. Last he knew, I went through some kind of spiritual awakening. I *still* believe that I at least *heard* it was reincarnation, because *how else* could this have happened?

Frankly, this derailment in my life feels a bit surgical; like, some group of people knew *just* what to tell me to make me hit a sort of breakpoint *right fucking here*. I can't argue that, I *really* think my life was moving in the wrong direction. I had resigned myself to being such a misfit that I wouldn't even *try* normal dating; I based this mostly on my preferences and experiences when I was trying to be *a guy*, and never really adjusted my dating strategy for my gender change. With BDSM being as normalized as it is today, and with vanilla relations being more palatable with me as the woman anyhow, it seems I might as well just make a Tinder and order a pumpkin spice latte.

But, dude; *why* does everyone have fucking *pronouns* now? I don't want to be in the dating scene as another one of *those* people. They just... *aren't* the same thing as me. I might've at least had a chance with a more well-adjusted "tranny chaser" type, but *now* I'm worried there are just too many of us. I guess I could talk about how truescummy I am on my ODP...

Sorry. This is supposed to be about

**UFOs!** Goddammit, I wish I could come up with a TL;DR better than

> My Freemason preacher had me read "The Kybalion", and it   
> *destroyed*   
> my   
> *fucking life*.

I couldn't help but laugh when I was scrolling through Wikipedia a few weeks ago, and it dawned on me that the most prominent organization promoting an alien reincarnation theory was *(wait for it)* the Church of Scientology.

> Key Scientology beliefs include [reincarnation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reincarnation "Reincarnation"), and that traumatic events cause subconscious command-like recordings in the mind (termed "[engrams](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Engram_(Dianetics) "Engram (Dianetics)")") that can be removed only through an activity called "[auditing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auditing_(Scientology) "Auditing (Scientology)")". A fee is charged for each session of "auditing". Once an "auditor" deems an individual free of "engrams" they are given the status of "[clear](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clear_(Scientology) "Clear (Scientology)")". Scholarship differs on the interpretation of these beliefs: some academics regard them as religious in nature; other scholars regard them as merely a means of extracting money from Scientology recruits. After attaining "clear" status, adherents can take part in the [Operating Thetan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operating_Thetan "Operating Thetan") levels, which require further payments. The Operating Thetan texts are kept secret from most followers; they are revealed only after adherents have typically given hundreds of thousands of dollars to the Scientology organization.[[14]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology#cite_note-FOOTNOTECowanBromley201527Tobin2016Shermer2020-14) Despite its efforts to maintain the secrecy of the texts, they are freely available on various websites, including at the media organization [WikiLeaks](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WikiLeaks "WikiLeaks").[[15]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology#cite_note-FOOTNOTEUrban2011186%E2%80%93188-15)[[16]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology#cite_note-FOOTNOTEUrban2021174-16) These texts say past lives took place in [extraterrestrial cultures](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extraterrestrial_life "Extraterrestrial life").[[17]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology#cite_note-FOOTNOTEChristensen2016-17) They involve an alien called [Xenu](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xenu "Xenu"), described as a planetary ruler 70 million years ago who brought billions of aliens to Earth and killed them with [thermonuclear weapons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thermonuclear_weapon "Thermonuclear weapon"). Despite being kept secret from most followers, this forms the central mythological framework of Scientology's ostensible [soteriology](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soteriology "Soteriology").[[18]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scientology#cite_note-FOOTNOTERothstein2009371-18) These aspects have become the subject of popular ridicule.


What are Heather and Maureen; Scientologists? They never *said* anything about Scientology, and they didn't even try to recruit me into their little cult. If anything they seemed a bit guarded about some secret they only seemed to take half-seriously.

I feel like I'm stuck in a sand trap. Like, I *know* I took a wrong turn if I'm wading into Scientology territory. Right?

At the same time, it *does* feel like there's been an almost deliberate poisoning of the well of information when it comes to anything involving UFOs and reincarnation. But, maybe that's the *point*. Maybe Heather and Maureen and Tommy and them know what can *really* help me, but they had to push me into this little sand trap because otherwise I was going to wonder off the course entirely.

Enough speculation. I *clearly* lost my mind; right? And, what about now? Am I sane yet?

Well, not exactly. I *still* have that feeling. People in my head; but like, *actual* people. Famous people, boring people, friends and family... like they're living my life with me, skipping around to certain parts, asking me questions, telling me things. It *has* to be some kind of delusion, right? What do I, need Abilify or something? It's like... I was *fine*, until I just *wasn't*. So said *everyone* with a serious health problem. 

It's *actually* how I decided my friends were all trenders. The stuff in my head. It's *still* there really, just like it has been. I've just been pretending I'm more sane, because the stuff in my head has *gotten* more sane. I no longer think the government is after me, at least. Maybe I'll be *completely* back to normal after a few more months.

So, what if my friends aren't even trenders? That'd be *great*. I'd love to hear that.

But; why didn't they have the childhood crossdressing thing like I did? It was a *really* powerful impulse. You can't just... pretend you don't have that going on with you as a kid. You either have it or you don't.

It's like, I *started* grounded in sanity (my memories), and have ended grounded in what feels sane (*too many transgenders*). As if I passed through a tunnel of insanity, to come back out the other side just a *little* different.

I... need new friends.

### Waiting for Godot (Q4)

It's serendipitously the first of October; so, this is the first quarter that might also be considered a journal of sorts.

I had decided to reach out to Josh first. I'm running out of time and money, I really need to go to *someone* I can trust for advice on how to get my life back on track, #TODO I'm forgetting the third thing

I've been reading the last few days that there's *really* bad flooding from Helene in the western part of the state; where Josh moved back when I was just starting to think I was Dani California. Like, they've got literal FEMA out there and shit. I feel pretty weird about that thing I said earlier.

His phone is offline, so I can only assume he's stuck out there. The *best* case is that I'd drop this on him right as he got his utilities back. But dude; they got like close to a foot of rain out there. They might be paddling around in a canoe for all I know.

I wonder how much *my* mother would freak the fuck out if I were stuck out there? Anyway...

I mean, *I'm* worried about the guy. Less than a hundred people have died, so he probably isn't one of them. I hope he didn't buy a house on the riverfront.

> This is something bad...

Who else do I go to? Fucking *Maureen*? I hardly know this woman, and I haven't seen her in years!

The same could be said about Heather. And, it's not like I expect *either* of those people to help me with anything except confirming my insanity.

Despite everything I *expected* out of my talk with Tommy earlier this year, I really still think he was hiding something. I'm essentially done pursuing it unless Heather or Maureen have something fruitful to tell me, and I suppose I just need to try and move on with my life.

Like, I need a fucking *job* first of all. And, I feel like I'm just getting back to normal. My hair's growing back, my delusions are at least becoming more sane... I have no money *or* health insurance. Where else do I go,

Susan? She's fucking broke too, *and* she's fucking crazy. Now, that's *one* thing I've come to understand since our "breakup", and it has *nothing* to do with her thinking I'm retarded. She does *treat* me like I'm retarded, though.

I'm just... not going to, with Susan. I don't suppose they've been waiting to give me my old job back? I only got it the *first* time because Josh put in a good word for me.

I'm just... not cut out for the working world. I'm not sure I'm cut out for any kind of a world. This place is

Just. So. Crazy.

I don't know how to get up with Heather, except through my trender friends Jason(?) and Eric(a). I guess I could re-write this to wash over the part where I became truescum. But like,

Goddammit, I can't make people read this 100k+ word monstrosity. Josh's, like, the only person I really even feel close enough to subject to that. And I don't even know if he has a house still.

I'm planning to run it through AI for help with... well, ChatGPT can at least be my friend.

I *really* fucked up.

It seems almost poetic. My life has been torn to shambles by some invisible force of nature that we might as well just call God, and I don't know of much of anywhere to even *go* other than my Christian conservative childhood best friend. And, atheist me keeps hoping to pull the Scooby-Doo mask off of "God" and say "Aha! It's really just our old friend, mild schizophrenia!"

I still lack what I would consider a satisfactory explanation for *nonetheless* my pre-2021 memories, about meeting lots of people who seemed to know "the truth about UFOs was just reincarnation". If it's just mental illness, I think it would behoove me to know *what* it is, so that I can maybe stop tearing my life apart over stupid bullshit.

I should probably stop smoking weed, because fuck knows what I'll have to do for money. I just can't bring myself to care. It's like watching an oncoming train wreck, and I know the brakes won't help so it's hard for me to find the willpower to even pull them.

Dude. I *fucked up*. Fuck whoever made me think I was going to be the next Curtis Brown or some shit.

I need to get off the planet.

---

A month and a half after first texting Josh, I managed to finally have an over two-hour long talk with the guy. I suppose there was a lot going on.

!lbubbleis Josh

!rbubble {Tuesday, October 01 2024 08:15AM}
Are you... okay? Where do you live again?

!lbubble {Friday, October 04 2024 07:40PM}
Yeah I’m ok! Henderson County. I’m in Bladen now

!rbubble {Saturday, October 05 2024 10:20AM}
I'm in the process of writing a document, in an attempt to explain the last few years of my life. There's a lot I still don't understand; but, it probably isn't what you think.   
The document is mostly complete, and is already over 100k words. I don't want to ask very many people to read such a long text. I'd appreciate it if you would, and was about to offer a draft or WIP copy of it, because it's been exhausting and probably says enough already. I would like maybe a few more days to make it a little less rough.   
I'm really sorry I ran off like I did. I was very overwhelmed, which might make more sense with the provided context. I really could use some help from somewhere, if only just life advice.

!lbubble {Saturday, October 05 2024 11:06AM}
Ok. I can read it whenever you’re ready. It’s ok, I’m glad to hear from you!

!rbubble {Friday, November 01 2024 02:55PM}
Hello, here's my thing.   
(...)/life   
user dude pass RalphNader2024

!lbubble {Friday, November 01 2024 02:55PM}
Hey thanks for sending it!

