Hang in there, Little Tomato!

This has pretty much been my mantra lately. There has been so much happen since my last blog that I don't know where to begin, so I'll just start with the stuff that's up front in my head.


I'm getting a haircut. This has been such an unnerving thing to think about lately, I'm surprised it feels like such a natural decision now. I'm getting it cut even shorter. Yes, shorter. My hair is a release point for me. Whenever I'm stressed or anxious, I cut my hair. I did a bit of hacking away a week or two ago when I found out Louise was moving her practice, but it's still chin-length. I feel like I need to drop a load of dead weight our of my life, and a haircut always gives me a lighter, weight-off-my-shoulders feeling, like I'm getting rid of all the anxieties and hang-ups that have been building up inside me. I need that to be able to get on with the rest of my shit.


 Also, it turns out my little gender-shift wasn't as temporary as I assumed it would be. I've been searching the fringes of the interwebs and reading up on the subject. Ever since I can remember, I've been discouraged from thinking outside the box. The general rules seemed to be "Don't step out of line, do as you're told, don't let your personality imprint on anything outside of your mind." I have no idea where that last one came from, I have no memory of any life lesson or lecture, but it's been a huge roadblock in my life for... ever. Since I was about 12, I've been slowly uncovering the real person underneath all the stuff I've been told I'm supposed to be. I guess this is just another fun fact I've learned about myself. I've been becoming more and more comfortable with the term "genderqueer," even more so with "androgynous." Because of this, I've been reconsidering what I'll change my name to. I've been Tabitha for the past few years, at least to the people I like. I think it would be smart to chose a unisex name. Small problem, though, a lot of the unisex names I've come across so far are so plain. I never thought I'd want to start making lists of potential names again, but I find my self feeling more optimistic this time around. I've been hanging around on Genderfork, taking note of the kind of names and stuff. I feel good about this.



Before school started, my younger brother Jerome and I went to stay with our Aunt Kym and Uncle Greg for a week. This was a big week. I found out that most of my family know about the problems we've got going on, but were not aware of how much Mum's drinking was affecting us, or how much and often she drinks. There was a family meeting, where we got it all out and I got into a fight with my giant of a grandfather where we both had to be restrained. A few days before that I would have just broken down in tears even before the argument, but I felt so different after staying with Kym and Greg. There was a lot of time-wasting when everyone tried to convince my brother and I that it was our job to take care of Mum. What the fuck does it look like we've been trying to do? She's supposed to be the mother in this relationship. I figured that out a few years ago and backed off, and stopped thinking of myself as the one in charge of everything. One of the few intelligent adults to ever speak to me honestly said that if I acted like a kid, Mum would become the mother I needed. Bullshit. She's just not mother material. Good intentions don't equal good parenting. It's taken me a while to admit that. I've been feeling guilty for saying Mum's not the greatest, well, mum, but now I understand: she's not a dead-beat, she's just genuinely incapable. She's still a child herself. She had kids because it was what married couples were supposed to do. 


It's also taken me a while to admit I'm not okay, and asking for help is definitely not something I've had a lot of practice at. After  they got the message with a little help from Kym, who just listens like you wouldn't believe, we discussed alternative living arrangements. I'd already asked some of the aunts and uncles for help, and they just kind of blew me off while trying to stifle large quantities of guilt. The problem with my family is that they do want to help, they just don't fully understand, which was the point of the family meeting. My aunt Karen was trying to get an apartment with a friend, so I could move in with them and operate like an adult, but I'm so not ready for that it's not even funny. I've tried to operate like an adult for a long time, I can't do it. I admit I need parental figures in my life. (There's a lot of admitting going on) Kym understands that, and we've been working on finding a way for me to live with her. I had hoped to have the majority of these issues resolved before I started school, but it hasn't happened that way. I've been holding up okay, though, but it's starting to take it's toll. Thus the need for ejecting dead weight.


School is awesome. Simply awesome. I love my teachers, my classes, the stuff I'm learning, I've met loads of cool, interesting people. A few weeks ago, we went on an excursion for art to the APT6 exhibit at the Brisbane Gallery of Modern Art. It rocked, bigtime. I look forward to seeing it again without herds of raucous eight-year-olds running around. I totally aced my Art exam the other day, too (I think). Apart from feeling a little over whelmed (okay, a lot) the last few days, things have been very, very, good.


This post is getting ridiculously long, so I'll just leave it here.

xx Remarkable

Brain Spew #2, Hair Issues and Boy Issues

I have barely written anything in my notebook in the last few days, and we all know that's not a good thing, so I'm going to spit out whatever I can right now. You are under no obligation to read it, in fact I highly suggest you don't, lest your brain be short-circuited by the frantic buzzing in my own.

I've had so much going on in my head lately, but no will to let it out on paper. I guess it's times like these one needs people to talk to. I really don't do enough talking. I'm like a balloon that's too full of air, I need to let it out!

