little-atlas
the dream is alive
hi. i'm reagan.
20.
learning to love the things about me i thought were unlovable.
20 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
renewedfreedomcenter-blog
Renewed Freedom Center for Rapid Anxiety Relief
anamyb
Very New, Very Excited
tastymiles-blog
Tasty Miles
mitiac-blog
The Sky is pretty....Isn't it?
Text
i'm finally back home, and school starts in a few days. i'm pretty excited. i'm taking some cool classes this semester.
it's nice to be back.
i want to start going to the gym more this year. i did a pretty good job of going over the summer, but it's been a few weeks since i was last able to go. i always set a goal for myself every semester, and last semester i didn't make it. i'm hoping to be better this time. i don't really have a clear goal for the entire semester, but i'd like to hit 100lb on the bench press by the end of september.
i'm so glad i get to start back up on my research back at home, even if it means i have to practically start my project over. i'll be redoing a lot of stuff with the method that i used this summer at my internship.
i've gotten back into some of my old fandoms, and been writing some stories for them. i've really missed writing fiction. college has had me so busy i haven't really had time to enjoy it. i'm hoping i'll have an easier time this semester, and therefore have more time to enjoy stuff like that.
i'm sitting in my living room at my apartment right now with my roommate and her partner, who's been living with her for the summer. erica (roommate) and addison (partner) are playing overwatch. at some point addison fell asleep this afternoon and erica was watching youtube, but they're awake and gaming again now.
i got to meet erica's cat that she got this summer. her name is sage, and she's very sweet, much nicer than the cat my (now ex) roommate had last year.
my other two roommates are out of the apartment, one at a party and the other in california.
since getting home, i've been pretty dissociated. i feel different than the person who left here three months ago. i'm still trying to figure out how i fit in to places, and it's a little nerve wracking at times.
still, i think it's going to be a good semester.
0 notes
Text
i'm screaming to myself, I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE! FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE, I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE! and i'm not sure i believe it but it feels right.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
for @nosebleedclub's july prompt: day 13: nephew.
there's a tab open on my phone. books with transgender representation. i've fallen in love with them, recently. i love reading the struggles and the disappointments, but most of all the successes. it lets me look god in the eyes and say, i'm not afraid of you.
i have an uncle. let's call him lucas. he lived near where i live now, and he gave me the gift of a piano, sitting in my parent's dining room, under the painting of my mom's garden. he let us drive his golf cart, swim in his pool when it was hot. he voted against my rights. i haven't seen or talked to him in years. my dad hasn't seen or talked to his brother in years. i pretend it doesn't sting as much as it does.
i have an uncle. let's call him thomas. he lives the closest of all my uncles, and yet i see him the least. i haven't talked to him in a long time, his wife dropping off my graduation present half a year late. i haven't told him, and i don't know if i will.
i have an aunt. let's call her marie. she lives in a state i'm looking at for college. when she called my dad a year ago, i asked to talk to her on the phone. she was always so kind to me, and to hear her say hey reagan, through the phone despite me never telling her felt like flowers blooming in my chest.
i have an uncle. let's call him michael. he's always been my favorite uncle. he's always been the closest to me. i went and visited him in new york two years ago, got to venture around the big city. the last night on the subway, he fumbled my pronouns, but it still meant the world to me because finally, here's someone who's trying.
he was the first to call me his nephew.
0 notes
Text
i'm seeing the red sky at morning again.
we leave for new mexico in a week, and i'm so anxious that eating is becoming difficult again.
i'm spending my days holed up in my apartment, working from home, instead of walking the half mile to the building, going up to the 6th floor, and sitting in the too-hot room with three of the other people in my internship cohort.
i miss home, even though i just left. maybe that's why it hurts so bad.
i'm exhausted constantly, each day just draining more and more out of me.
i've started writing letters, at least. to my parents, to my friends, to my favorite band, small enough that they gave me their address. that one in particular was heart wrenching.
i cut my hair last week, by myself. it's still curly on top, but the sides are shaved down. my hair grows so fast i'll probably have to do it again by the end of this week. i thought my parents would say they hated it, that it looked too much like a mullet, but they did end up liking it. (not the hair on my face, so much).
as of yesterday, i've been on testosterone for a year and a half. it's crazy how much my life has changed in that length of time. i hope things continue to get better.
for now, i'm going to live day by day, hour by hour, song by song.