!lbubble {Friday, November 01 2024 03:11PM}
You’re a really good writer. I can’t wait to finish this whole thing. I wanted to ask you something else while you’re listening. This is completely unrelated to your life lol. Avalon kept doing more and more rounds of layoffs after Vertex bought us and wants to resell the company and we finally fully replaced QuickFile with returns console so they eliminated my position like a month ago. I feel like you could write me a good letter of recommendation mentioning working together at CrystalSoft and Avalon, and mentioning how I naturally fall into leadership roles within the team even when I’m not officially a manager or technical lead. Could you do that?

!rbubble {Friday, November 01 2024 03:37PM}
I don't know that my recommendation would be worth much given my own situation, but I certainly wouldn't mind writing something.   
I'm probably about to fall asleep and wake up around 11.

!lbubble {Friday, November 01 2024 03:38PM}
You don’t have to say much about yourself except what your role was and when you worked with me. No rush at all. Definitely doesn’t need to be today

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 08:12AM}
I think the most important immediate take away is that you should find a new doctor and therapist ASAP, and maybe psychiatrist, and start fresh telling them the whole truth. Don’t hide anything. You need people managing your hormones and mental health meds that you can trust. Physical problems like the stomach issue definitely could have been addressed sooner if you told a doctor. Thank you for trusting me with all this information and allowing me to try to help you. As your friend I want what’s best for you. I think there’s a lot we should talk about and it might be easier in person to discuss a lot in less time. I’ll be in Durham next Saturday the 9th and I’ll be free in the morning. We can text too. I have a lot of thoughts and maybe some ideas.

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 09:58AM}
Thanks Josh. I appreciate you.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 10:05AM}
You’re already improving many things. You’re much better off right now than a year or two ago. I’m gonna help you talk through this and think rationally about what to do next. You are an extremely smart and capable person and you can still have a great career and social life and sex life and relationship life. The fact that you wrote this whole thing proves that you are capable of being productive and focused. Let’s work on it one step at a time. You’ve told me everything so you don’t have to hide anything with me, I just want to be an ally and I hope you’ll continue to let me in so I can help.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 10:06AM}
*hug*

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 10:06AM}
That took me 9 hours to read btw

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 11:00AM}
I'm sorry. It was a day's work to proofread half of it 😭

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 11:30AM}
Haha I bet

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 12:05PM}
If I came to Durham today would you want to talk?

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 12:21PM}
I’ve been dealing with some mental health problems since my dad died and I’ve started seeing a therapist and got some vyvanse for adhd. I’ve read the kybalion. I’ve read your whole story. I can talk about this stuff. I can relate.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 12:24PM}
I agree that Emma and your mom are crazy. She was my first girlfriend too and I was naive and a late bloomer so less developed mentally and she fucked with me and was manipulative and crazy with me too. I’m the only one in your life who remembers all these different things.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 12:40PM}
And we both obviously have Asperger’s and have spent a lot of time analyzing “normal people’s” behavior logically as if it would ever make sense. We’ve been friends forever because we think similarly.

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 01:08PM}
I'm pretty worn out honestly, and my sleep schedule's pretty weird. I had good intentions of trying to clean up around the house now that I gave somebody my thing, but I haven't really done anything today except dick around with my computer.   
I would suggest Zoom or something, unless you're way more paranoid than I am at this point.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 01:22PM}
Zoom is a great idea. I’m really tired too right now though. Let’s do it soon

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 01:46PM}
Like, now soon or...?

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 01:48PM}
No I meant like sometime in the next few days or weeks, but really whenever you want

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 01:51PM}
That's what I thought, just making sure lol

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 02:46PM}
This is random but December 26 = 12:26

!rbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 02:47PM}
I am aware.

!lbubble {Saturday, November 02 2024 02:47PM}
Ok

!rbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 10:16AM}
I've been assuming I broke you given the silence, but I guess you could be waiting on me. I also didn't mean to put you down or anything, and am just trying to look at all possibilities while also being honest about what I believe in right now.   
I'm not doing anything with my life except decompressing this past week, and I probably need to get back to doing something again. You're welcome to message me anytime; however, I am partially nocturnal and subsist on something resembling Paris time. I really could use someone to talk to if only for emotional support, but also no pressure.   
I'm planning on reaching out to Jason Martin, the leader of the actual IEEE robotics team. We haven't spoken in years, but I felt like I was highly respected by those folks, and Jason seemed like he had his shit together. I feel like I need to reel this way in, because my life is pretty off-track.

!lbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 11:03AM}
Hey sorry. We went to my in-law’s house in Delaware this past week so I knew it wouldn’t be too private for a zoom. I still want to talk to you

!lbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 11:04AM}
Also since Tuesday I thought you might be a little upset about the election and might need some time before you wanted to talk to me. Lots of people seem to believe extremely bad things are going to happen to LGBT people for some reason.

!rbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 11:31AM}
No worries, that makes sense.

!rbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 11:32AM}
Eh, it's complicated but I'm fine.

!lbubble {Sunday, November 10 2024 11:36AM}
Today I’m going to Charlotte for a basketball game. I’m free during the week

!lbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 08:41AM}
When we gone meet?

!rbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 09:44AM}
Can we do something in a couple hours? I would like to get food and maybe take a shower first.

!lbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 10:00AM}
Ok

!lbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 11:37AM}
I have some kind of cold and it hurts to talk if I talk a lot at the moment. Sorry, I should have thought of that earlier. Can we do it tomorrow? Hopefully I’ll be getting better. I promise it’s just this cold and I’m not avoiding you!

!rbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 11:44AM}
Yeah; that might not be an awful idea. I was pretty caught off guard at the idea of having my first real conversation in over a year, and I might have my shit more together in the near future 😅

!lbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 11:46AM}
When is a good time for tomorrow?

!rbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 12:46PM}
Probably like 3am-3pm lol

!rbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 12:47PM}
It's also fine if you're still not feeling good.

!lbubble {Wednesday, November 13 2024 01:00PM}
Ok

!lbubble {Thursday, November 14 2024 12:19PM}
I still feel bad. Just woke up. Can we wait another day?

!rbubble {Thursday, November 14 2024 12:33PM}
Yeah sure

!lbubble {Thursday, November 14 2024 01:01PM}
Sorry it might be Covid or something I feel like shit

!lbubble {Friday, November 15 2024 10:00AM}
Ok I’m finally improving! I went back to sleep yesterday after lunch so maybe all that sleep helped lol. I can meet in like an hour

!rbubble {Friday, November 15 2024 10:37AM}
Do you want to try for like 11:30-noon?

!lbubble {Friday, November 15 2024 10:37AM}
Sure

!rbubble {Friday, November 15 2024 11:36AM}
meet.google.com/...


I'm writing this about fifteen hours after ending the call and falling asleep. I have a lot of complicated feelings about how things went. We had a good talk, and I feel better that I at least closed the loop with Josh.

The bottom line is, he didn't really have any advice for me; other than "get a job" (in the nicest way possible). Josh's still a Christian, but he didn't seem bothered that I was an atheist. His main bullet points were

* Get a therapist; and tell them *everything*.
* You need to get a job; so that you can get insurance, and get a therapist and *tell them everything*.
* Susan's probably a little "off", but she really cares about you and means well. She seems to still be freaking out about my absence, and is legitimately unaware of how I'm fairing.
* He was less convinced than I am that I had sideburns.
* Nor was he convinced my friends were transtrenders, or otherwise fundamentally different from me.
* Toward the end, he voiced his concern about the young age at which I was into BDSM, and suggested this might be the result of sexual trauma.

I was working down the trauma -> BDSM pathway around 2020-2021, and took it seriously at the time. I no longer believe this is a good explanation; though I can't rule it out. Again, as cringy as it sounds, I *really* think I caught the ROGD equivalent of sexual trauma and structural dissociation, because that's what like half my friends were ostensibly dealing with all of a sudden. Ick!

Josh voiced his doubts that Susan really snooped around my house while I was away. Not gonna lie -- I've had doubts about this myself. I still don't really see a winning move with Susan, and am less-than-certain about how to proceed with our relationship. I guess I hoped for more solidarity about how much of an asshole Susan was, but I got the impression Josh was underestimating how difficult she is to deal with.

He brought up the weird copypasta thing briefly. I wanted to pick at the parts of it that sounded like it was written by a nine-year-old on cough syrup, but I couldn't multitask while I was talking to Josh at the same time. Josh at least admitted that it was far-fetched, but also seemed to think it was just as likely as anything I thought it might be. I still maintain that the copypasta thing doesn't really even make sense; and that we might as well go all the way back to starseeds and indigo children if we're going that far out on a limb.

As much as I want to tear into it, I frankly don't think it's worth my time. It's *obviously* bullshit. I think the bigger problem is that my childhood best friend is basically a right wing conspiracy theorist who flirts a little too closely with fascism. #TODO I could talk about this. I almost cancelled him after the Busy Bees thing.

I can't help but think of what Bill said all those years ago. He asked me if I had any *political signs* outside my house. It isn't inconceivable that *Josh* is my "political sign". I've made an awful lot of excuses for him over the years, but he's really only drifted further and further to the right. I'm worried I'm going to start spouting off his weirdo talking points just by hanging around him too much.

We didn't exactly have a bad talk; but overall, I can't help but feel... disappointed. I mean, I don't know what I expected, exactly. Given Josh's seeming lack of enthusiasm to talk to me leading up to the call, I guess I was expecting a "hand up" rather than a "hand out"; but, I didn't really even get a hand *up*.

!embed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ix7PlYCdgHQ&t=21s

I set the bar pretty low going into the call, and still didn't come away feeling much better. My biggest relief probably comes from the fact that I now know I can't really depend on him for much of anything substantial, and that I can finally cross him off the list. I guess I can't help but feel I would've been a better friend to *him* if the roles were reversed. And, I'm not even talking about the money; although he *did* take a road trip to Delaware and went to a basketball game before taking the time to tell me to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get a job.

