we are so constituted that we can only intensely enjoy contrasts, much less intensely states in themselves

-Freud. Civilization and Its Discontents: Chapter 2

Why?

We are just built to only intensely enjoy contrasts. And in many ways, we are built to only notice contrasts, to notice changes. In dim light, the vision goes entirely blank unless something moves. Consistent white noise can sound like silence. The familiar smell of home eventually smells of nothing. We notice if something hotter or colder than our skin touches us, or if something touches us firmly, but a soft touch from a skin-temperature object might be unnoticed entirely.

Homeostasis is the goal, after all. If everything is staying the same, and if you are doing okay, then there isn't anything important to notice, is there?

Is there? Of course there is. But it can be hard. It feels very good to crawl under a warm blanket on a cold day, but after a while of laying there and warming up, the blanket begins to feel like nothing. You have to rub your legs on it or jostle it around to even sense it. You might need to shift the comfort around if you want to notice it.

It is easy to take things for granted when they are constant. Constant companionship, constant comforts--these can fade into the background of our mind. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder," because distance is contrast to the comfort of companionship. And reuniting is a contrast to the loneliness. Life itself becomes mundane despite being miraculous and vital. Life and death are such vast contrasts. The death of another will wound you in ways you never recover. And the death of our self--a physical, mental, entire death--it is so contrasted that we struggle to fathom it at all. Even the death of simple things can horrify us. A favorite mug shattered; the final flicker of a favorite candle; the end of a day; the last ink from a treasured pen.

And what joy creation brings. If death is the contrast to life, then life is the contrast to non-existence. The desire for children reigns the hearts of many. Happiness is sought in creating food, textiles, stories, structures, families, friendships, art. Perhaps that is why failure to do these things can crush us. There is a profound contrast in our goals for perfect creation, versus the myriad of unsatisfactory resulting things; a profound contrast in our view of ourselves as maker, writer, lover, creator, god--versus our inevitable recognition of ourselves as failures in some things.

What is the nature of unbridled joy, of fierce motivation, of aching desire and heavenly bliss, of soft and peaceful contentment? Is there any way to find joy when our brains are beautifully capable of imaging perfection, when reality can rarely compete? The magnificence of pondering can be obliterated by the results of trying. Perhaps it is gentler to daydream rather than try. Daydreams never need to end, or reflect. They can continue forever, unlike crafts with definite results. Does daydreaming help us? Surely the ideas we construct eventually can be translated into physical results. But perhaps it takes a wise person to real in the excitement and expectations, and to remember that the laboratory of the mind is far more pristine than the real world, with all its unintended variables.

Is it better to temper joy? Surely it feels worth it, to reduce the ache of defeat. But isn't the bliss of success also tempered? Is there some art of the mind, to shepherd our hearts and feelings, to protect them from storm and guide them to fertile pastures? How could anyone conceive of this art when we are lost under infinitesimal layers of propaganda for others' greed, for capitalism, and for others' power, for government? Commercials can try to inspire lust for material products, but constant bombardment makes us grow numb. Even flashy colors fade from our mind when there is never anything different. At best, a company manages to capture some illusion of decent reputation through the repetition. The dazzling displays can only say, "Look, we've been around for decades. Wouldn't it be nice to let our product fade into the background of your life?" Any advertisements for happiness or bliss fall flat. Happiness never lasts. It certainly doesn't exist in a pair of shoes. At best, the shoes will never bother you. But they won't bring you happiness or friendship every day of your life. They can advertise how fun they are, but it rings hollow eventually. Even bliss rings hollow after it rings long enough. You can analyze advertisements for pathos, logos, ethos--and you can also analyze for a promise of joy or a promise of ease.

Where does motivation lie in all of this? Desire can motivate. But so can rage, annoyance, laziness, boredom, pain, love... Emotions can be vaguely categorized based on if they call for active response or passive response. Passive responses come from things like sadness, depression. Active responses come from things like fear, disgust, anger. You could categorize emotions as pleasant or unpleasant, too. Sadness rarely gives motivation, but there is a pleasant equivalent: contentedness. Both of these feelings pair well with a plate of snacks and a comforting chair and a drowsy demeanor. Fear and lust, hate and passion, those are motivational. They can propel you into action in an instant. It's much harder to adjust to these feelings and learn to sit with them. Constant exposure can acclimate you, to a degree. The physical aspects of fear--adrenaline and whatnot--eventually run out. But they are known for smoldering and rekindling. It does indeed feel like a rekindling--a spark setting it ablaze once more. If you get acclimated, it might just be that you've temporarily distanced yourself from the feelings--and then they return, in stark contrast to whatever peace you had scavenged, to throw you into action again. You can fall in love every time you see someone again.