#poetry#reagan's emporium of thoughts#web weaving#spilled ink#writers on tumblr#writers of tumblr#poets on tumblr#transgender#testosterone#nonbinary#lgbtq
1 note
·
View note
Text
i’m sitting in a plane that’s just taken off. i think my ears should be popping from the change in altitude, but they’re not. we’re gaining height and the only thing i can think is i don’t want to go.
i’m on my way back to my internship, a quick respite in my home from the stress of life.
i don’t want to go back to the city. i hate living in the city.
we’re flying over a lake and i can pinpoint the exact place, just yesterday, i drove through on the way home from my best friends house.
i won’t get there until late. i’m still figuring out how i’m going to get back to my apartment, how i’m going to deal with the quiet emptiness.
i am realizing i am scared.
i don’t know what of.
i miss my home. i miss my family. i miss my friends. i miss the woods. i miss the river. i miss lying in bed at night and listening to the frogs sing and sing and sing. i miss the stars.
and now we’re flying through clouds and the plane is dropping and dipping and making my stomach lurch, a rollercoaster in the sky, and i love it, i love flying but i also can’t breathe with the weight of it all.
#poetry#reagan's emporium of thoughts#web weaving#spilled ink#writeblr#creative writing#writing community#writers of tumblr#poem of the night
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i start the water boiling for my coffee and sit by the window to watch the storm roll in. i've got about 20 minutes before the weather channel says it's supposed to hit. i'll work from home tomorrow.
0 notes
Text
it's supposed to storm tonight, starting around 21:30. i want to stay up late to go sit in the rain, but i have work tomorrow, and i know my meds will knock me out for at least 8 hours, and i don't want to be late. there are no consequences to being late, except the ones on my conscience.
when i think about the way the world is, it feels like there's smoke in my lungs. my rights are being taken away, and so are my sibling's. this isn't right. i should be using this time to practice radical acceptance, but by god i think this fire could kill me. i'm trying my best to stay optimistic. it's really all i can do right now. hold on to the tiny thread that's keeping me from falling.
one of the other people here for this internship has been shot before. he didn't tell me this directly. he told me that when he can't sleep, he watches war videos. says it helps him to fall asleep, but afterwards, he has nightmares.
i, in turn, told him about my family. i was probably drunk, but couldn't feel much of anything different. i still remember.
he told me about his wife, and how they met, and how she hated him for a bit. it's not my story to tell. i told him about the difference between gender identity, appearance, sexual attraction, and romantic attraction. he's from iraq, and none of these things are accepted there.
my key to my room somehow got bent and wouldn't open my door, and he walked with me down to the front desk to get another. he let me borrow his shoes, a pair of flip flops probably 6 sizes too large for me. i brought him peanut butter pancakes as a thank you, and when i tried to return his shoes, he told me i could hang on to them for a bit.
we talked for hours last night. i haven't told him about the other people, or about what landed me in the hospital. i don't think he would understand. but i wouldn't understand his trauma from war, so i think it would even out.
i have a hard time reading people a lot of the time. he's one of the only people here that i can tell right off the bat genuinely likes me. he's a good person and an even better friend.
i hope, someday, i can be like that.
#reagan's emporium of thoughts#poetry#web weaving#spilled ink#friends#friendship#internship#late night talks#queer
1 note
·
View note
Text
sometimes i think i have healthy coping mechanisms.
other times, i'm three shots of vodka in and it's not even 21:00 and i'm just waiting for the high to hit, even though i know i'll come crashing down in a few more hours.
1 note
·
View note
Text
i’m an organ donor. when i got my drivers license, i signed the line to give my body away should i fail myself. i’m thinking about how someday, my heart might not be mine anymore. liver, kidneys, stomach, lungs.
i think about the days where i would give anything not to be me.
at night, i get the urge to peel my skin off. to peel my skin off, pull my bones out of their sockets, separate muscle and make piles of organs. i think about putting myself back together, bit by bit by bit by bit.
self destruction with the intent to rebuild.
#poetry#reagan's emporium of thoughts#web weaving#spilled ink#web weave#skin pulling tw#tw self destruction#rebuilding#rebuild
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
for @nosebleedclub june prompt 29: peninsula.
he's standing out in front of the ocean like it's all he needs to breathe. in the water up to his ankles, the cold water rushing...receding every few seconds. he's always been attracted to the water, but never like this. never like the sea could swallow him whole.
thunder booms, far off. i gather my shoes and head for home.