I guess I feel a little cheated. I guess I tried to make Josh out to be my "one of the good ones" conservative friend, and ended up getting *my* face eaten by leopards.

One thing's for certain; I don't want to be Alyssa Jones *or* Dani California anymore.

---

I remember finding a single gray hair in my late twenties. I kind of just laughed it off as this weird, errant hair that I found.

I have at least two of them now. I can only imagine there are probably more I haven't found. And, I'm still missing like half my hair.

I'm not doing great. After really teetering back and forth about it, I decided to pay my mortgage this month at the last minute. I probably shouldn't have. But, I wasn't ready to start getting hounded for being in default on my mortgage yet, on top of everything else I need to figure out.

I have $3,800.54 in my bank account. I liquidated all $20k-ish I had in my 401k from Avalon earlier this year, and I have no other real assets other than my house. The value has certainly gone up overall despite me not taking very good care of it.

I feel awful. This was such a cute little house. And, maybe it could have a cute little house again. But, somebody needs to take a Bobcat to the front yard.

I can't take care of a house. I can't even take care of myself.

Josh was trying to get me to fight. Like a coach when you're behind at half-time.

> Do you want to keep your house?!

> Well, yeah...

> Then get a job!   
> Look for anything! Go work at Food Lion!

It feels like everything from Josh to ChatGPT to my own social programming is telling me there is one, and *only* one, top priority, and it's *really* obvious.

I need to get a job.

But, I'm not sending out any resumes. I'm not even *thinking* about doing that this year. There's really only one viable solution I've found satisfactory.

I need to kill myself.

What really sucks about this, is that I can't talk about it with anyone without risking involuntary commitment. It seems there's a decent case for holding me against my will under North Carolina law.

* I have a mental illness and/or a "substance abuse problem"
* I am a danger to myself, and/or unable to care for myself

And, I *know* what they're going to do to help with me with my problems. Fuck-all nothing. I'm just going to lay there not watching the Hallmark Channel again until somebody decides it's been long enough since I last talked about killing myself or being a space alien, and then *maybe* they'll let me go. And then they'll send me a ginormous bill again for the privilege. (They stopped asking about their last bill a long time ago; which I have no intention of paying unless *maybe* they do a little more explaining.)

For that matter, I'm *very* concerned they wouldn't let me take HRT. Because, I *am* on what some psych doctor with clenched butt-cheeks might call a "sketchy DIY hormone regimen" in light of recent events. And, I *still* don't have an explanation for why my doctor pulled me off hormones *almost as if on purpose, every time she saw me after the psych ward incident*. I'm not sure I wrote about it earlier, but the thought that somehow the psych doctors/court system compelled my doctor and therapist to lie has *certainly* crossed my mind. I've balanced this fear with a belief that I live in a free country with strict medical ethics guidelines; and that nobody has seemingly compelled me to *do* anything or debriefed me on any sort of mandatory treatment plan. All I know is that I got out of the psych ward, and suddenly my doctor and therapist's treatment plans turned on a *fucking dime* without any explanation. And, it just feels shady and unethical as *fuck*.

Suffice it to say, I do *not* trust the mental health system. Frankly, I think I'd been pulled in an at least somewhat wrong direction with the work I'd been doing with Vickie, but then shit just got *inexplicably* weird. And, the first part isn't really her fault because it's incredibly hard just to get anything meaningful out of me.

This isn't the result of mental illness. This isn't the result of pot. The *initial problem* may've been precipitated by those things. But, *now* I just need help. And I'm reaching out, and there *isn't any*. Nothing except a bunch of people telling me to get a fucking job.[^947]

[947]: Okay, I'm catastrophizing. It's one person telling me to get a fucking job. But, it *feels* like it's the world telling me that.

You know what I need right now? FMLA. Remember when they put me on that without asking two and a half years ago? I had them undo it, because I thought I had friends, and a therapist, and a job, and a support network, and a sane HRT provider... It just hurts how quickly things have gone from "Oh, the paperwork for you to take a leave of absence to work on your mental health has already been filed for you, get well soon Rachael!" to "Oh, *there* you are... why don't you get a fucking job already..."

Are there government benefits for somebody like me? ChatGPT didn't really seem to think so, but I should probably talk to a real person. There probably *aren't* though, because I can't pass a drug test.

I just feel like I slipped through the cracks. And, there just isn't a safety net for people who fall through the cracks. It's *why there are homeless people*.

I don't feel like I need a job. I feel like I need *something to live for*. I need somebody to snuggle me, and tell me everything's going to be okay. I need somebody to help me get my life together. I need a self-improvement gigolo. Because, I have no intention of even *applying* to work at Food Lion.

A lot of people would find that prissy. I don't feel like it is. I took a $30k/year pay cut to run away to Chapel Hill to fix computers, often doing work that felt close to blue collar.

It's really not about pride. It's about *my life*. It's about *my future*. Back then, I was in my mid-twenties, and shifting my life focus to finding a long-term partner, and creating a web application that might help me find a long-term partner. I had *plans for the future*. I had *something to live for*. I was doing work *now*, to prepare me for a future life with that *special someone*. And then I was just *transitioning*.

Maybe I should make an ODP before I finally kill myself? But like, I reek of desperation *now*. I'm missing half my hair. And I'm going *gray*. I'm a gray-haired virgin.

Somehow, I always knew that would be my fate. A gray-haired virgin. At least I'm skinnier. A couple gray hairs in exchange for 80 lbs probably *is* worth it. Is this the law of equivalent exchange?[^946]

[^946]: Sorry, Stephanie made me watch Full Metal Alchemist when we were doing anime. I'm really not a weeb or anything. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

I feel like I need to give you fuckers an ultimatum. Because, some fucking douchebag is going to freak the fuck out that I'm about to kill myself, and they're going to call the shithead fucking cops again on me, and... look. Here's the deal. You get me involuntarily committed, and I *will* kill myself. Just out of spite. It's like mutually-assured destruction. Sure, I can't do it when they have me in a little padded room watching the Hallmark Channel, but I can do it *eventually*. And, *that* is all I have. It's my nuclear arsenal. Now you're fucking with Dani California.

Don't.

*Fuck*.

With me.

I *will* make you regret it, and I *won't* have to hurt a goddamn soul to do it.

*(Okay, I've calmed down a little bit since I wrote this...)*

I need *help*, okay? Do you know what *help* is? I still don't even understand what's *happened* to me, first of all, and... look, I don't really even know what I'm *asking* for. I just need help reintegrating into society, because I've totally *slipped through the cracks* and I don't even know where to start. And, dude.

I don't *really* even want to kill myself. It's sad as *shit* that it feels like that's my only option right now. But here I am, thinking more logically than I probably have this *decade*, and... I don't *have* a better idea for solving my problems than killing myself. And, I *really* want one. And, I don't want one of you goddamn assholes to lock me in the looney bin again where nobody's even going to listen to me.

I just feel so *hopeless*. There's just *nothing*. I got through *years* of mental torture, thinking some rock star or my future husband or some shit was going to hold me and make it all better at the end of all this, and there's just *nothing*. Nothing except cold, hard loneliness and looming poverty. There *is* no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. There *is* nothing obvious for me to live for.

---

You know what I did today? I spent $150 on weed. Because, I need something to live for. And, *that's* what I'm living for right now. I can take it day by day. I have something to look forward to later today, or in a couple of hours. I'm *living* for something. But, I used to live for *other* things, too. I lived to hang out with my queer friends. I lived to get tied up and beaten with stuff for fun. I lived for the hope of a future with one or more people. I lived for the prospect of a career doing what I wanted, even if I made risky and questionable choices that put me behind in that space.

You know what I've been working on? No, not typing this out. I wrote this in my mind a week or two ago, probably while stretching my back and puffing on a volcano bag.

Ship of Harkinian. There's something I've wanted to do since I played ROMs in college, and that's *make the bank teller in Majora's Mask less goddamn annoying*. He's always got you pressing the wrong button when you're in a hurry, and he won't shut the fuck up and take you back to the main menu when you obviously meant to make a withdrawal instead of a deposit.

![Fucking asshole.](img/mm.png)

I spent more time than I probably should have over the last week, making sure the dialog isn't weird if you talk to him when the moon's about to crash, making sure there aren't any animation hiccups from going to `GINKO_ANIM_LEGSMACKING` when he's already doing that... I've done everything except make the PR at this point, really. (Okay, there's more I want to do but never mind that.)

---

I'm going through the names of people I should reach out to next. And, I'm starting to feel pretty hopeless and overwhelmed that I probably need to start lying about the whole truescum thing with most of my remaining friends; and I'm feeling a bit at a loss, but first of all

#### Tommy
Alright, you son of a bitch. I've been talking to you with kid gloves on, but

Look; dude. I *don't* like Christians. I've blamed them for damn near everything that's wrong with my life. They're the reason I didn't feel safe being myself, they're the reason I couldn't take antiandrogens as a kid without doing shady shit, they're the reason my head was filled with weird bullshit about sex that made me feel like some sort of freak who could never find love unless it was at the fringes of society.

I *don't. Like. Christians.*

I think the world would be a better place without religion. I think *I* would be immeasurably better off without religion. They start holy wars, they found inquisitions, they burn crosses...

There would *be* no homophobia without them. There would be no transphobia without them. There would be no "weird sex stuff" without them (between consenting adults).

I think you're a decent dude. Frankly, I think you're too *smart* to be a Christian; and so is Grace, for that matter.

Look, dude. I *really* think you're hiding something. I have no fucking idea *what*, exactly... I remember what I remember, and that's been damn near the only constant throughout all of this. I don't know *how* the devil you did it, but you knew about shit from the *future* you son of a bitch!

Why won't you people talk to me? Is it 'cause I keep trusting Josh? I really *am* a dumbass for trusting Josh. I feel gross about it. I feel like I gave him the root password to my fucking life, and he was just kinda like "Cool story, bro."