Speaking of which, I have my next appointment with Louise tomorrow. With my Mum. This was supposed to be the big sort-it-all-out session, but my brain is so far away from the issue at hand, I have no idea what I'll say. I think once every 2 weeks is no where need frequent enough for my sessions with Louise.

I've been considering growing my hair out, which is scary somehow. I cut it super short a few months ago, into a sort of Louise Brooks bob, in line with my lips. It was kind of a big deal because I tried a short, shaggy cut when I was 11, cutting off my waist-long hair, and it came out horrible. I'm stubbourn, though, so every time it grew long enough to try again, I did, then got frustrated when it looked terrible. I'd managed to not cut it (apart from the not-so-infrequent Haircut of Despair) and had it down to my shoulders. Anyway, this time I looked damn good, and it was the first thing I'd ever done to physically acknowledge any kind of gender-variant behavior, though I didn't mention this to anyone. The fact that I thought I looked like a young Willy Wonka was my secret, though I think my granddad was unnerved by how it made me look, because he said I should grow it again, and also dye it a natural colour.

Thing is, I don't see myself as boy-ish at the moment. I'm not sure, but the it's been a few months before I cut my hair that I admitted I wasn't happy with showing the level of femininity in my appearance as I was. For some reason, now I'm a little scared about growing it out, even though it's only down to my chin now. I'm afraid of looking too... "feminine". I guess I feel kind of jipped that this short phase of my life went undocumented, apart from a few camera-phone photos on Halloween. Damn, I need a camera. What was I on about? Oh, right...

My physical appearance has always been dictated by others, hand-me-down clothes, Mum hair-cuts, that sort of thing, and it's always been girl-oriented. I've never really admitted it outright before, but now that I have I feel more comfortable with my gender(s) now, at least, the boy-ish part, and I felt good about expressing it, even if it was just to myself.

People expect me to be "female," and I guess I just don't want to give them the satisfaction anymore. I've forgotten how I was going to tie this in with the hair thing, but I don't feel right cutting it again. I'm not sure what to do here, or even if I should be worrying. Or if I should post this blog entry. To post or not to post, that is the question.

Maybe I should just shut up and go to bed. Yeah.

PS @TheLadySappho on Twitter needs out support. She's been practicing her fingers off making an audition video, and is going to ask Emilie Autumn to consider her as her touring keyboardist! Yippee!

PPS I know BB tagged me aaaaaages ago for that Honest Scrap game thing, but I really have no idea what I could write. I promise I will get around to it!

PPPS If anyone knows how to get rid of those stupid "Mood: Interesting, Funny, Cool" check boxes that appear at the end of my posts, please let me know! I'm sick of them!

XX Goodnight.

New Year's Fucking Eve

It's 9:00, and I'm in exactly the situation I promised myself I wouldn't be in on NYE. The fireworks have just started going off, and I can't see them from my house. It seems a good metaphore, as once again, I'm missing out.

Not any more.

Pretty soon my life will be in my own capable hands, and I'll be far away from here, this place, this situation, this state of mind. There are going to be some big goddamn changes in my life, or else. I'm not going to be a coward any longer.

The fireworks and the smell of jasmine in our front garden are messing with my head. At my grandparents' old house our NYE tradition was to climb onto the roof to see the fireworks at Robina Town Center, and Nana's garden always had the incredible smell of jasmine.

This year is going to be different. New decade, new life. There are so many people in my life that just drag me down, and I've put up with it because the people I asked begged for help made excuses and invalidated my fears. There are people who ignored me when they could see I needed help. There are the people that enable my Mum's drinking, even with me crying in the corner. These people will be purged, so I can  finally get on with my life.

There are good people, who want to help, who can help. There are people who have the common sense necessary to be a functional human being. There's a home out there that I haven't found, family that needs to be reminded that they cannot ignore me.

There are changes to be made, and a new era is dawning. The anger I feel has been builing for years, and I am simply incapable of bottling it up any longer. Like the release of the cork from my (imaginary) champagne bottle, everything I've been hiding will be set free.

My New Year's Resolution is this: to be honest. Totally, completely, 100% honest, to everyone. No more little white lies, no more bending the truth to keep secrets, no more making pathetic excuses.

My life up till now has been constricted and controlled so much, by my family, my own anxiety and depression, as well as my cowardice, that it barely counts as a life at all. I will not be that person any more.

I'm off to burn an effigy of my former self.

Happy New Year's, all!

The Pink Dress

The Pink Dress When I grow up, I want to be this kid.

Post-Louise Euphoria

I don't write in this blog nearly enough. For the last few months it seems like all the good ideas and words and phrases that might be useful for a blog entry have been sucked into the giant black hole in my bedroom floor. Today, obviously is different. I've just got back from my second session with my psychologist, Louise. Since I've been seeing her, the black hole in my floor has grown smaller, at least for temporary chunks of time.