#poetry#reagan's emporium of thoughts#web weaving#spilled ink#nosebleedclub#poets on tumblr#short poem
0 notes
Text
the light outside my apartment here started flickering. each time it turns on, it makes a clicking noise that reminds me of one of those clickers used to train dogs. the light reminds me of the bulbs in the hospital, always flickering a few times when they're just turned on, accompanied by a humming sound that drives me crazy.
i've made myself a hiding spot in the spare room. pulled the mattress down beneath the bed, put a spare blanket up on the frame. it's become my saving grace this week.
i ran out of tortillas yesterday. i thought about doordashing some, so i could make more quesadillas, but decided against it. the fee alone was nearly a third of what i would've gotten. it didn't seem worth it to me.
i've had more panic attacks this week than i have in two years. something about trauma, and triggers, and vulnerability. it was just a five letter word, but it's a wound that hasn't healed over yet.
i think about falling in love with life. i think about what it means to be alive. i think about what makes it worth living. i'm not sure i've found the answer.
i woke up two nights ago, at 04:17, my body telling me it's time to be awake. i walked through the living room, the blue lights from the building next to me lighting up the space. and there, through the window, was a star. at least i think it was a star.
i thought about staying awake, then, and starting work under its light. i decided against it.
insert something here about summer, and nights ending late and mornings starting early, and the exhaustion never really going away no matter how much you sleep.
#reagan's emporium of thoughts#poetry#web weaving#spilled ink#night#stars#summer#writeblr#creative writing
0 notes
Text
my anger today feels particularly vicious. i can feel it, bubbling beneath my skin, ready to tear this body apart with one blow. i still don't have the words to process what has happened, except i am hurting hurting hurting and getting help.
#reagan’s emporium of thoughts#web weaving#spilled ink#poetry#anger vent#anger#things no one should know#nonverbal
1 note
·
View note
Text
i hold the scissors to my hair and squint my eyes against the glare
of the mirror, reflecting bright. shaking, my right
hand closes. the first locks drop like dead petals of roses.
i’ve taken the first step. a deep breath, then i raise my hand again in prep-
aration. snip. repeat. growth flutters to the floor, and the tight knot in my core
begins to unravel. my hand begins to cramp, tightening, aching muscles as hair cascades to the floor in a damp
pile. i brush long strays and strands off my shoulder in a daze.
the last piece falls, and the suffocating walls
begin to come apart. i turn my head this way and that, running fingers through the short shreds
of her, and i smile back at myself.
-reagan jones, 2021
#reagan's emporium of thoughts#poetry#spilled ink#web weaving#my own poem for once#i wrote this in a class one year in college#the prof was kind of a bitch but you win some you lose some#transgender#trans poetry#trans poets on tumblr
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
i miss the stars.
i think that nearly every day, while here in the city. it's so bright at night, from all the street and building and who know what all else lights, that there's no chance of seeing the stars. i haven't seen the moon, either, in the near month i've spent here.
where i'm from, it's often dark enough and clear enough that you can see glimpses of the milky way.
i'm still not used to this. i'm not sure if i ever will be.
i'm going home (hopefully), in two weeks. i'll be flying in on friday evening, and i'll be there until sunday. i just need to get the time off from work approved. if i have to work over the weekend, then so be it. i want to go home.
i think the thing i'm most excited about, with going home, is actually getting to be in the woods again. here in the city, there are trees, sure. but it's nothing like looking up and only seeing leaves and branches and wide open sky. even if i see the power lines arching over my backyard, it's still worth it to not be surrounded by buildings.
my best friend, evan, is getting top surgery a week and a half before, so i'll be visiting him while i'm home too.
the weekend after that, i get to fly out to new mexico for a trip with my cohort. we'll be out in the mountains, during a new moon, so seeing the milky way for real will be incredible. the most i've seen is a vaguely cloudy band across the sky.
i'm hoping i can convince my dad into letting me bring the nice camera. he probably won't let me, but it's worth a shot.
if i can get one nice picture of the milky way, i'll be happy.
