Backpack, briefs, dumbbell.

Ivy said I looked like Anthony Bourdain.

Feeling like when you zap a dead thing & it moves, but still dead.

Ivy said she had never heard me cry so hard.

Deadmichael. Shards of my voice like glass.

Decoding my deadname in phonics. Reading a decodable text with my deadname. A student calls me in the softest voice, with such a big smile & eyes like they understood M— Deadestname, (diminutive childhood nickname). I was so sad.

My binder came in the mail. I hadn’t even picked it up yet. I had just gotten an email about it & Ivy said that I had never sounded so happy in the year of our friendship.

Angeline left men’s shampoo out for me.

I picked up my binder from the post-office on the way to the library. I went into the men’s room & made some guy wait for the only stall as I put it on. I’ve never felt so happy with my body. I’ve never felt happy with my body at all. Happy. I was so happy. I am so happy. Happy. Happy. Happy. (3 for Michael).

Michael defeats Koba!

Mood: Why dost thou ask?

Trembling Michael chestpain— Can’t breathe.

“M— Deadname, you’re wearing a shirt!”

Binder 12-hour-work-late-bus, into sports bra jogging, into bed trembling-breathing. Familiar lightheadedness.

I got hit by a car & all I got was this lousy day off work!

In bed: “I love you, my car crash victim.” Then hysterical laughter.

Roadkill bruising. Roadkillalive Michael. (Man alive!)

Ain’t it Easy by Alex G has car-honking sounds.

When I try to relax it feels like I’m about to be hit by a car again. And again. And again. Hard to sleep.

Finally able to look at the computer screen again. 16pt font. Bruised ribs, short walks.

Moving more & able to drive with some soreness.

Getting hit by that car made me realize I’m going as fast as I can; for once, I have little in the way of regret, just a desire to live.

I died last night in my sleep. It was cold. Everything feels wrong today, like I’m not all here.

I felt so numb today that I forgot to take my pain medicine.

I went to church. I forgot to take my pain medicine. I noticed after the second or third hug. I played soccer with my little brother. I watched Anthony Bourdain. I went jogging.

St. Patrick used a three-leaf clover to explain the trinity.

Blue bandage for Michael.

Happy in video-game world where everyone knows I’m a boy.

Two different people called me “man” today.

Encompassing sense of disorientation; I’m happier now, but it still hasn’t left me. It’s something more enduring than depression. I try to remember when Ivy told me to write about this sense of confusion, that it has value too, but it’s hard. I feel dumber. I’ve felt that way for a while.

“I was gonna say you’d love a boyfriend, but I didn’t want to embarrass you”. (As much as I write the word embarrass(ed), I never remember how to spell it.)

Something feels wrong or off, but not in a concrete way. Hard to explain. I’ve been in a more solitary mood this week.

There’s a motif there.

Michael is sad. Michael is living in a scrapbook & there is no one to help him. Michael could cry.

And if you missed [10:10], there was always [11:11].

I am so unhappy.

Hotpot. Thriftshopping boyclothes. Mall sugardrink. Bathroombeam.

Two hours & fifty five minutes.

Dryheaving in the morning.

Bloody nose in front of the kids. Trainwriting. Genuinely concerned that I have PMDD.

Someone ran a red light into the crosswalk that I was in. It would be embarrassing to get hit by a car a second time.

Three train deer.

I am full of affection & love today.

I feel sick & tired & pained.

Groggy lack of feeling.

I’m going to throw up. I want to kill myself.

I’ll still be here May 30.

Prayed the rosary.

Celebratory Sangaria Strawberry Milk.

All is grace.

Mood: Suddenly wrong.

I felt so bad that I was scared.

I told myself on the way to work that if I felt bad enough, after work I could go to the hospital.

I hope I die in my sleep tonight.

I don't feel anything.

I sobbed myself to sleep last night.

Razors.

—

—

Last night, my blind brother in the garden: “You’re that depressed little boy.” Sobbing.

A buswaiting prayer: “Rejoice, Lightning, enlightening our souls.” I thought of that Fleetwood Mac cover I listened to with Ivy: “Lightning strikes maybe once, maybe twice / Oh and it lights up the night”. I just have to wait.

She asked me to mention that “during that moment it was lightly raining & that raindrops splotched the prayer book.”

“And it all comes down to you”.

1:38 AM, the worst panic attack of my life. It would not end.

Cardinal out the schoolroom window.

Ivy snowcall morning.

Got kicked out for the weekend. Compulsory sleepovers. Ivy didn't want me alone in a hotel room.

Thought about killing myself in an empty parking lot. It was very close. It was in the car with me.

Mood: Stupidly lonely.

