Still The Same - TGI expect more of tomorrow. I expect more of tomorrow because I want more of tomorrow, because I don't know what to say about today.Today was interesting. Today was sucky, and today was great. Today had victories, and today had losses. There were things that I got, and things that I failed to get. There's no music and little internet, but there was fun for a time. Things got done, if not always the things I wanted to do. It made me happy.But some things didn't get done. Some things didn't go right no matter how desperately I tried. Some stories weren't finished, some tails weren't told, some contests weren't won, and some lives didn't shift for the better. And when I look down at myself, I'm still the same me I saw this morning in the mirror.The mirror is my enemy; I go under the personal assumption, each and every morning that it's broken. That my eyes are half blind, and my feeling isn't quite right, so when I don't see or feel breasts there's a reason. That my shirt is
My Body - TGMy stomach's full. It feels like it's going to burst. I press a hand against it, but it just makes me feel worse. I hate the sensation.My chest is sore. But it's not the type of sore that feels like it's expanding. I hate that even more, and I tug at the flesh a little to prove it. I hate that it's so flat.I hate my body. I hate it so much sometimes that it hurts. Other times I just want to hurt it, but everyone tells me that's not healthy. All I know is that the form doesn't feel like it's mine.I don't know why that is. I hear theories, sometimes, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it doesn't feel like my form because of the media. It doesn't matter if form doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if I should be comfortable with who I am no matter how I look. It won't matter no matter how many times they say it. Because it still hurts.They don't get it. They don't understand it. They don't feel it. It's something like how I imagine depression to be almost, but not quite.