0 notes
Text
it's a saturday night, and instead of going out on the town, i am sitting at home, under my covers. a candle burns on my desk. i am working.
there's not really a lot to say tonight. my words, at least vocally, are dried up. i'm tired, and i'm missing home.
one of the people in my cohort had her birthday on wednesday, the solstice. the rest of my cohort is going out tonight to celebrate her 21st with her. i probably wouldn't be allowed in the places they go. that's not why i stayed home.
my guitar is leaning against the wall next to my closet. i'm thinking about learning how to fingerpick better, or work on changing chords faster. the high e string is missing, broken a few months ago. i still love it to death.
i'm thinking about putting some of my old poetry out here. i took a class, a few years ago. most of my pieces were about gender dysphoria, or the struggle i had with my parents and acceptance. i think past me would be proud for writing these things, here.
my parents have come a long way, since i first came out. it's taken them over four years to consistently use the correct pronouns for me. top surgery is still a topic i struggle to breach.
it's not all bad, though. they've picked out a middle name for me. i looked up the meaning, which i'm not sure if they know.
it means brave.
i think about that a lot. i'm not sure if i'm brave. i have shirts i struggle to wear because i'm terrified of what the public reaction will be.
i'm not sure if i'm brave, but i would like to be.
1 note
·
View note
Text
i was not built for the city.
i was raised out in the woods, hiking barefoot, climbing trees, swimming in creeks and river.
it helps me deal when the bad things happen. i just go outside, get some fresh air, stick my feet in the dirt, and listen to the running water of the creek that runs through my backyard.
in the city, all that exists is the noise of people and cars and buildings. it smells like human waste. it feels like one giant wound.
we drove thirty minutes outside of the city to go on a hike earlier this week. the hike was practically straight uphill, and i couldn't go barefoot. still, it was nice to get to be out in nature again.
whenever my thoughts get too loud back home, i drive down to the creek, half a mile from my apartment, and i do what i like to call "touch grass". ironically, it doesn't really have to do much with touching grass. i take off my shoes and wade in the creek, skip rocks, climb trees, and when all that is over, i sit on the bank and write poetry.
i can't do that here.
when my thoughts get too loud, i have to sit with them.
last night, i got the news that one of my friends is leaving before i get back. i won't be able to say goodbye to her. we've talked over the phone, but it's not the same. she gives the best hugs, and she means a lot to me.
after getting the news, i was struggling not to split. i could feel myself getting angry and wanting to lash out. i wanted to curse her out. it feels like i'm being abandoned all over again. it's not fair, and i don't think it ever will be.
when things go bad, i always get the same thought in my head. i always think, "i want to go home." this happens no matter where i am, if i'm at my house or apartment, even. i am a firm believer that home is not a place, it's a feeling.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
i'm back at work today. this summer, i'm studying active stars with a grad student at a host university. we had our research meeting on friday, and i cried because i didn't understand what i'm doing. it was the second time in a week i've cried. the first time was because i couldn't find the gender neutral bathroom in the building.
my professor here is very scatterbrained, and also very excited about a lot of things. he's the chair of the department here, so he's constantly busy. he's also very enthusiastic. he loves to talk. on friday, our group meeting lasted from 2 to 6:30. back home, our meetings are an hour, at the most. we always have a plan for what we're going to talk about. here, it's a free for all. he doesn't have the time to mentor us one on one, so i'll take what i can get.
my grad student here, eva, i'm not entirely sure she likes me. i have this problem where i think people don't like me, or i have trouble reading them. generally, i just think i'm an unlikable person. it's getting better. i'm working on it.
i have therapy later today. my therapist is incredibly nice, and she seems to think i'm doing well. i'm not sure i would agree. i've been in therapy twice weekly for nearly the past year, and i'm just now going back down to once a week. my therapist back home is able to read me very well. they're able to tell when i dissociate, during our meetings.
today, i'm going to tell my therapist here how i sometimes forget my sister exists.
we used to be very close. in high school, we would ride to school together. when she was old enough to drive, she took us, and we'd have 15 minutes of bonding on the way there and back.
she went to college, and everything changed.
she started out at a place 4 hours away from home. whenever we'd go visit, my parents always told me i was the one who had changed, not her.
i came out to my parents the year she left. i didn't tell her. i don't know why.
i don't know who it was that changed, or if it was both of us. i described it as two puzzle pieces that have somehow changed shape and don't fit together anymore.
she came to the college i ended up at for her junior and senior years.
i was living in the dorms, and didn't have a car, so it was hard for me to see her unless she came and got me. i walked to her apartment sometimes, her junior year and my freshman, but it was a long walk and mostly uphill.
she graduated in the winter, and started working a lot. i didn't see her as often, then.
i ended up in the hospital the weekend before she moved into her new place by the beach for graduate school.
and now we don't talk. i think she's still mad, maybe. i'm too much of a coward to bring it up.
we don't talk. and the not talking makes me forget she exists.
0 notes