pinstripes

[prismaticbleed]

It's a lie to even look at them.

I woke up at around 7 this morning, I think... got myself ready for Sunday services and seeing the MoTab... didn't speak a word on the way up. Too much on my mind, or nothing at all. I don't remember. I can only remember looking out at the mountains, and thinking how unreal everything felt.
Seeing the Tabernacle Choir was a beautiful disappointment. I'm addicted to heart-wrenching music, and the only transcendental chords were hidden in the first piece. So I sat and waited, listening to the instruments like a maniac listening to the wing flutters of a dying moth, voicelessly searching for that sound. It never came.
That took a heavy toll on me for some reason, and I spent the next 20 minutes trying to channel crystal wings before hopelessly realizing that the reflection I walked by didn't match me at all.
Sunday services were the same. There was too much talk, too many tears that I couldn't understand, too many strange bothers and too little pain. I need pain... I need contrition to feel any sort of ethereal life. That's why I like the structured mass I grew up with... it's always just slightly different enough to keep you thinking about every little word and chord and ritual, but it's similar enough to the past that my mind tends to dive deep as I sit there in those red pews. I like being in my typical church because the silence and the solemnity give me something gorgeous to hold on to. I'm supposed to be there, I want to be there, but whenever there's an interim I can just let go and see where God takes me. I couldn't find that today.

I had a priestly blessing given to me last night... it was almost cruelly sad, because every word God gave to me was a quietly loving repetition of the truths I already knew so well, so beautifully well, but was too lost and blind to realize. I've been blessed so much, ever since my childhood; those blessings are the only reason I'm alive right now. I've changed lives, I've been given an inner sight many can't even imagine, I've been given Peace herself as a lifelong muse. I've been given four angels to protect and guide me...
Trials are necessary. I know this. I've been suffering all my life, and somehow the entire time I knew that they would be beneficial in the end. Those traumatic childhood memories, those sleepless high school nights stained red with JTHM and self-sacrifice... all of them have contributed to the best parts of me right now.
That poses my problem.

Positivity does not fit with me.
"God wants me to be happy," they tell me, and I know it's true. However the sort of true happiness He's been giving me so far isn't the sunshine and flowers sort so many people think of.
Let me go off on a tangent...
I've never liked 'fun.' You know... amusement parks, recreational activities, board games, stuff like that. I had them all as a kid, but they never really worked out. I'd go to the amusement parks to ride the airborne rides, pretending I was flying along with the Jewel Monsters, but in time I lost my trust of those machines and realized the time they were stealing from me. Board games were only fun to me if I could turn them into my own creation, so to speak. I enjoyed 'Life' because I could write a theoretical future with it. I liked the mystery games because I could think about the characters and their roles. My favorite game, though, was about a unicorn and some princesses... I basically rewrote the entire plot in my head. I enjoyed creation and significance, not moving plastic pieces across a slab of cardboard for two hours. I'd go to fairs and picnics and family trips, but rarely enjoyed them and always looked forward to going home. In time I developed a crippling fear of their atmosphere... the smell of fries and funnel cakes, the loud brass music, the yellow and white lights strung overhead, the crowds of people. Even the slightest hint of that now is enough to send me spiraling into a panic. It's a carnival of senseless hedonism to me. Food, drink, and 'fun.' Screw that; I have work to do.
So I look for positive negativity, so to speak. I look for minor keys and left-eye teardrops and lonely nights and broken chandeliers. I seek out the silent streetlights and outcast souls and the empty streets drenched by rain. Those are the only things that feel real to me, and I've never really been able to explain it.