First time in church in weeks: homophobic-transphobic-no-masturbation-homily. Later my vibrator died & I wondered if it was a sign from God, but it was just scrupulosity.

Looking at children's books. Dinosaur & pigeon side-by-side. I think it's beautiful, then the the sound of laughing. I rode the train again.

Mood: “Whimsical”

Febrile. It's like someone pulled me out of the freezing ocean & started cooking different parts of me. Wet hair. Getting out of the childhood backyard pool & shivering.

Realized I'm transgender.

Toy money, the word “honey,” a good day at school: “I love these kids so much!”

My name.

Ivy says: “Good days fly”.

Me & Michael.

“These past three days are the longest you’ve been up for air”. Getting rid of my clothes— something I tried & failed to do before. A dream of a deep voice. Forgot church & watched I Saw the TV Glow with Ivy & cried.

Little-sleep nights with Ivy. Boy clothes & boy hair.

Mood: Methinks.

After cutting my hair a student said to me: You don’t look like [redacted]. She drew a picture of me on a horse.

Struggled against robot voice: One of the children asked if I was sick because I sounded different & the bus driver called me “sir”: just in time.

Ivyarmour. All day teaching. Tiredness.

Good day at school. Subpar night at Angeline’s. I went to sleep with no comment.

Texted Angeline my name in class under my desk as she was sitting right next to me and waited a half hour for her response.

“I see.”

Laying in bed miserably, Ivy drunkenly BLATHERED on the phone about her Alex the Lion fan-fiction, worsened by the fact that I have bad experiences with the third Madagascar installment. Happy New Year 2025.

I made it through the slaughterhouse.

Diamonding(conversion; denominal verb) & eggs with three scallions for a trinityhopefilled diet & my vibrator died.

Mood: Through the slaughterhouse, into the gulag: "Glory to God for All Things". Overwhelmed.

I wrote a list of things to look forward to this year disguised as a reading list, how cliché. The cliché to me: “God save you.”

Mood: Self-loathing & upset.

I baked prosphora & played Silent Hill & listened to bird sounds on a cassette tape.

Mood: Alright-adjacent. Writingtrouble.

One week early; (three for the trinity?)

Woke up before Divine Liturgy but didn’t go. Ten minute Vespers. Singing about the form of a dove. I felt like I would cry. They gave me holy water.

Bad conversation; dirtyfilthyguilt feeling. I think it did something lastingly bad.

“I got a rosary to protect us both from harm.”

Mood: Pretty fucking horrible.

[Redacted]-Wednesday is [redacted]-Thursday now. I really want to hurt myself. Saliva filling my mouth on the bus. I got two hours of sleep last night. I really want to hurt myself. I really want to hurt myself.

Mood: I wish I were dead. (Sad.)

Yesterday I felt nailed down into the floor(bed) with every word. I wanted her to stop talking & I also wanted her to say what I wanted to hear. So I kept seeking & I did not find (until today). I had a panic attack & could not speak.

I called into work today & today I feel safe.

Mood: Relief.

Snoopy & Woodstock:

Wow I’m tired. So let’s see. . . I woke up panicked at 1-something in the morning and almost got up from bed because I thought I was late and then realized I was able to go back to sleep. And I felt such relief that I didn’t have to go for a few hours. And then when I took the bus this morning somehow I felt okay. I don’t even know why. I just listened to the same song over and over. Completely calm.

On the way home I felt kind of hopeful on the bus. It was light out by the time I got home. But it was also really sad because it made me realize that’s probably just how normal people feel and I never feel that way.

Had a terrible dream about a bad phone conversation with Ivy. I called her & fell back asleep. After work I called her as I took a nap. Deer & no snow.

Mood: Sadness under/over everything.

Pernicious exhaustion & guilt. Avoiding everyone. Ivy read to me while I took a nap.

Mood: Pressing sadness.

Reached the emotional equivalent of being in a cartoon, asking how things could possibly get worse, saying at least it's not raining, & then having a little rain cloud appear over my head.

Lesbianrejected.

Mood: Everything is so terrible that it's funny.

I couldn't get out of bed this morning.

Mood: Paralysisregret.

Cried on the bus to school & a coworker briefly rested her hand on my thigh during a meeting.

Candy wrapper: "That's Monday's problem."

"Not chopped liver."

Mood: Bad. Gross. "I can tell you're feeling really down."

—

—

—

Crying. Two weeks.

Mood: Very bad.

—

—

Watching television, food, masturbation, lack of writing, & cold. It's dark & I sleep a lot. I have bad dreams.

Distinguishing between observation, stagnation, & clarity.

Mood: Not well, but alright.

Snow. Clarity.

Happy New Year.

Intensely bad headache.