I've been seeing counselors on and off since I was 11, but none of them ever helped that much. Jenny, from my first year at high school, and last year when I returned to that school, came close, but I was reluctant to open up to her. I didn't really have the ability to express my thoughts the way I do now. With Louise, however, this is different.

For the first time in my life I feel listened to. That's the thing I love the most about her: she doesn't just hear, and scribble notes, she listens, and thinks and processes. And her office makes me feel safe. Both times I've been to see her, I ran out of tissues, which she immediately replaced, and I still felt safe after she was gone. I also love that she said she'd take me home herself if it wasn't unethical, and that Molly was the coolest name for a cat, ever.


We talked about a lot of stuff (when I say "talked" I mean, "actual useful, intelligent dialogue that helped.") and during this and afterward I felt...I don't even know a word for how I feel. Safe? (seems to be a key word here) Optimistic? Hopeful, even?

I remember after leaving her office the first time, on my way home I was struck by the thought that with this woman's help, I could become a whole person. Silly way to phrase it, I know, but that's how it struck me. A whole person, who acknowledges and accepts all her life experiences, good and bad, and takes responsibility for the emotions attached to them, and is capable of the things that other whole people are. I could have a normal life, without gaping chasms opening up in walls and floors, without fear and anxiety 24/7, with friends I care about and a future to look forward to. To be a whole person, not just a personality.

One thing we talked about, which I have been meaning to mention somehow, but haven't, is my fear of aging. (Friend Josh pointed out to me that "gerascophobia" is the term for fear of aging. Thank you, Friend Josh) It was my birthday 3 weeks ago, and I spent the entire week leading up to it in a state of blind, frantic panic mixed up with terror. By the day before my birthday, I was literally tearing my hair out. (The hair on my head, which I almost never pull out) trying to climb the window panes to escape the now enormous black hole. I decided, for the sake of my sanity, to go on a Time strike. Or, rather, age strike. To simple not acknowledge my age, at all Period. Just stay 16 until I was ready to move on. There are plenty of 30-something-year-olds who say they're 20-something, right? I still look the part, and I don't feel any older, so why not me?

(Louise was out of town all week during this time. Ironic, I know.)

When I mentioned this to Louise, I slipped in something along the lines of, "I know it's stupid and illogical," as I always do when I'm afraid people will say something mean. She pointed out that there were no drastic changes had occurred, no growth spurts or sudden wrinkling etc. Her message came across as, "Age is only a number, and you're only as old as you feel." I still feel 16, it's true, so what does it really matter. She also said it was perfectly alright, and not stupid at all, to wait until I felt 17 to declare my age, mostly to myself, and that I'm still the same person anyway.

She also said not to think about it. Oops.

After getting all my issues out in the open, we made actual, solid plans to make things better. Rellies to talk to, things like that. Discussion was followed by action (or at least the planning of action, with the intention of following through), not just a, "See if you still feel the same way tomorrow morning." We're getting shit done, plugging up the black holes sprinkled across memories and feelings. I still feel like my emotions are all squashed and rung out and gunky, like the crap you scrape out of the plug hole after washing up a load of dishes with pasta baked on, but I also feel like there is a scratch on the surface of what has been boxed up for so long, providing a little light for me.

I do feel hopeful. Life is not only fixable, but worth fixing.
Thank you, Louise.

O Christmas Tree

So. Halloween is over. I didn't enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But whatever. That means that my birthday and Christmas are coming up. The other day, I went into another panic attack when my brother asked me if I was looking forward to our birthdays. (We 3 years apart, but our birthdays are in the same week,s o everyone always lumps us together like we're the same fucking person) I'm getting very sick of this living-in-my-head-unable-to-face-reality-and-the-insanely-fast-passage-of-time. I need to get some shit done, for my sanity. The other night I realized that I am really not immune to that often-mentioned daddy complex, and that this is tied in with my fear of aging. Long story, but I realized I need to move on with my life. I still feel 13, but I hope that acting like a 16-year-old will make me grow up. Or something. One good thing about this time of year is the Christmas tree. When I was little, my Nana and I would decorate her tree every year. We never had our own tree, so I kind of adopted hers. We haven't done that for years, not since we moved away. This is my grandparents second Christmas in their new house, and I feel like it's important to do this. I feel like I'm ready to move on and accept the new house after having their old one, my real home brutally ripped out from under them. I'm giving myself permission to do the whole Christmas thing this year. I no longer consider myself a Jehovah's Witness, and feel free to do as I please. And I really do love the holidays. I even talked to Mum about getting our own Christmas tree.

I Finally Got it!

I figured it out! You know that weird beer/cider add with the crows and the apples and stuff? I finally understand it! I've been thinking about it for about 2 weeks now, trying to figure out why it was so clever. I asked Mum, and she didn't get it either, but said it was something subversive about the bible and the battle between the sexes, so I was looking for that. Last night I was watching it, and I realised it wasn't about Adam and Eve at all! It was about people and crows! DUH! I just realized how much this sounded like one of BB's blog posts. Hehe. xx Remarkable