I haven't talked about it yet at the time of writing, but I almost ended our friendship like a decade ago after a politically-charged conversation with Cameron got *way* out of hand. After writing a letter to him about how I thought he just wanted to watch the world burn, Susan bought us surprise tickets to see Van Halen (why?), and I kinda just decided to forget about it. And, he's only gotten more and more fashy since then. He said some shit about Sandy Hook crisis actors, he said something about (((the Jews))) in the car once, he *loves* Trump... Like dude, do you even *know* any Jewish people besides the Goldstein's?

I feel like I'm friends with this dude because he was the one other intersection between Elizabethtown United Methodist Church and Bladen Lakes Primary School, and then my mom just shipped us like crazy from that point on. I feel like I should've just drawn an entirely new hand from the deck when I left home, but by that point I'd been made to feel more anchored to Bladen County and my crazy mother than I actually was.

If I haven't just *made up* all that shit I remember you saying forever ago, it's *really obvious* to me *now* that I've fucked up by making Josh Johnson my "best friend". I'm pretty sure you've *told me* not to trust Josh and Susan, and I've kept on doing it anyway. So, I'm pretty untrustworthy, I guess.

I can't imagine it *isn't* too little too late for me to realize it. I might just have to die, knowing I *could've* gotten the keys to my spaceship if only I were a little bit less of a dipshit. But, I do realize it *now*, for what it's worth. I didn't pick my childhood best friend really well, or *at all* for that matter, and I'm a *goddamn dipshit* for it.

What is your *deal*, man? Why are you so goddamn *sketchy*? And, what the actual *fuck* did you and Vickie talk about? Whatever you said to her, she didn't want to be my therapist anymore, and she didn't want to explain why. But, I could *really* use an explanation as to what happened, because y'all are just acting *weird*. Like, goddamn. And,

Look, I feel *awful* if this is some big secret I'm supposed to try and hide from the government. But like... come on, how could they *not* know something that was *that* common knowledge among the population? I'm certain that if there *is* a truth about UFOs, the government *must* know what it is. Which makes the conversations with Heather and Maureen where they claimed the government *wasn't* in on it seem even weirder.

Anyway; I don't know what to say, except I've *given* y'all time to talk to me without putting shit on the internet. So please, shut me up or just kill me if my words would put innocent people in harms way. But, like, clearly the problem is that I'm *not* trustworthy enough to be told anything of *actual* substance; right?

Like, do I need to run before Trump takes office again? I still don't have a passport like I planned to get before January, and for all I know I won't even be around for inauguration day. Because, that's a good cutting-off point and things are looking pretty bleak for me. Anyway,

What is yall's deal? Do you *want* me to kill myself? I feel like I've been driven utterly *insane* just from the apparent gaslighting. What the fuck *happened* to me? Where do I go? I'm probably just making myself sound even more crazy, but like y'all are *killing* me with these goddamn Simon says rules! Man, I *told* myself I was done trying to talk to you, but I can't even *help* but give you a piece of my mind! This shit with you and Vickie and everyone else just doesn't add *up*!

Okay; now

#### Kristina
You're like, apparently, the *most sane friend I have*. I mean, I guess we don't know each other that well in the grand scheme of things, but like... you pulled away from our friendship as soon as I started talking about aliens and UFOs. That's... exactly what *I* would've done. So, I like you. You seem reasonable. And, I *really* don't think your ex knows any *actual* secrets to the universe. But, she probably *thinks* she does.

You seem like someone sane who might have some ideas for me. I doubt you'd send me anything like that weird copypasta thing Josh sent me.

---

It's December 12th, and I'm only now backfilling the part where I worked for Kevin a decade ago. I skipped over that when I felt like I was writing this to Josh, because he was there after all.

I'm just feeling

*low*.

I have no hope and almost no money, and I don't feel I even have anywhere else to go except back to Tommy fucking Warren. Maybe I still remember all that weird stuff with him a long time ago because he's my only hope for survival.

My feed is filled with looming worldwide bans on trans healthcare for minors, and I just

*Don't. Want. To exist.*

Even more than I already didn't want to. And it's not even like it's the first time my feed has been filled up with this bullshit, but I'm just

*So. Fucking. Exhausted.*

With fucking Christians (my blanket stand-in for any cultural conservative who's pissing me off today, really) talking about me like I'm

*Not. In. The fucking room.*

Me. And everybody *like* me. I mean, the people like *me*. Like little [Francis Bacon](parts/francis-bacon).

I'm afraid I'm close to eliminating most palatable alternatives to suicide. And, I've spiraled to the point that I kind of just want to leave the world with *this*.

While writing this document, I've often felt like I was writing my suicide note. And, I might not've been wrong about that feeling after all.

I'm just so

*Utterly. Fucking. Frustrated.*

At the Christian bullshit that keeps showing up in my feed. Such and such votes against "sterilizing our kids"... "Look at this poor little transgender ten-year-old who's afraid she's going to get murdered"...

And

Nobody's. Listening. To *me*.

God. Fucking. *Dammit*, you fucking Christians. You make me want to bang up my trumpet case on the roof of the bus again. I have

Just. Fucking. *Had* it with you people. God-*dammit*.

I *knew* something was wrong when there was a chapter on us in Women and Gender Studies class. Look... we're like this... kind of unusual thing that just exists from time to time, okay? We just need to take hormones and blend in with society as a normal man or a woman, alright? Because, life and friendships and dating and shit is *never* going to make any real sense to us otherwise, and without some sort of early intervention these kids are just going to grow to be all... Fucked up. Like me. Just, look at *me*. Is *this* what you'd want for your child? Because, *this* is the world Christians have created. They had a *lot* of chances to love me, and... they ended up just doing *this* to me. At the risk of not taking responsibility for my own failures.

"Christian love" kept me from even *socially* transitioning in high school. "Christian love" made me feel like something was *wrong* with the way I was born. Like "God" just gave me some creepy, abhorrent sexuality nobody else understood because he loved me so hecking much or something. "Christian love" discouraged me from even *trying* to transition once I left home. Basically *everyone* who knew in high school besides maybe Cameron and Noah treated me like absolute *shit*. Like, *my* gross, perverted little tranny ass needed to be quarantined until I learned how to be a normal respectable member of society. Just

So. Much. Christian. *Love.* from these people. Not a single one of them has ever apologized for the way they treated me. Hell, Susan's whitewashed history into panning herself as some sort of champion of transgender rights on Facebook or something. I've let Christians move the goalpost for decent treatment of a transsexual all the way to simply *not getting disowned or sent off to crazy camp*. And I've done it with a smile on my face, because *anything* feels better than nothing. But just

Fuck *you people*, okay? We have freedom of religion in this country, alright? And, we have a right to bear arms. You still can't just start packing heat before you're of age, right? Well, maybe kids ought to be of age before they can start doing something as dangerous as religion, eh? That's how I feel. Deregulate porn and make *religion* 18+. Because, from where I'm standing *that's* the real crux of most problems in America right now. Maybe even the whole world. Just

Fuck. *Religion.* I can't believe I actually thought I went through a "spiritual awakening" or some shit. I really *must've* not been in my right mind. Not to mention, some of my friends had gotten *really* weird by then.

And, I don't know. Maybe part of me wonders if *that's* the frustration Republicans have been picking up on. They weren't around in the 2010s, when this went from just some weird birth defect we talked about on aging listservs to a "third wave intersectionally-feminist *thing*". They only noticed the last part after it exploded when Caitlyn Jenner came out, and they're just grumpy because it *does* feel like some of these people are just 21st century college lesbians. I mean, let's be honest.

It's like... I'm stuck in a culture war where neither side's fighting for me. There's just an overly-permissive, "fly high lesbian seagulls" side and a casually dismissive "they're corrupting the youth" side. And

*Nobody.* Gives a *fuck*. About *me*. *Especially* Christians.

!embed https://youtu.be/yjZ7f2Gib9E

Okay, so I am *really* grumpy. You know why I started writing all this dark shit before I ate a burrito and fell asleep? I had a *really* dark idea, that actually solves most of my problems. And it's that I'll just leave this as my suicide note, with the goal of spurring a sort of "dark me-too" movement. These people keep talking about us like we don't exist, but there are all *sorts* of people whose lives are fucked up because of this same sort of "Christian love" that's still being touted today. And sure, there are probably lots of whackadoodles who "wish" they'd done it younger, too. Okay. But like, there are *real people* like me who are *way* maladjusted, because we can't assimilate into society as gay *or* straight men, and we lack the socialization to ever really assimilate into society as normal women (as opposed to trans-women, or any other sort of classification that didn't really exist in mainstream society twenty years ago).

Susan tried to tell me I was too *young* when I came out at the end of 9th grade. But the truth is, I was too old before I knew it. After the precocious start that I had, I entered college at age 19 lacking confidence that I was even really transsexual, I started HRT seven years later... and by then, normal women my age were getting married and I've never even had a sweet sixteen. Never really been on a normal date with a guy... You know what Susan did when I was that age? She made me go to the prom with Ariel White. Because, she kept telling me I'd regret it if I didn't go to the prom with my friends. And, you know what I *actually* regret?

I'm not even going to say it. You *know* what I fucking regret. The point is, I could've used a lot less Christian love, and a lot more *actual* love; the sort you get from understanding, secular-minded 21st century people who aren't cuckoo for cocoa puffs crazy about Trump and Jesus.

And my point is, they need to hear it from *us*. *We* need to be on your goddamn fucking news feed. Not some poor little ten-year-old transgirl who says she's scared and she feels a lot better with her hormones,[^949] not some he-said-she-said finger pointing between some opinionated doctors and politicians and talking news heads...

[^949]: Okay; well, maybe her *too*, but, you get my point, right?

*Me. My* life's fucked up because *I* didn't get this sort of life-saving help that really could've just amounted to something relatively safe like Lupron and a big fucking hug. And, they don't even fucking *know* what Lupron *is*.

