Exploring Issues : Sunday, Dec. 22, 2002 @ 2:34 pm

I wish there was a label for my gender. I mean, yea I'm biologically female. But I don't feel female. I don't feel male either, nor do I have any desire to become a male. I just feel so... neutral in everyway.
Every once in awhile I'll revel in my sexuality. This feeling... of being completely comfortable, of feeling free is so... head spinning. It's beautiful. I've never felt that about being a woman. Was I supposed to? Or is gender just that thing that is just... I don't know. I've read about women being all "I am woman here me roar!". Me? I'm... me. Hear me bitch. I'm not female, despite what my uterus tells me once a month. It really is too bad there is no official neutral gender. This is what andro is, or so I belive. Complete neutrality in gender and sexuality. I'm somewhere between female and male, somewhere between femme and butch, bisexual and queer, somewhere between yesterday and today. The great neutral mass who has no label. Why do humans insist on labeling things like this? If humans didn't label sexuality, gender, or personality I'd be FINE. I could just go along my happy way not even pondering such things.

Yea. I know I should be out helping my family stack wood. And I did, for awhile. But I feel so out of it. Like my mind has evaporated, leaving nothing behind. I'll end up being the one lugging all the loads in anyway. They can deal.
My family... -sighs-...
I hate spending all this time with them. It's two days into vacation and already I'm irriated at them. I woke up at two this morning and made myself lunch (a small veggie & lactose intolerant snack-lunch thing) and I had both Mum and Jenny call me a pig. What the hell. I'm not allowed to eat in this house. Why bother. Everytime I eat, no matter how small the meal, I get told that I'm being a pig. They do this and then they wonder why I'm insecure when it comes to my body. They do this amoung under things and then they wonder why they had to pay a bill from the mental hospital... that they're still paying.
I'm starting to think that my psych was right in her hypothesis that most of my emotional and mental problems stemmed from my family. At first I thought she was full of bull shit. After all, she'd only talked to my mother out of my family and had no real right to blame my problems on them.
By now accepting her hypothesis I am not saying that all my problems come from them -- No. I'm not because I know I'm not the easiest person to live with. It's just... life would be so much more pleasant if I didn't have to live with them. A lot of my insecurities would dim, my anger issues would lessen. Two years. Two years. I can make it. They can make it. Not long now...

The other day, Monday I think. I stayed after for help from Mrs. Otani (mental note: do English) and we got into a conversation about depression and self mutilation. It stemmed from a conversation about The Bell Jar. (Good book btw). Her roomate in college used to burn and cut herself. Otani just couldn't understand it... She observed how her roomate would seemed fulfilled after doing such a destructive act and she couldn't understand why she couldn't find a better way to be fulfilled... and I was just sitting there, nodding my head, agreeing, as my scars rubbed against my sweater, a reminder that I understood. I understand I bit too well.
Its still tempting. I have two razors somewhere in my room again. My parents got careless and left them out at various times or another. Stupid. You don't live in a house with an excutter and leave sharpies out all about. They'll end up being pocketed.
I've only used them once since I moved. Pretty good I suppose. Once in two months. The scabs have since faded and in dim light you can't even see the scars.
Don't get all worried about me, please.
I'm much better then I was a month ago. I just can't bring myself to throw them away.
If it makes you feel any better, I don't know if I could even find them now...

I'm really quite worthless, despite what you might think. All I'm really good for is to sit online and comfort friends I've never met. Fall a little bit in love with them. I do that, too. I fall in love with friends. I don't mean the Romeo and Juliet type love, or the romantic love that eludes me.
I fall in love with them. Once they've unknowingly accomplished this feat, I'd do anything for them. I suppose it's a good thing that most don't know this, or if they do they don't use it against me. Then I'd be in a fix.
I fall out of love too, but that's a different story.

My mind... christ it's so strange. It's so scattered. I can't collect all my thoughts in my mind, which is why I'm typing them down. It's one of those mind sets where if I wasn't writing this down I'd be staring out a window, or off into the dark with a blank look on my face. As it is, I'm staring at the moniter with a blank look on my face. Suppose its better then the other choices. Prehaps, if I go back and read this later, I can make some sense of it all.

/A

mood: blank
music: "Sally" by Army of Me

P.S. Would those of you whose diary I actually read be kind enough to update?

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