Morning phonecall. Kidz Bop headache. Forty minute fire alarm. Late bus.

Mood: Upset.

I was so upset that I could not speak. I tried to write & failed. I was not confident in three weeks.

Three weeks.

Mood: I don't like myself.

I tried to say how I was feeling & I started crying.

Mood: Guilty & sad.

Life is electric.

God bless the whole world, no exceptions.
Quick escape. Is it all final- no.
Foodgreasy & crumbcovered from the blessed bread, I got the crust
I got there late- first hour, eleventh hour, both are my second chances.

Mood: Beside the field &
I cross the field for my baby.

Ivy was a little upset with me before school, before the sun rose. On the phone & in her voice. I cried. After, on the bus to school, a panic attack. Sound of dry heaving & people turning to look at me. One smiled & I felt a little better.

Mood: Stupid.

I couldn’t understand what I was feeling. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was anxiety.

Touching the carpet with my hands.

Mood: Anxious.

Snoopy & Woodstock:

I babbled in my sleep. Ivy awoke sleep-paralyzed and choking and scared and I said nice things to her until she fell asleep. Self-harm alternatives tierlist. “Nothing special happened today. But I still think it was a wonderful day.”

I skipped work again. I very badly wanted to hurt myself. I am surprised that I didn’t.

Mood: I didn’t write, but I think today was still good.

Looking at the sunset through my window as I waited for class to start, wistful. A singsongy mood. I prayed the rosary in bed. I did it sloppily. I recorded alarm sounds that I refuse to listen to.

Mood: Singsongy.

Ivy seemed annoyed with me this morning. I had a very simple, very awful dream. I do not think things will get better for me. I very carefully considered cutting myself again, but I have faith in four weeks. Shared chopsticks at H Mart. I prayed the rosary later. I just want to be asleep.

I feel a simple hopelessness.

My rosary told me I could take my life or leave my life & I’ll leave it.

Father A_n said it was not possible to become any more "lovable" in the eyes of God.

It was hard not to cry.

Excerpt from a letter sent yesterday: "I think it is easier to feel God’s absence in a church, but to recognize something’s absence implies that it exists. I think it is a sort of loneliness. Maybe that’s not true. Loneliness is something shameful. It is a simple & childish statement, but I think it’s easier to miss God when you are in a church, the way you miss a friend."

Mood: Depressed and strangely lonely; self disgust. Suicidal.

Nothing-Vespers. Could not stop crying later.

Mood: Suicidal.

Mood: Suicidal.

[Redacted]-Wednesday means nothing to me anymore. I almost fell asleep sitting in church. (I hurt my back too much to stand. I could not focus on the service through my pain.)

Mood: Suicidal.

Christmas lighthouse.

Mood: Sardonic.

—

Horrific.

I could not bear to go to church today. I didn't think I could do it without crying.

God the Tormentor. God is creative.

Psalm 54:

My heart is troubled within me, and the terror of death is fallen upon me.
Fear and trembling are come upon me, and darkness hath covered me.
And I said: Who will give me wings like a dove? And I will fly, and be at rest.

Mood: Overwhelmed & guilt-ridden.

I almost cried sitting on the bus on the way to school today. What a child.

Mood: Overwhelmed

Saintgabrielsky. The good thing about reading the Bible is that mundane names are now meaningful: Gabriel, Michael, Mary, etc.

Father A_n emailed me to check on me.

Mood: Good, & that's my first time writing that in my calendar.

I bled through my pad. Sleepy but well rested. Good weather.

Mood: Quietcalm (As long as I don't think about things.)

Asked to stop talking about when I harmed myself & it was okay.

Got panicked talking on the phone & had trouble breathing. My face felt electric, like when I came off of my antidepressants/psychotics.

Mood: “You don't seem horrible”.

The priest: “And folks harm themselves in all sorts of ways- a gallon of ice cream, a pack of Camels. You just do it in a way that's more immediate and less socially acceptable. As to crying in the services, where else are you going to cry if you can't do it there?”

Angel bolo tie (turquoise) & angel bag (gift); “And Angel Toriel & Michael on your body so soon.” Angels everywhere.

“I will I think I will.”

Mood: “today sucked what a waste of a life”

I cried for the entire church service. I couldn't stop. People touched me with their hands.

Mood: Stented & meat tenderized.

Mood: I think I did a good job today.

Isn't it nice to think it yourself?

Yeah.

I emailed the therapist. I feel scared about it now. God help me.

Mood: “You seemed so miserable on the bus.”

Mood: Discouraged.

Winter party with the kids; last day being [redacted] for a while. I think I'm getting sick.

Mood: Disoriented(ly).

Lots of green tea; too tired for church tonight.

Mood: Sick & lightheaded & heart-beating.