You, know? Lupron? The GnRH antagonist? It's been around for a pretty long time, and it has a pretty low side effect profile. I don't think I've ever heard a single report of *anyone* regretting the adolescent administration of Lupron. It isn't hormones, you know... my crazy mom made that conflation when *I* tried to get something like that in the year 2006, and it seems you Christian Republicans aren't really any smarter than my kinda slow Christian mom. I mean, you know what Lupron is?

It's the *conservative* treatment option. Because, it does *nothing*. Fuck-all *nothing* except delay your shit until your older.

You know what the *liberal* treatment option is? Like... HRT in mid-high school. Like some kids with parents who actually *loved* them got to have back in the mid-2000's. Back when *I* was that age.

Yes! We existed in the mid 2000s! Us transsexuals with loving parents, taking "hormones" and "puberty blockers" in high school and just flying under the radar. Not dying our hair blue, not using neo-pronouns, not dressing up like a fucking anime girl...

We *existed*. We *blended in*. This *helps* us, you see.

It isn't *just* that I didn't get to have the body I always wanted. It's that I never got to build a real *life* for myself as a woman. Instead of having girlfriends to gossip with, I have a bunch of dude-bro drinking and smoking buddies I used to play video games with in college. *That's* what I have as my foundation. Not going to the mall, or talking about boys, or really doing *anything* that might be considered socially-normal female activities. I mean, I can't even really *make* a list, because I wasn't there. I kind of just know the stereotypes, right? Because I was

Socialized. Male. Out of *Christian love*.

And, those dude-bro friends never really even *got* me. They always saw me as kind of a downer, or a spoil-sport, because I didn't want to be their wingman, or "go to the club", or "get pussy" like them... It's always like I would slink away from those parts of guy culture I couldn't really integrate into my own experience. And *that's* how guys really bond with each other. *That's* the mall shopping and the girl talk part of it. And I never even got to *have* that at an appropriate age. Because, muver *wuved* a-widdle Efan so much that she didn't *want* a-widdle Efan to guow up to be a cweepy gwoss *twanny*...

So, here I am. I'm 34 years old. I frankly don't think I've ever even *had* a "best friend" in any meaningful sense of the word. And lord knows, it isn't because we didn't know what was going on with me in middle school. Susan just wanted to cover it up and sweep it under the rug, and hoped she could just find a way to make me grow up *normal*, somehow. She *wuvs a-widdle Efan*, but she never *really* loved me at all; again, in any meaningful sense of the word. I feel like I was some sort of cockroach kid, who she was almost *forced* into loving because of her religious convictions and not because of any sort of real desire to help me. It's really just all about *her*, and her idea of a future for *us* once she retires. Ick!

Anyway, what the *fuck* was I talking about? Christian love? Lupron?

Alright, you fucking asshole. Yeah, you. What's the deal with fucking *Lupron*? Can you give me even a *single instance* of somebody growing up to regret taking *Lupron* before the age of 18? Because, I don't even think I've heard of a *single* person who regretted taking Lupron as a kid. And, it *doesn't* "sterilize kids". I mean, full-blown HRT might... Which really just makes the whole "don't sterilize our kids" argument bad science. Which, I guess is exactly what I ought to expect from a bunch of fucking retards who believe in Jesus and hydroxychloroquine. Goddammit, I hate Christians...

Anyway, Lupron? The regretful people list for it? No?

Because, I'd *love* to put my name at the top of the regretful people list for *this*. And, you're *never* going to see my face on your news feed unless I actually *do* the thing. You know...

I think I've found a cause worth dying for. I've been saying I need something to live for. Well, I still don't have that, but at least I have something to *die* for. And, that gives me a sense of purpose. It gives me a sense of fulfillment. My fucked up life can still count for something.

Anyway, fuck gun control. We need *religion* control. Maybe we ought to do a background check before you're allowed to conceal-carry a religion.

It's too late for me to be... anything I wanted to be in life, really. I'll never be a normal woman in society. I'll never be a rock-star developer. I've emptied out my already-belated retirement savings just trying to explain what happened to me over the last three years. But, you know... I've always wanted to help people. I've always wanted to do something to make the world a little bit less shitty, because *goddamn, this planet sucks*. And, maybe *that's* the real reason I got so burnt out working for Kevin. This feeling that nothing I do really makes a difference in the world, and that nothing I did really brought me lasting happiness or joy. I'm just destined to want things I can't have.

My cringy high school journal reminded me that I actually wanted to be an activist when I grew up. I was inspired by the transsexual activists of the 2000s, like Andrea James and Calpernia Addams and Lynn Conway. And, I wanted to be like one of *those* people when I grew up. And, I guess I never really knew what to do with that once I decided I wasn't really transsexual. But, maybe *now* I know what to do with it.

I don't think anybody knows who these people even *are* anymore. But in the year 2005, you couldn't be a transsexual and *not* know these names. I feel like our hidden little world has just been...

Colonized. By overzealous blue-haired feminists with silly pronouns, who kinda just took the liberty of rewriting our history for us. And, I don't even mean to talk *that* much shit about feminism in its traditional form. But, shit has just gotten... weird.

It's too late for me. But, it might not be too late for little Aiden. It probably *is* though, if they live Tennessee or some shit.

And, don't trust your Christian parents, little Aiden. Not even if they're a Democrat. It's not worth it. Just... figure out your business on your own, and don't let your crazy family keep you on the hook after you turn 18. Just... be *you*. You only have a tiny window to learn how to be a woman while girls your age are also learning how to be a woman, and it's closing fast. Your crazy mom might wuv you so much that she wants you to fink about it until you miss that window. And... then you'll be like *me*. Ick, right?

I'm just fucking *pissed off* at you retarded fucking Christians, and your retarded fucking "don't sterilize the kids" rhetoric, and your retarded fucking faces, and your retarded fucking Jesus. Because, you people don't give a *fuck* about helping the downtrodden when they're staring you *right in the goddamn face*, and you'd rather grandstand about some group of remorseful Lupron users that doesn't even *exist*. God*dammit*, you people are fucking stupid.

And, you know what? Little Aiden *might have* ROGD. And, you know what else?

It's *Just. Fucking. Lupron.*

I hope we'll get better at separating the wheat from the chaff. Because, shit *really is* weird right now.

So, what? You're going to punish little Aiden because the pendulum of third wave feminism is swinging a little too far left? *Of course you are! You're fucking Christians! I'd expect no less from you after the last ten years!*

It's just stupid, because... I'd believe little Aiden over someone who had a sudden epiphany in their 30s or something, but the Republicans want to ruin little Aiden's life, *and also* let the 30-something-year-old whackadoodle ruin *their* life, too. The ideal treatment for transsexualism has *always* been for the young, and frankly I don't think shifting the age of treatment forward would do anything to improve our optics.

My point is, we should view the 30-something possible whackadoodle with *at least* as much suspicion as we do little Aiden. But... we don't. *Republicans* certainly don't...

Okay. So, I might have feelings. Am I ever going to show this to anyone, alive or dead?

I don't know if I even *want* to go talk to Tommy again. I think *this* is what I'm meant to do. I don't know what the fuck got into me over these last few years, but it feels like I've somehow managed to find some sense of clarity through all of it. One I've never had before, even when I was still a high schooler intent on doing the thing when I was old enough.

I know how I'm going to do it. Most suicide attempts fail, so I want to employ redundancy. I plan to use a combination of burning charcoal in a walk-in closet (or maybe my car), trying to suffocate on helium, and maybe taking lots of potassium supplements in an attempt to induce hyperkalemia. There are still potential pitfalls, though.

* I need to unplug all the smoke detectors, first of all.
* And, I think smokeless charcoal varieties might be harder to find in America. This charcoal-burning thing seems to be really popular in Asia, with their low-smoke charcoal that I think might be made from sawdust or something if I remember? I think I have a bunch of old hookah coals from forever ago that I might try and use, but I don't know if that'll be enough.
* It might be helpful to position boards or even just plastic sheeting across the top of the shelving so as to reduce the volume of air I'll be breathing.
* Party City helium is like 20% air, which would necessitate an effective way of separating out the helium from the heavier gasses. This gas inhalation method is generally popular with the "exit bag" concept, and I *really* wish I could get the good shit. If only I were a clown or something... I'm hoping I can do something that involves breathing the top air in the exit bag, and keeping the helium intake tube toward the bottom so that the heavier gasses will just pour straight out.
* I wanted to do it for New Year's (like that chick from Paralytic States, I guess?), but that is approaching *fast*. I want to get my little "manifesto"-thing I've written here on the public internet with redundancy and shit so that it doesn't just disappear, *and* I need to make whatever final preparations I might need to feel complete ending my life here on Earth. So... maybe January 20th, if I have enough liquidity to make it until then?
* And, what do I even *mean* "my life here on Earth"? Where do I think I'm going; the Pleiades?

Seeing as how involved all of this is, I *really* wish I could just get a bunch of Fentanyl or something.

Oh, wait! Can I get Ambien off *(website redacted)*? Just thinking out loud here (literally, I'm writing this in real time).

Ugh, nope. Ambien, Zolpidem... I got the feeling they didn't sell actual controlled substances as a matter of policy. Rats. Well...

Idk. Maybe I can score a bunch of LSD or something while I do this, at least.

On second thought, that might be a bad trip. I'll think about it.

(I'm a fucking *hippie* goddammit, I can't even *score* hard drugs. The world is *totally* not how they made it sound in D.A.R.E. class...)

---

Man; what am I doing? Should I try Tommy one more time or not? I mean, this *is* pretty weird. There really *is* a lot of seemingly-credible weird UFO shit in the news again, I really *do* remember what I remember... I mean, there's a chance I'm *supposed* to kill myself. Maybe it's more pleasant than what'll happen to me and my whackadoodle friends when Fuckface Patel comes for us. Maybe my death *now* would count for something.

I've been too busy with *this* to follow the news and the election cycle all that closely, but shit just feels like it's at a fever pitch. Like, I thought I'd look around on r/lgbt or something to see just *how* worried I ought to be if I weren't to kill myself, and I couldn't get very far before I found a bunch of pride stuff along with polyamory pride. And I'm just like...

