still sorry

i wear hoodies and layers
not as protection from the weather
but as protection for you
from me.

as if each cardigan i wear is
an apology for the way i look.
because for the space i inhabit,
i am sorry.

i sweat bullets
every. day.
on the train
and i am still sorry

each drop racing 
down
my
back

and i am still sorry.

on feeling defective

When I made the decision to transition, I told myself that I was probably going to spend the rest of my life alone.

Given the kinds of horror stories you hear about things that’ve happened to trans people, it’s no stretch of the imagination at all. It’s a very real possibility, still, that I may never find someone to love me in that way.

Somewhere along the way, I simply decided that a Fuck Yes kind of love just wasn’t designed for people like me. Maybe it was after ostensibly “making a connection” with someone online and having that connection turn into utter revulsion when we meet. Maybe it was all the offhanded comments overheard when I wasn’t out.

Or maybe it was when flirting turned into an unwelcome hand in my crotch because “he had to make sure,” he is “from the South, you know.”

All these things, all these… experiences all led up to a conclusion that there must be something wrong with me, and I think we all know what that is.

It is incredibly depressing to find out that the act of you living your life the way you need to comes with a built in risk of being lonely.

I love my friends. I really do. But friends can only get you so far.

Something I’ve been struggling with a lot is trying to remind myself that there is nothing wrong with me, but the fact of the matter is: there is something wrong with me. That’s why I’m transitioning in the first place. 

Every time I write a post like this, I feel a weird obligation to present a happy ending.

It never made sense to me, but I did it anyway. I don’t know why I should anymore, because what’s the point of writing a happy ending when you’re convinced you won’t get one?

Fuck it, here goes anyway.

With all that being said, maybe I just need to change how I see things.

Yes, there are parts of me that are broken, parts that will never heal and never be how I so desperately wish them to be.

But that doesn’t mean that I, myself, am broken.

Greg Costikyan - Gamergate: STFU

atomicovermind:

NOTE: This was originally posted by Greg Costikyan over at Gamesutra. It was taken down for excessive profanity. All I haveto say is “fuck that.” This needs to be read.

Gamergate: STFU by Greg Costikyan

"As a male voice in the game industry," writes my daughter Vicky,…

illustratedkate:

cause sometimes you just gotta suit up!!

next costume ideas

illustratedkate:

cause sometimes you just gotta suit up!!

next costume ideas

Final thoughts on this whole kerfuffle.

ohdeargodbees:

I’ve said my piece about my personal life and that holds true. I have zero interest in ever discussing my sex or love life publicly on other people’s terms. If you want answers about the particulars of a game developer’s private romantic entanglements, please ask yourself why you feel entitled…

Anonymous said: hey hey, Miss America! I saw your cosplay while I was browsing tags and just wanted to say you look fantastic and that I love your hair! :-]

Aw, thank you anon! <3

:) Gosh, I like Dragon*Con.

Dragon*Con Day 1: It’s Not Even Night Yet, a recap.

Nobody recognized my costume. That’s alright. Have tons of ideas for more of them. God everywhere here is so good at being crafty.

Received a hefty dose of inspiration from attending a bunch of writer panels. Topped it off with spazzing out in front of a hero of mine, kellysue. Got probably the best selfie I’m ever going to have in my entire life with her.

Listen, there’s not a lot of people I can point to as actual inspirations in my life and this lady is one of them. I am so glad she’s just as awesome in real life as I’d hoped.

I feel like I have nowhere else to talk about this, so here it is.

I’m so anxious right now, it’s only a matter of time until I pass out. There’s this pressure in the back of my head threatening to turn into something more, into something that could kill me and I swear, this anxiety is so bad that I know I’d feel it in my grave.

I have no idea what to do, but then again I never really do anyway so what’s the point.

fucking dads, man.

I’ve thought long and hard about the things I’d do and say to my father if I ever ran into him in real life.

Not once in all this time did I think it’d be over the internet.

What the fuck, I can’t yell at a fucking friend request. I can’t cry at a notification. I can’t punch a dismiss button in the face.

I also can’t hug an internet profile. I can’t type, “Why did you never come back?” into a fucking IM and expect an honest answer. I can’t rightly forgive bits of text that have nothing but my own projected meaning.

Maybe I just can’t forgive him.