I had to borrow Mel's clothes for services this morning. Pinstripe pants and a black/white dress top. It was okay until I got about 2/3 through the Sunday service... that's when that awfully sick perception shift happened; that utterly displacing thought that I looked like a woman.
Naturally I began to freak out. As soon as I walked in Q's door I was milliseconds away from tearing the thing off and throwing on a suit, no kidding. That then led me into a train of thought that I really need to discuss, and eventually settle.
I'm sitting here in a pair of black jeans, a white Dichotomy top and a grey overjacket from the mens' section in Kohls. I mussed up my hair before the mirror so it spiked up just enough, grabbed each side of my lapel, and was for a moment comfortable with the face in the mirror. If I weren't so freaking numb lately I think I would've cried or something.
I just... I don't fit. I've never fit this face, this body, this vessel. Yeah, I need to use it as a conduit, but geez... can't I change it up a bit so I stop having breakdowns every time I walk past a mirror?
I think that's the most painful feeling in the entire world for me right now... the acutely agonizing awareness that my 'body' is not mine, that no matter where I go I will not find home, because the bones I am bound to are the wrong sort... that for now, for the length of this terrible trial, I am lost, trapped in a 5'8'' prison that tears me apart every waking moment.

Going back to our opening sentence, that's what's been going on. I don't have the nerve, the will, the right or the want to even look at Q or Mel right now. I mean, come on, these eyes feel stolen. It's a horrible feeling, you know; that no matter how genuine my soul strives to be, I will always be false, for the immediate impression I give to the world is a complete falsehood, a black lie.
I'm also still stupidly numb. Yes, yes I know I thought I was getting over it... and maybe I am; I don't know. I just can't feel anything other than this desperate, manic need to escape. And they're making it worse.
Laurie's doing okay. She's actually going back to the positive state she was in earlier this month, which makes me smile. I missed her a lot.
Too bad I can't do the same, I guess. There's that dull ache in the center of my chest again, which is completely bizarre because it's not even a physical sensation as far as I can tell. Fun fact; if you ask me if I hurt anywhere, I will most likely answer "yes" even if there's not the slightest twinge of a nerve in my body. There's just this chronic, invisible pain within me at all times, and it's impossible to describe because it requires a whole new sense to accommodate it. I'm only getting echoes of it, which is good I guess, because I think that if I took on everything I'm dimly percieving I might just die from the pain.
It's making everything really strange, too... no, I can't actively feel anything, but I can still emote, if that makes sense. I'm worried how Q and Mel are perceiving all this, but my numbness makes it feel almost 'painted on,' because there's no tangible proof of it. It's there though... well, at least I hope to God it is.

I really, really want to be a guy. I can't explain why and the mere thought of it makes me worry (probably because of the prejudice I'll face), but I still wish I were Jayce.
Why did I not realize this back when I was 12, 13, when the girls in my class showed me a magazine full of male models and asked me if I 'thought they were hot?' And all I could think of, all I could ever think of, was "I want to look like that." I wanted that so badly. I never realized what that meant. I never gave it a second thought...
Right now, I need the small changes most of all... the voice switch, the body shape change, the beard (oh man why do I want one so much), the different face and hands and impression. What I'm scared of is the 'mental change;' the thing most trans men I've seen talk about, the fear that the testosterone will somehow overwrite a vital part of my personality, especially the stereotypically 'feminine' parts like my deep-rooted compassion and empathetic needs. I don't want to shoot myself up and suddenly slide over to a stereotypical male mindset. I want to look the part just well enough, but I want to be whoever the heck I want. If I want to seriously screw around with the gender perception of everyone who sees me then so be it.
I just want to be comfortable in my own shell for once in my life. I want to look in the mirror and smile because it fits, not because I'm treating that glassy countenance as a separate individual. That's how Natalie was born and died, you know...
Also, weird realization. You know how I like andro girls and that's it? Well, I think that if I became Jayce, my focus would suddenly switch to andro guys. Heck, 4 out of 5 people would probably think I was gay the moment they saw me. Ridiculous stereotypes... but anyway, what causes such a strange homoromantic tendency with me is my severe asexual/genophobic drive. Compatibility in the 'typical' (ech) aspect can only be achieved through two members of opposite sexes. I loathe that sort of 'compatibility' more than I can say, so I think I'm unconsciously leaning the other way.
Right now, I am looking for a girlfriend for that reason. Sadly, though, I need a near-clone of me more than anything. I seem to have developed my personality output to match what I need from other people, so if I could find someone who was outwardly incredibly similar to the real me (nice, compassionate, open-minded and creative, but also punky, explorative, eccentric and a total butch), I'd be incredibly happy. I just don't know where to look, haha. I should totally take out a personal ad... "google 'spinningcannon,' ladies(?), and if you identify strongly with that individual, give me a call." Panromanticism is a major plus, haha.
Back on track, though... since becoming Jayce would make me a man (although not physically; God willing I won't have anything at all down there), hanging around with the ladies (no matter how cute they are) would make me terribly nervous, I think. Even visualizing it makes me panicky. Why? It's simple... girl + guy = downstairs junk that I DO NOT WANT. So unless I hook up with a lesbian or a dude I'm in trouble, haha. Seriously, I'd have no problem with a gay guy as long as he wasn't... well, promiscuous. Heck, I can't stand promiscuity in anyone. I just really, really like gay dudes. It's probably just because I don't like the binary or gender stereotypes at all. I'm currently pretty darn butch so there you go.