Okay. I've been adjusting to *that* culture shock since I was a college kid at the slosh, with Maureen and Erika both obviously having a thing going on with Isaac. So... okay. It's normal to *me*...

The other side is starting to scream shit like "THEY'RE ALL JUST PERVERTS AND PORNOGRAPHERS AND PEDOPHILES AND MARXISTS AND THEY'RE STERILIZING YOUR KIDS!"

The reality is... we have a *bit* of an optics problem over here on the left. There's been a lot of talk about how Russian troll farms pumped up MAGA, but I think they're simultaneously trying to drive the left *further left*. As if it's somebody's agenda to drive America apart to the point of sparking a civil war.

I've been casually following the Russia thing since the early 2010s, when *John Stewart* reported on unsavory ties between the Kremlin and the then-new RT America news network. It's *really* obvious that they want to meddle in our politics, and they probably think they have something to gain by driving America apart. First of all, it would probably mean the end of NATO as we know it... at that point it'd basically just be the "Western European Treaty Organization".

John Stewart, man. Speaking of people who I've been thinking could bring America back together again...

Anyway... Russia's gotten sketchier, Trump's gotten sketchier... it looks like we're about to have political prisoners in America for the first time, certainly in *living* memory...

I mean, I remember reading about Russia a decade ago, and how Putin would freely interchange the words for "homosexual", "pedophile", and "beastophile"; so as to perpetuate a conflation between these very disparate concepts. And, now we're starting to do that *over here*. Lukashenko's been arresting and torturing queer people, and sentencing anyone who can be convicted of "distributing pornography" by some weird flimsy definition. And, Project 2025 is basically pushing the same Lukashenko logic, trying to link porn and drag queens and transgender people together.

I mean, I'm either speaking to the choir, or speaking to a Christian dumb-ass by this point, right? Who am I even trying to *address*? Josh? That dude drank the Cool-Aid[^947] a *long* time ago.

[^947]: Jim Jones actually used *Flavor-Aid*. Common misconception.

I'm just *pissed off*, man. I've been dealing with this sensational bullshit about trans people ever since Emma happened in the 9th grade; and I'd be lying to little Aiden if I told them it gets better. I mean, you can get new *friends* and improve your situation *that way*... But the world just *sucks* for people like you, Aiden. It always has, and it'll be a really big deal if it ever *doesn't* suck for us anymore.

Frankly, I liked the world better when I had to explain to that therapist the difference between a transsexual and a transvestite. The increased visibility doesn't seem to have really helped us all that much, and now we have fewer freedoms than we did back in 2005.

So, anyway, I'm pretty sure Russian trolls might be the reason my friend group gradually turned into a bunch of furries and neckbeards and commies and plurals and age players. Not that there's anything *wrong* with any of those things individually... but my point is, I think at least some of these people might be more-than-a-little impressionable. We have a bit of an optics problem over here on the left. And it sucks, because a lot of the rhetoric on the left over the last ten years suggests that maybe we *shouldn't* care so much about optics and that we should just be *ourselves*. But, like...

This is just *untenable*. Like, have you ever *been* to Bladen County?

There used to be a time when city and country could be kept kind of separate, so that we weren't always at each other's throats. Us queer kids could just run away to the big city and fall off the map. But, social media just does *not* help with that.

I've only recently accepted that this is the main reason I *hate* social media and don't even use Facebook. In high school, I had friends like Cody who might balk at you for even being *friends* with a "leeebruhl"; and then I started meeting liberal city folks who might side-eye me for being friends with someone like Cody. Then you throw other communities like BDSM into the mix, and consider even basic demographics like "religion" that you might not want to give the same answer to for everybody, and...

Look. Facebook is just *not* double-life friendly. Okay? Am I like, the *only* person with this problem?

The (well, *a*) real problem, is that I *really* should've cut ties with Bladen County as soon as I was old enough. Those people are just... *really* pushy about politics and religion, and they're *obviously* wrong, and they're *usually* not the "thinking" type...

I mean, *I'm* the reason I had to live a double life when I was younger. I didn't *have* to keep being friends with Christian conservatives from Bladen County. In fact, I'm convinced trying to maintain those friendships destroyed my soul.

I need to focus. I'm running out of money to even *buy* the charcoal and the helium. I *really* need to wrap this up. It's early morning on December 14th, btw. Josh told me he was in town this weekend and asked if I wanted to hang out. And I can't help but think... I probably have better things to do with my time. I don't think Josh is the droid I'm looking for.

*Should* I give this to Tommy? How much should I tell him? I don't suppose I should keep the suicidal bits... What about the part where I basically yell at him and all of Christendom? I mean, I'm running out of time here.

I mean... here's the deal with Tommy, right... He's either *got* time travel, or he doesn't. If all of that stuff I remember is accurate, he *knows* what I'm going to do next. He *knows* I'm going to try and kill myself.

Will he try and stop me? I mean, he either *will* or he *won't*, right? Frankly, I have no business with him if he doesn't know about the UFOs and the Heather people. And if I *do* have business with him... again, he would know what I'm about to do. So, logic would suggest...

I *really* just need to prepare myself to fly the Rocinante into the heart of Cygnus X-1. Because, this place is *mad*, and I don't see any help coming my way. Again; it's possible I'm *supposed* to kill myself, and if that were the case I suppose it'd be problematic for anybody to *tell* me that to my face. I'm just supposed to *decide* whether I want to be a graying virgin tranny who works at Food Lion and lives under the regime of Lukashenko Jr or not. And, maybe I ought to decide *now* before Mr. Patel decides *for me*.

---

I've been taking vitamins for like a year now. And, my hair is still *really* patchy. Josh said it didn't look that bad, but I was using the potato quality webcam in my laptop.

On account of my impending liquidity crisis, I chose not to buy more vitamins D, B12, or Biotin when I ran out several weeks ago. I *have* continued to take a daily multivitamin. I'm concerned my hair might be thinning out again, and my lips are really chapped, which I thought the vitamins seemed to help with. It *is* winter, though.

And, it's one of my smaller worries right now. But, it sucks that I still have patches missing a year later. It doesn't give me much hope that I'll ever have a full head of hair again. It seems I have little to look forward to in my future. I only wish I could've washed the Bladen County off me sooner, so that I might've gotten to live when I had the chance.

![A particularly unflattering picture of my hair, for folks who might think I'm overreacting (October 2024)](img/rl-2411.jpg)

I hope my story can at least be a lesson, for how the compassionate minority in America might help these poor souls who were just born different like me. Yeah, my life is kinda filled with weird sex stuff on top of it all, but I was obviously just *born* that way. Born, or perhaps made that way *very young*. I certainly never asked for it, and you Christians are just as stupid and ignorant as you've always been. You've allowed no space for me and people like me in this world, and now everything's a clusterfuck.

Like... we've been *trying* to explain it to you Christians since a long time before *I* was born, even. And, you act like it's some newfangled thing invented by Jezebel and Anita Sarkeesian. But at the same time, I guess I understand *why* you might think that, given the present state of the culture war, if you weren't really paying that much attention. I just hope I've found some way to make you people *think* a little more. Because, shit has gotten

*Really* fucking stupid around here.

---

I don't know what I want to do. Am I really going to kill myself? Am I too much of a pussy? Will it count for something? Am I even *right*? Are my friends even trenders? What do I *do*? I'm running out of time. And all I can do is

Nothing. I'm writing this thing, I'm staying high... after the Josh thing didn't exactly go how I hoped, I kinda just descended into escapism and kept fucking with 2Ship2Harkinian. I don't think I've even talked about all the stupid bullshit I did. I made Link not slash his sword when you press B to exit first person view, I made the Y axis for the telescopes not be backwards, and then I did the same thing with the shield Y axis. I made the Bombers code fill in automatically once you've got the notebook... I fucked around with two-dimensional joystick movement on the Song of Soaring map and kinda got it working, but it was a little weird and I made myself stop. I already talked about the Ginko Man. The bank teller or whoever. I would still need to do some stuff before making PRs for these things, and I don't know that all of those things would be well received. I like it, though. That's really why I'm doing it. I just want to get off, or escape or something. I guess part of me feels like I'm going to go out doing what I love, even if I don't have my shit together.

It sucks that I seem to have no options, except going back to the psych ward or killing myself. I mean, shit. It's not like I live in a socialist country or something... Then again, *they* might just put me to work on Stalin's farm.

Maybe it's not so bad. Simple life. Cow go mooooo.

I feel like I need something *really* hard core. Not, like, one of Josh's pep talks or some shit. Like, I haven't had a job in *years* at this point. I feel like I need help just reintegrating into society. And all they're going to do is tell me to get a fucking job so I can pay them to help me.

I mean, it isn't even like I don't want to work. I'll even stop smoking pot. But it's just like...

I don't really have anything to *live* for, except filling up the Volcano bag again in another hour or two. I'm still missing a bunch of hair after a year... and I keep noticing that I still have a pretty bad five o'clock shadow after all that bullshit with my hormones. I really have been hitting it with the IPL when I think about it, and for all I know I'm going to need additional laser if I somehow manage to survive this. Just...

![One of my bigger and more stubborn bald patches up close (Volcano balloon for scale; December 2024)](img/rl-2412.jpg)

Fuck my life, dude. I really thought I was getting my shit together a few years ago, too. And like... there's people who just got freed from Syrian dungeons, and they're just *out on the streets* and better off for it. And I kinda feel like a pussy, but at the same time I really just don't see much of a point. I feel like I've gone from field goal range to getting a safety just since the start of 2021. And, I was already pretty far behind to begin with. I just don't really feel like playing anymore.

Is there really nothing *for* me? There are suicide hotlines and shit, but they just talk you down. I don't need another fucking pep talk. I need, like, *actual* help from somewhere. The system just... assumes you already have love in your life, or at least know where to get it. I just don't think I can *get* the kind of help I need.

