Air Conditioning

Anything

Here's a warning now that there are mentions of him in this. Writing it was therapeutic even if you don't want to read it. I'll put a symbol in front of those paragraphs so you can skip them. I wrote a lot of this before calling you, over a thousand words of it to be exact, so I apologize for things that repeat what you already know.

Normally I stick to a subject in these, or at the very least attempt to be poetic, but I don't feel like doing either today.

So today I'll talk about anything.

Let's start with the most "important" I suppose;

I've moved out into a small two bedroom one bathroom home with a one car garage in one of the towns underneath the DFW area, with rent that is manageable and a job that should keep me going. I've postponed my start date for school to fall just to give myself some more time to get used to the 12 hour night shifts in hopes that when I try to squeeze my full time college classes into a full time 2 2 3 EMS shift schedule, it won't put me flat on my ass.

It's been stressful, of course, because moving always is; but I love more than I can put into words the fact that I don't have to dread going home anymore. Sure I traded carpeted floors for hardwood and sure my new place is old as hell and has the cosmetic issues to match it, but in the end I think it's well worth it to be out and free.

However, I'm not necessarily out and free in all ways in such a tiny town in Texas. I have to battle with the choice of keeping my prescription closer to home or just picking it up on the way home from those long shifts so I can keep it in a pharmacy far away, out of fear that a closer one may violate HIPPA and spread around that there's a tranny in the midst of their happy little town.

In fact, on the day of moving in I started battling a fever so severe that I had to go to urgent care because keeping a steady temperature of over 103° for four days straight unless I medicate it isn't exactly great, and I feared even going to the local clinic and telling them my medical history.

Turns out it was a UTI without any of the outward symptoms that I've unfortunately learned to recognize, and they were shocked that I wasn't worse off than I was based on their tests and cultures.

It's also worth mentioning that my property managers know me by my legal name, and that when I was applying to properties I did not make them aware that I was transgender due to the knowledge that despite it being illegal, transphobic discrimination in the rental housing market is still very real.

(-) It struck me as incredibly, incredibly frustrating that my forever, being slightly on the spectrum as he is and struggling to cope with change, was more stressed about the move than I was due to fearing for our safety at home. He felt that our doors weren't sturdy enough, and that we needed to get some kind of new locks and a security system in order to dissuade home invasion.

(-) Of course I support him chasing his comfort in hopes that it will help him feel more at home, but he has never lived in a house that wasn't owned by someone in his family, and he struggles to adapt to life as a renter. In his mind our home-for-at-least-a-year is not actually our "home", and we don't have to try and make any changes whatsoever to make it feel more comfortable or like our own, because it Isn't worth it to do something temporary for a place that isn't ours to keep. When I brought up contact paper for our counters as a basic example, he couldn't comprehend why I would put the effort in if we're just going to leave by the end of our lease. Another thing he struggled to understand is why I would want to keep the place clean if it's not our home to take care of, as if we're not the ones living in it. It took a lot of long, tiring, and excruciating conversations for me to get him to understand my perspective on keeping our house at least somewhat clean not out of necessity but for my mental health and peace of mind.

(-) Lots of long conversations have happened before and after moving in as far as merging his and my way of life. It was frustrating to go through those conversations only because every time I would mention something I'd like to adopt into practice for our lives once we move, he would always ask why in a way that made me feel like he never believed any of the things I asked for made any sense at all. As if I was the one who was weird for wanting to come home to a clean house, or for wanting a separate cupboard to use as dry food storage instead of our kitchen cupboards. Like the thought of those things was genuinely ridiculous and confusing to him, like he couldn't possibly fathom the reason behind my preference in any way. Logically I know he thinks differently than me, so it should be understandable that he may not understand my way of thinking in those ways, but it was how his questions were phrased in tone that really irked me.

(-) It was hard sometimes, holding him in my arms as tears fell and supporting him through his fears of change and lack of safety, when I know that logically that the most likely of the two of us to become unsafe is me. As if I don't have to be afraid of going out alone in our small town unless I'm in uniform out of fear that those around me will judge me based on what I am instead of who I am. I've told him this and I think it helped him put it into perspective a bit more, but I doubt it really helped. It was hard for me to support him when he didn't seem to realize that he wasn't the only one stressed or worried, until I told him. Like me trying my best to stay positive has to mean there's no doubt or worry in my mind.

By the way, everything above was written before I called you. Everything below is written after.

The words I wanted to say flowed off my tongue so easily when I called you. I tried not to let them be too emotional, but they're written here with a bit more emotion than before. I hope they weren't too hard to read.

It's now that I tell you that work is stressful, school scheduling is rough, and I'm still thinking about you. Sometimes, randomly, I'll be singing a song and I sing a little louder for you. Feel my eyes water as I wish I could show you new music again, show you my new voice. I'll cook a meal I wish I could share with you, or watch videos I wish I could send to you. I'll picture your face, smile, laugh, and it makes me misty-eyed.

But I don't need to spell out my heartache with crossed t's and dotted i's for you to know it, as you've already felt it worse than me. It's the smallest things that ring the hollow tune of grief for what is lost.

Life goes on and so does yours. I wonder day by day how things are progressing for you, how life is conducting its waltz for you and yours. I hope the movements are superfluous and smooth and that they stay that way.

I struggle to find more things to write even though there's so much I want to say, because in the end, you're right. I chose this. You under no circumstances deserve to suffer through the consequences of my actions in any form, even in writing. That's why I didn't publish this, and why I'm not sure if this is a good idea anyway.

I've been searching for a reason to let these words go, over a thousand of them written before a phone call made me read the script more naturally, but over a thousand words still written to go to you. For the sole purpose of expressing and venting feelings in a way that would help.

I wonder if you have something like this too? A bundle of words, thoughts, happenings, sitting in your drafts while you stop yourself. I don't mean to be egotistical of course, I'm not meant to be more than a cornerstone in your life. But I wonder. If you do, do you think it would help to press publish? The action of writing it is good, but does it need to be read? Would it help those feelings lose their edge?

I guess I'll find out.

All the best for you and yours.