circles
circles. all i've been fucking drawing and thinking about is circles. i don't know why. i only felt happy when i completed a perfect circle, using my hand as a compass. maybe it was the sense of completion, i was getting frustrated when the ends didn't meet where they needed to.
but sometimes i wasn't frustrated. i drew wobbly circles, inside other circles. i don't know if that has any deeper meaning.
i thought a lot about leaving this town. i really like the idea of moving away and starting over, and find myself, maybe. but that also scares me. i don't even know what i am right now, who i am. i just don't want to exist, but dying gives me anxiety. at least that part of me is normal.
(i'm not really afraid of dying, per se, just what people would do after i did— strangers lying about how much they loved me and friends devastated that they didn't see it.)
i hate talking. i hate talking a lot. but somehow i can do this dumb blog thing.at practice today i feel like i played like i usually do. slow. bad stamina. okay positioning. but it wasn't fun at all. i wasn't having fun.
there's only two other times that happened.
when i was first starting out and i was dragged to a power skating camp. i couldn’t do any of the fucking drills. i felt so stupid. i could barely do a crossover forwards, and they were trying to have me go down the damn ice backwards, crossovers only. i was crying. some kid told me, hey, there’s 80 year old leafs fans who have never seen a cup, and there’s 6 year old kings fans who’ve seen two already. (it helped me through that, i guess, and i guess he was saying that people develop at different rates, but i still was not having fun and went home wanting to just stop playing hockey.)
when i was dealing with symptoms from the emergency contraception pill. i was fucking stupid and hooked up with someone i didn’t know. he bought me the pill the next day and it had me wanting to throw up and die and never ever have sex again like that.
today was different. i don't really see a reason why i had no fun. even when we're losing i have fun, and we had the game tied for most of it. i had just come home from deaf bingo and i had fun there, i guess.
before that i went to the psychiatrist, we talked about fuck shit and i'm still chronically tired and foggy. i told him i was dissociating a lot. he said that's not good. i thought, yeah, it's not. he told me that i need to see my therapist again. i said, yeah, okay, cool. he asked me if talking about gender makes me uncomfortable. i said, yeah, it does, i wish i could just wake up and be what i want to be. he said, okay, maybe you're tired because you keep carrying all of this, like a weight on your back, keeping you from skating your full speed.
i said, yeah. i guess that makes sense, wait, no, i don't know.
then he asked if i want to talk to my dad. i thought, fuck no. i said, i don't like talking.
my progress is like a circle, i guess you can say. i'm going places, yeah, but i always end back up in the same fucking place: not knowing what to do, not setting priorities straight, not speaking when i should be.
i kept on drawing circles which ends don't meet.
i don't know if that means anything.