---

There's, like, a *bunch* of UFO shit on the front page of Reddit again. Serendipitously. I even signed out and cleared my cache to try and make sure I wasn't in a search bubble. It seems related to the drone sightings up north, and there are like a *bunch* of people reporting shit that *really* doesn't look terrestrial.

I just... don't fucking *get* it. Is this a real timeline? Could this have *anything* to do with that stuff Heather and Maureen talked about, or that really important thing Tommy wanted to tell me that now he says never happened?

Dude. What the *fuck*?

I can't imagine what in fucking *tarnation* I could have to do with *aliens*. I mean, reincarnation? That's a *joke*, right? Do they want to help me because my life was going in the wrong direction? I mean, they might not even be *aliens*, whatever those things are. And, like

What am I supposed to *do*? Is this even a real timeline? I experienced the fucking *craziest* sequence of events that took me from a working young professional engineer to a balding graying *madwoman*, the news is filled with weird and apparently credible UFO shit again, I still *vividly* remember a bunch of people telling me I was different and there were things I "needed to know"... But like, dude... what do y'all expect me to even, like...

I can *really* only assume one thing: I'm supposed to kill myself. It's the perfect example of...

Dude. What am I even *writing* about? What the fuck is even going *on* in the world? UFOs?? Goddammit! I'm chasing my tail over here! I'm chasing my ever-loving goddamn *tail* over here! All these years later, and I still have absolutely no *fucking* idea how this even *happened* to me. I don't even know *what* happened to me. I mean... I can't help but believe, at least a little bit. But, I *know* all that stuff from earlier was bullshit... Dude. What the *fuck*?

Goddammit, can *nobody* just tell me I ought to kill myself? Couldn't this have been done *any* easier? I'm fucking *dying* over here! Like, one day soon I'm just not gonna have utilities anymore, and I *really* don't have any intentions of going to live in a homeless shelter, or checking myself in to the mental hospital. Either *you fuckers* who started this need to fucking *end* it, or *I'm* gonna fucking end it *for* you. Because, I *believe*, dude. Not in starseeds or Dani California, but in this weird shit with Heather and Maureen and Tommy. And this weird shit on the internet about UFO sightings again. And the highly suspicious timing of it all.

Dude. What do I *do*? Am I in danger? Who am I in danger *from*? The incoming Trump administration? I can only assume, right? I mean, I kinda *trust* the aliens... They're smarter than us, and we don't have anything they couldn't just mine from asteroids or barren planets... I hate to break it to anyone who thinks aliens might try and enslave humanity, but we'd probably make better zoo animals than slaves. I frankly see no *motive* for foul play on the part of extraterrestrials.

Unless the point is that they want to kill off some of the humans who would destroy the planet and wage perpetual unjust wars. I could see *that* being a little controversial... Frankly, if that were the case, I think I'd just mind my own goddamn business. For all I know we'd be better off for it.

I'm probably a dumbass for still not having a passport, but... like, I'm virtually out of money to do anything else anyhow. I'm a little freaked out that last I knew, it was surprisingly easy to get a passport with your updated gender marker on it if you're trans. That sounds like something Trump would EO away during his first week in office. For all I know, he'll EO that trannies can't even *get* a passport.

---

I know I already said this, but the Christian "Lupron bans" really do mean that we have *fewer rights* than we had in the year 2000. And I am

Pissed. *Off*.

At Christians still. Because, *religion* is the problem, the way I see it. Am I just bitter? Sometimes I'm less angry about this. But, nobody's talking about how a bunch of misguided (I can't believe I'm actually using this word) SJWs had to stoke a culture war about *nothing* that led to poor hapless people like me and my fellow transsexuals having *fewer rights*.

Maybe Russia's the *real* problem here. I'm pretty sure it's *their* trolls who keep fanning the flames. Like... we used to have role models like Andrea/Lynn/Calpernia in the 2000s... until *some faceless entity* must've decided those people were "too white" and "too privileged"... and now we have *different* role models, like brick-throwing Stonewall rioter Marsha P. Johnson; somebody I'd never heard of until the post-Jenner world came into existence. It *really* feels like somebody is trying to entrap the queer community into embodying *all* the old negative stereotypes about us: violent, perverse, corrupting the youth, sympathetic to communism...

Like... "Drag queen story time" is a *very* new concept. There's this phrase I learned in the BDSM community. It's, uh... what is it? Oh, right.

**Don't scare the nillas.**

See? We knew how to manage our optics back then...

It's like when we couldn't block out the entire hotel for Debauchery and had to share it with a wedding party, except on a national or even global scale. We're just... *scaring the nillas*. We *have* scared them. And, this is something bad. [^948]

[^948]: I keep using the phrase "this is something bad". It's a silly in-joke from that *first* time I went to Europe with my high school English class, and I should probably remove it eventually because it just sounds dumb.

Did I mention how a coalition of Christians, misguided SJWs, and Russian trolls have started knocking transsexual rights back to the 19th century? *Goddammit, I fucking hate Christians...*

Dude. I didn't even really *use* the term "SJW" unironically until all of this happened to me. I promise I'm not, like, a Republican or something. I guess I'm just complicated.

Am I being problematic? I should probably keep getting ready for the killing myself part.

I mean, I feel like I only have two real options given the situation:

* Kill myself
* Go to Ukraine and fight the son of a bitch who did this to my country

So, I got all science brain while I was having a smoke earlier this morning, and the problem with this 80% helium from Party City is that the bottom fifth of a normal, head-sized exit bag is always going to be breathable air. This would seem to make the classic design untenable, but I don't think it's entirely a non-starter.

* I could construct an exit bag that ties off at the torso or waist, or even one that contains my entire body. As long as I can keep my head well into the upper 4/5ths of the bag it should work as far as I can tell.
* I could construct an intermediary container out of something like a bucket and plastic sheeting and tubing, that would allow me to breathe in air from the top.

---

It's early morning on Christmas Day, and you know what I've been doing? Writing touchscreen support for Majora's Mask. I think it's pathological. I got it working directly with SDL, and then I spent a day writing the layer so you could add win32 support because that build doesn't use SDL. I really can't let myself do anything else until I crash the airplane or fly out with the ejector seat. I don't know if these metaphors are any good.

I fucked up my back again, and I was sick all day yesterday because of it. I was going to get a pizza and cheese sticks to get me through Christmas, but my back was sore and I had a bad headache and I felt really weird like when I'm about to get sick with the GI thing. I delayed my food run until the evening, spent the whole day stretching and staring at my phone in bed, and then I threw up right as I was about to *make* myself go to Papa John's. I think Ship of Harkinian has been distracting me from stretching properly, and I guess *now* I have to get Chinese tomorrow. Not that that's bad or anything. I haven't eaten in 36 hours, but I don't really feel all that hungry after being sick all day yesterday.

Dude, what am I even *talking* about? I sound like my mom for christ's sake. She's always got to tell me about all her latest ailments and shit... am I unsympathetic? I really do want the best for her, but I don't think our relationship was healthy. And, *now* I don't even know what to tell her.

My little gay Festivus day or whatever is tomorrow, and I've really thought about just sending this to Tommy unedited. And, I don't know if I want to talk to him again if I can't get anywhere like usual. I just... *really* still think he's hiding something, and I feel like I'm mostly over the delusional part of my experience. My main mental health problem would appear to be the suicidal ideation, and *that's* entirely situational.

I always knew killing myself was the ultimate, bottom-of-the-list option if I found *no other way* to resolve my little problem that started back in 2021; but, I guess I thought I'd try more stuff before I got to that point. I thought I'd at least try and talk to Maureen, or go bang on Heather's door or something... but now, I feel like I'll probably just go out with a whimper. Who knows if my death will even count for anything. At least it'll all be over.

The Republicans have gotten even crazier since I *last* yelled about Christian Lupron bans. And, I'm sorry you had to read that, Tommy. I don't even think you're a Republican, but I guess we've never really talked about politics. They're talking about coming for Canada, and Greenland, and Mexico, and Panama, they're beating the drum about coming after "cultural Bolsheviks" like me... I think this is the first time I've been genuinely *afraid* to live in America. I mean, this is the sort of talk that happens right before the Night of the Long Knives. I felt a little *twingy* during Orange Man's first term, but I also felt like there were a lot more steps in between 201x and putting me and my friends in concentration camps. Now, I don't feel like there are all that many more steps. Well... except for the Night of the Long Knives. All I'm waiting for is for him to "intern" the "cultural Marxists" in preparation for his "patriotic war for freedom" to "liberate Greenland" or something... I mean *shit*. It could happen on January 21st, for all I know. It probably *won't*, but...

And, I'm kinda freaked out that I might be on a government watchlist just for *associating* with April and Drew and Stephanie and them.

I mean, maybe I'm *supposed* to kill myself, before the holocaust or whatever. Maybe *that's* what these time-travelling UFO people have been trying to tell me all these years. "You like *travelling*?" "There's things going on you should *know* about..."

I feel as if I've been a victim of [Zersetzung](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zersetzung); a technique conceived by the Stasi to clandestinely break down dissidents that was both non-lethal and life-destroying. Shamelessly coped from Wikipedia at the time of writing:

> Tactics and methods employed under _Zersetzung_ generally involved the disruption of the victim's private or family life. This often included psychological attacks, in a form of [gaslighting](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaslighting "Gaslighting"). Other practices included property damage, sabotage of cars, purposely incorrect medical treatment, [smear campaigns](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smear_campaign "Smear campaign") including sending falsified compromising photos or documents to the victim's family, [denunciation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/False_accusation "False accusation"), [provocation](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agent_provocateur "Agent provocateur"), [psychological warfare](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychological_warfare "Psychological warfare"), [psychological subversion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Psychological_subversion "Psychological subversion"), [wiretapping](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telephone_tapping "Telephone tapping"), and [bugging](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Covert_listening_device "Covert listening device").[[45]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zersetzung#cite_note-45)

Ironically, attempting to do even a *little* more research on Zersetzung quickly leads me to conspiracy theories that are essentially variants of Josh's "copypasta"-like text from earlier in the year. I suppose I could call this the "targeted individual", "gang stalking", or "street theater" conspiracy theory, since the variants all seem to employ these keywords.