Lastly... should I change my name?
I loathe my given name; oh man, you have no freaking idea how much I detest it. I just can't decide what to change it to.
My 'true' name, Jewel W. E. Lightraye, would fit perfectly BUT once I went 'male,' I'd hit a roadblock. I still call myself 'Jayce Lytraile' (clever clever) whenever I refer to my 'future' white-haired self, but still have the mental incident here and there where people refer to me as 'Jewel' and I'm fine with it. Huh.
I just... switching legally to Jewel while still trapped in this physical hellhole would feel horribly, horribly wrong. Yeah, I'm me, but this bag of bones isn't. I'm going to need to give it a total remodeling (and maybe a custom paint job) before I can go around switching up names to fit it.
Could I get two names somehow? Haha, that would be genius. I think I'd really like that.
...Maybe Jayce would work, actually. Think about it: Jayce is the name for my physical self, and Jewel is the name for my soul. It's still me. I think I'll do that-- as soon as I decide on my two new middle names, haha!

Well, Apollo only has 50 minutes left on his battery and I left his plug at Mel's house, so I suppose I should close up for now... maybe hand this entry over to Q and Mel so they can have a bit of an idea as to what's going on with me. I don't know. It's starting to make me horribly sick, thinking of them reading this and likely treating it like they would a newspaper. Just something 'fun' to read...
...See, there we go again. I've been mentally picturing myself as Jayce this whole time, and now that I'm trying to pull myself out of 'digital reality' and back into the 3D perception of this living room, I'm getting that sickening knowledge that my trial isn't over yet and I still have to suffer this current body a while longer. God, give me strength. I trust you, and I know you know what you're doing, but... please, help me out.

Trial is necessary. Tears are vital. Suffering is needed. Pain is indispensible.
My life has been written in minor keys, in chords that make you catch your breath because they sting so sharply; their sorrowful beauty strikes your very heart.
If the sky didn't cry, there'd be no rainbows and waterfalls... it's the truth, you know.
Oh man, there we go... tiny bit of heartbreak right there. Thank you Jeff Kessel.

25 minutes left on Apollo; 3:21PM. I feel like going to sleep and doing some overtime... that or dreaming with my eyes open. I just need a strangely beautiful escape.

I'm going to try to purify my heart again, to make myself as white as I once was.
One day I'll dye my hair to match.






When I was a little boy
I didn't know what was right or wrong
I had to change my way of life
But I just couldn't win the fight
I'd let myself float off in time and hide

Another day
Another night
I lived off dreams
I thought was right
I couldn't stand being treated like
I was the only one without rights
Stood there screaming out your voice
And cried

The way you loved me
Is not always what we call love
Waiting now, beautiful pain

In the dirt and in my soil
They said they planted seeds of joy
I was unholy, born in sin
So they fed me words of lead within
Then I looked down on myself in shame
Left with the blame

The way you loved me
Is not always what we call love
Waiting now, beautiful pain

Mother, father listen up
I know these times were kind of rough
We waited for the leaders hand to guide our lives
It's kind of sad
And you just did what you thought was right
And cried