So I haven't taken off my make-shift binder in what? Four days now? Longer? And I'm fine, no worries. My ribs might hurt a little but it's worth it. Before you start writing about how unsafe it is, I know. I just don't give a shit.
Also, my dysphoria got worse. I get dysphoric about the music I listen to, my fucking phone wallpapers, the fact that I started playing guitar, the fact that I draw, the way I stand, the way I lean against the wall and it's a load of shit. I hate it.
I tried killing myself but it didn't work out so hey, no worries.
Vodka is god. It works the fastest for me and I fucking love it.
I continue getting high on perscription pills, nail polish and all that, and I know, I know, it's pathetic but in the shithole in which I live, getting weed is as hard as passing as male. And trust me, it's pretty fucking hard. Possible, but hard.
My grandma said that I'll be a shit dad so ayyyy. At least she said "dad".
I keep feeling happy and depressed and angry at the same time. Keep having these mental breakdowns. So that's confusing.
I probably fucked up my knuckles because some of my fingers fall asleep very, and I mean very often and are always cold in one hand. They are also now in a weird position but it's fine.
My stepfather continued to drink and mentally abuse my mother. Sounds like a newspaper headline.
I also lost my dicksock in my sleep. I don't know how. I just did. Magical.
But, the brightside is that I found a possible dealer so you know. Rad.
YOU ARE READING
Trans guy stuff
De TodoThe title says it all. And yeah, sorry if you get lost on this name deal. I change my name too often so I stopped changing it in this book so it won't get annoying. Currently call me Simon. The cover was drawn by me (see I'm rad and can totally d...