Despite the similarity of my plight to the GDR's application of Zersetzung against its undesirables, I'm having an awfully difficult time suspending my disbelief while reading the modern American conspiracy variants. They seem linked to the *right-wing* conspiracy tradition, which doesn't really fit my lifestyle. If someone wanted to Zersetzung me, I'd assume it'd be one of *Trump's* minions; or, perhaps a private actor who *really* doesn't like trans people. But then, why *me*? Why not Regina or Brittany or Samantha or Stacey or Persephone or Stephanie? I mean, a *lot* of these people are more likely to make a big splash than *I* am. Stephanie is into pretty radical far-left shit, Samantha's *at least* a more established developer than I was *and was also a bigger deal in the local trans community as the facilitator of TT*... What would even be the *motive* for walking right past all of these people and coming straight for little old *me*?

After learning that [one of my favorite musicians](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isaac_Brock_(musician)) believes himself to be one such "targeted individual", I don't really even know *what* to think anymore. Hell; maybe they've got my brain so scrambled that I laugh at the truth.

I can't afford to start second guessing myself, though. A lot of this stuff just doesn't pass the sniff test.

---

Several weeks after discontinuing the extra vitamins D and B12, I'm pretty sure my hair is starting to thin again, and I've lost another 10 lbs after having stabilized around 160. So, I figure I should maybe get more of those if I plan to keep on living. I don't know what I plan to *do* though, and so I still have neither. I'm already worried some of the hair loss might be permanent, given I was taking B12 for the better part of a year and still have patches that haven't filled back in.

A big enough part of me is trying to make this new little December 26th deadline for giving this to Tommy. It's still a little rough around the edges; but then again, so am I.

This is probably a really bad idea. It's probably going to get cops involved in my life again, and I'm really worried some asshole is going to take away my hormones "for my safety" or some bullshit.

There's just a lot of uncertainty in my life right now. All I know is, *something* really bad is about to happen to me. I'm about to die, or I'm about to get locked in the looney bin again, or I'm about to be homeless, or at least in default on my mortgage... I only wish I were more prepared, and managed to come up with a plan by now. I don't have one, and I probably never will. At least, not one better than talking to a bald preacher about my angst for Christians and my premature hair loss. I guess I just... need to sacrifice my queen because the timer's about to go off. That's how I feel. No winning moves, and the hammer's about to drop.

Anyway; I'm sorry you had to read this, Tommy. You're actually a really nice guy, and despite my anger with Christendom, I don't think I've ever really been angry with *you* at all. I'm just mad at the system I guess, and I feel hopeless.

I don't even know what I'm looking for by sending you this, really. I guess half of me still thinks you know something despite all of this, and half of me thinks I'm just making an ass out of myself. And, maybe some small part of me wonders if I'm just gonna find myself in my old bed at Avent Ferry after coming down from DMT or some shit. I guess I feel like I have to start *somewhere* if there's any chance I'm not just gonna go out with a whimper when the lights go out.

Well... Consider this the airing of grievances. Happy Gay Festivus, Tommy.

---

It's New Year's Eve, and I haven't heard anything from Tommy; except for an initial acknowledgement that he'll read my thing when he gets the chance. He said he was in Florida and that it would take some time.

I'm just now feeling a little bad that I yelled at Christians so much. I'm not sure that was called for. And, I really doubt he knows anything about UFOs at this point; convincing as all my weird memories of him and Heather and Maureen are.

I made a `scum-removal` branch in preparation for giving this to Samantha and Brittany, who've been wondering what happened to me; and at the same time my guilt is setting in about textually screaming at Tommy, I've started to consider just giving this to *them* unedited. Maybe it's the hypocrisy that I would protect my queer friend's feelings while disregarding Tommy's. Hell; maybe I should stop using `mod_rewrite` and let *Josh* see this version if he ever decides to look at it again.

I mean, I'm probably *all the way* batshit crazy, given Tommy's somewhat expected lack of expediency. My friends probably aren't even transtrenders, for that matter. I mean, I don't *want* them to be. I always enjoyed their company...

I'm getting really close to the point where I need to make a decision about killing myself. Maybe the fact I want to show this to more people before I die proves I really *am* just making idle threats for attention. If my therapist wasn't serious about that DBT thing *before*, I guess I need it *now*...

Helium. Costs like $~~50~~40 for a little tank of it at Party City, and I probably want two. I need some rubber tubing from the hardware store, and maybe some of those big construction-grade trash bags to get inside of. Hopefully that would be sufficiently airtight.

!embed https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=el_3R7epYvA&t=49s

And then if I try charcoal and potassium at the same time... I could be looking at close to $150 for an attempt. And, I *know* I don't want to still be struggling with that choice when I'm on my last $150.

Am I being pessimistic to think there aren't any other options for me?

I've been taking it one day at a time. Hell, one hour at a time. I'm struggling to see past the $10 burrito I'm about to get in 90 minutes.

I guess I could sell the house at the last minute. I wish it weren't in the state that it's in. I wish *I* weren't in the state I'm in.

So, okay. It's starting to sink in that I might have some false memories, on top of the delusional thinking I've already come to terms with. I guess I can at least find out if Samantha's brother really *does* fly helicopters for the Navy and knows something about UFOs; though I think it best if I just assume he, uh... does *not* know the truth about UFOs. I certainly doubt he'd be running his mouth at a cocktail bar if he did. I, uh...

I'm *crazy*, aren't I? I mean, I'm having a hard time believing I'm one of these "targeted individuals"...

Goddammit, dude. What *is* it about mental illness that makes people go all Pepe Silvia over Freemasons and UFOs and spirituality and shit? Like, I was never even *in* to that stuff. I mean, not except for the part where I used to *very ironically* watch Ancient Aliens for fun in the mid-2010s.

I guess it's a stereotype for a reason. Freemasons and UFOs and tinfoil hats... I really *did* try to make a Faraday cage for my electronics out of tinfoil at the height of all this, before realizing the task was utterly futile with the materials on hand.[^9410]

[^9410]: I actually had to do this quite a bit while testing OrangeTrack's little device a lifetime ago, and could manage it with a pot and a baking sheet.

I'm tempted to buy some vitamin B12, even given the dire straights I'm in. Because, I'm pretty sure *that's* what it is. I'd think I'm at least getting enough D from my multivitamin to keep things from getting worse. But, things definitely *have* gotten worse over the last two months.

I don't know. If I decide to try and live, it'd probably be the cost of 1-1.5 meals. If I'm gonna try and kill myself it obviously wouldn't be money well spent.

Ugh. It costs $7.79. I just looked it up. I feel a little silly going without it, *now*. I'm about to spend more than that at Chipotle. I wonder if the self checkout will be open, because they've been closing it lately and I don't want to talk to people. Fuck. I'm sorry I'm telling you all of this. I *know* you don't care; whoever you are.

I'm pretty close to needing TP too, while I'm talking about shit you don't care about; but I've *really* been making an effort to conserve it lately.

I had a crying session earlier this morning, from the realization that I don't think I have any real friends. But, I don't *want* that to be true. And, I don't think it *was* before UFOs happened. I know Tommy at least *skimmed* over my thing that night from looking at the server logs (is that creepy?), and I'm starting to feel like he just doesn't want to talk to me. I *know* I overshared, *and* I probably made him feel bad. I feel gross again. I fucking hate this.

The recurring hair loss is *really* taking it's toll, and I think I'd feel a lot better if I was back on vitamin B12. I'll probably just do it. But, I *really* need more of a plan than that. Because, it's only a tacit admission that I might not follow through with my plan to kill myself.

Oh my god, I'm an idiot. I just picked up some B12 at Target for like $4.18. I swear, putting off shit like this is, like, one of my anti-patterns. I took one in the car and swore I felt a little different by the time I was driving home, but that was probably just psychosomatic. I mean, I *am* basically tin-foil hat crazy.

I guess I was too much of a pussy to get the potassium supplements while I was there. I *did* think about it, though. I don't really *want* to give myself a heart attack, and would rather just slip away quietly with some helium or something.

The small tree that's inadvertently grown by the side of my house is probably fucking up my foundation, and its giving me daily anxiety. I probably have bigger problems because I'll be in default in, like, less than 24 hours, I think? I just stopped myself from continuing to flip through VS Code figuring out the coordinates for the pause menu in Majora's Mask. I *know* I have a problem, and I guess I thought I had more of a safety net. I've got the distinct feeling I scare off everyone I show this document to, and I'm feeling like I've got nowhere else to *go* other than the morgue; or maybe under a bridge like my rockstar boyfriend.

I feel like a flip-flopping politician with the way I'm treating my friends; but I should probably just assume nothing that's happened to me has any basis in reality, and that ROGD really *is* just some bullshit. I've always liked my friends, and I don't want to believe my friends and I aren't part of the same continuum of gender-fuckiness. In fact, it's probably about as likely as Tommy having an actual flying saucer in his garage; or even Samantha's brother knowing anything about UFOs. I'm having a *really* hard time accepting it, but maybe I somehow *did* confabulate all of that stuff from earlier in my life. I'd be lying if I told you I didn't feel like I was being gaslit, though.

In the interest of transparency, I think I *will* show them all of this discourse. And if I survive this ordeal, maybe I can get on Abilify or something and I'll be *all better*. Ugh, I've had a rough life...

I mean, it's probably just *that*. I use cannabis, Wikipedia says that *really does* increase the risk of psychosis... and I guess I seem to pass the duck test for it. What the *fuck*, though.

I feel bad that I just went through a phase where I decided *all* of my friends *suck*. And, maybe I'm just pretending my feelings have changed because I don't really have anywhere else to go.

I don't *want* to feel that way about my friends. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I'm probably not any more enlightened than I was a year ago, when I still thought I was Alyssa Jones. Whatever we actually think of each other, *this* is what happened to me. And, I haven't really had the words to explain it until now.