Addendum: Too much caffeine, prayed for a while & could not sleep.

—

—

—

Desire to hurt myself, but I did not. In church I decided that I will wait until next Christmas to think about killing myself. Was gifted a prayer bracelet, thirty-three beads. Haircut.

Mood: Resolved.

Vultures eating a deer after church; then scared by the silhouette of a deer in the night; then a herd of deer running.

Mood: Up & down & up & down & up & down into sleep.

Mood: Indisputable.

“My life is a second chance.”
“The world is okay.”
“The world is pointy.”

Nothing I’ve done will change these things.

Mood: I wish I were dead.

Ran around until I almost puked & I did not hurt myself.

Mood: Bad.

I feel like I have roadkill in my stomach; (in reference to my soul).

Mood: Bad.

My sister shoved me & it hurt my back again so badly I almost threw up & I began crying.

Mood: Unending panic attack before bed.

Scallionhope salad with seared tuna & masago. Writing.

Mood: Bad, self-loathing.

Resolution: Eat enough & get my health back; I want my old clothes to fit & I want to run again.

Resolution: No more punishment; no more self-flagellation.

Resolution: Let art save you.

Resolution: Do the good work at your desk.

I think God would like an empty church with just a priest performing Vespers to himself (& to Him). When I went today it was just me, another parishioner, and Father A_n. It was empty so I could see the icons well. Even though it was just us I stood in the back. I'll have to ask Father A_n what he does when no one shows up to the service, if he still does it. I'd be sad if he didn't. I wonder if it loses meaning in how routine it is.

Mood: Numb & suicidal.

The choir's Psalter smells just like a childhood book of mine.

Mood: Absolutely nothing.

Jesus Prayer, “Lord have mercy,” Our Father, etc. It calmed me down.

Weird stomach pains.

Mood: Numb, but able to move.

Losing track of my thoughts mid-prayer.

Mood: Angry.

I want to kill myself.

“How are you?” “Same as ever.” “Is that good or bad?”

A few people asked me to stay after church for lunch, but I left. I didn't want to talk to anyone.

I was told to read the Gospel of Luke first.

Mood: Same as ever. (Miserable.)

My Bible made my back more sore.

Mood: Almost feeling.

I had a dream about the song The Hidden River of My Life.

Cried without a sense of relief.

Mood: Deeply suicidal.

Fitful sleep & gagging.

Mood: Tired, overwhelmed.

Too busy for emotion or God.

Mood: Alright (?)

No more late nights after this. Respite. Email Father A_n tomorrow. My body has weird pains.

Mood: Too busy to feel; Alright (?)

Didn't go to Vespers tonight because I didn't want to see anyone. Thought about skipping church tomorrow because I don't want to see anyone, but I won't. I still haven't written Father A_n back.

Sudden tearfulness. Hiding from the world.

Mood: Acutely suicidal.

I kissed the cross today. Father A_n was right; it was good to talk to people after the service. I left feeling alright.

Mood: Desperate.

Mood: I was too tired to write. (Retroactive.)

In class today, for the upcoming holiday the children wrote an A-Z list of what they were thankful for. Many of them wrote God or Jesus. I wish I could have faith that simple & innocent; faith on a child's worksheet.

Mood: Nothing; self disgust; I don't know.

On break for 11 days.

Mood: Horribly depressed.

Mood: So depressed.

Mood: Hopeless.

Panicked while driving. Went to Vespers.

Mood: Depressed & obsessive.

Divine Liturgy. Prayed for each of my students. Was close to tears toward the beginning, thought about leaving but didn't. Wrote Father A_n about my obsessions/compulsions. (I don't know if it's the sort of thing I could manage to say out loud.)

Mood: A little better, but still sad.

I went to the doctor and tried very hard to convince the doctor that I am not suicidal & am actually a fully functional human being.

“Have you had thoughts about hurting yourself?” “I have never had thoughts of hurting myself.” “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

While all of my writing is completely useless, I can say that at least this calendar has a purpose now; I was able to tell the doctor when my last period was.

Mood: Pathetic.

Another suicide dream. It's becoming a common theme.

Driving alone at night, talking out loud to myself, because I could not bring myself to believe God was listening, my voice began to strain with emotion. Still, I wasn't able to let myself cry.

Mood: I wonder if there's even a point to writing this anymore. I've felt the same every day for a month. What a fun exercise.

I talked to my best friend & it made me feel better. I am going to try to find a therapist.

"To use prayer in the moment and not as a goal that will become a prison."

Mood: Despair.

Verbal debridement.

Mood: Complete despair.

Facing fears.

Mood: Clearheaded for the first time in a long time.

I decided to get a tattoo.

Mood: Low(er) (again).