Human nature comes to a curious conflict, then. On one hand, we like to be correct. We like to be smart. We like to know what is going to happen. The thrill of finding the answer is at an apex when we are proven successful. And when we hit a nail with a hammer, we deeply prefer to hit the nail as intended rather than to miss. Is that exciting? Does it thrill us? Is there joy when one foot goes after the next, with each step in a steady gait? Perhaps, if we've recently been injured and are learning to walk again. But we love to be surprised. We love wrapped gifts. We love to gamble. We love to stumble upon unexpected fortune. Which is sweeter--to find joy exactly where you expected it, or to discover it in a new and exciting place? And how does it feel to fail in a way we predicted, versus failing unexpectedly when we anticipated success?

How do we reconcile these components of our minds? We want to be clever, omniscient, and yet it gets dull when all goes according to plan with no chance of failure. But maybe omniscient and clever and two different things. Cleverness let's us go from ignorant to knowledgable; omniscience is omnipresent knowledge. Perhaps it is the same way humans love to accelerate, but get bored at a steady speed no matter how fast. If we like to feel clever, does that mean we must first feel stupid? That is commonly quite unpleasant. Perhaps the joy of learning only comes so strongly in contrast to the frustration of ignorance.

Contrasts fuel our emotions and our motivations. We are motivated when we want change. We seek change because it feels more intense than calm monotony. We seek intense things because we want more, to contrast with the less we had before. Conspiracy theorists love to go down rabbit holes, and if they meet the end, they will begin digging for that thrill even when it doesn't make sense. And the thrill of gambling, of trying to find success, of thinking you might become so clever you'll win every time--what anticipation! Far more emotional than just saving money. Addiction deepens when our default state lowers itself. It depends when we seek higher highs, and when we find lower lows. New misery motivates us, just as new opportunities for new bliss.

What a circular little existence. We crave safety until we have recovered. Then we crave adventure until we are exhausted. And why not? That's the perfect formula for survival. It's the same formula used by lions, by cattle, by bacteria, by plants. Perhaps our desire for change arises from that ancient circular lifestyle. Perhaps that piece of our psyche is something we share with all living things, social or not, large or microscopic. Perhaps we are so constituted simply because a circle is a perfect way to stay where you are, by constantly shifting direction until you are back home again, where it is safe.

There's no promise that a shower will make me feel better, but if I'm already having a shitty day, I might as well try it. I already feel awful. Might as well do something that overwhelms me but needs to be done.

It's an old trick of mine. Do your chores when you're sad and feel like shit. At least you'll be sad and not have chores. Not like you were enjoying yourself anyways.

Its gotten a lot of chores done over the years.

It's good to have a blog to throw all my emotions at. Sometimes they're so tangled and confusing that I don't even know what I'm feeling or thinking. It helps me sort them out.

I wish I could just make a post on my main blog like "if you are ever going to post anything about [trigger] please block me" but I'm too ashamed of having that trigger to say anything. It sounds really weird and scary to just announce that on the Internet. But it's really hard to keep up with which blogs use it as a joke and which blogs use it as a kink and and I dont want to be ~kinkshaming~ but I also dont want to see posts that are going to haunt my brain for months and flash into my mind when im trying to work up the bravery to go get groceries

Sorry I'm bad at all the things I've been trying to be better about. Sorry I'm bad at all the things I've always struggled with. Sorry it takes me so long to do things. Sorry it takes me so long to get better. Sorry it's who I've always been and I don't know how to be anything better.

It really hurts to love someone so much that you could spend 24 hours a day with them happily, but then fail in other areas and keep them from happiness. I guess a perk of being polyamorous is that at least my wife gets to have one good partner.

they need to invent drinking that's good for you and a way to fuck music

My wife has another procedure coming up... I'm so scared >.< The prep for it is always so hard on her. Last time, she got so sick that I called a doctor in the middle of the night--the one we were told to call if we had questions after hours--and he laughed at me and asked why I was wasting time calling him instead of taking her to the ER.

We didn't go to the ER in the end. It's just...too expensive. And there's no other way to prep for the procedure. This time I asked, how do we know if we should go to the ER? The doctor didn't have answers. He suggested some symptoms to look for, forgetting that she always has those symptoms.

Another doctor is trying to help with tests and things. But last time we went, some of their testing material was expired and we were told we'd have to come back. They said they'd give us a call. They haven't.

When I go to the doctor for myself, they recognize me. They ask how my wife is. "Still sick." Really? they asked. Yes. Still sick.

My heart is breaking. I'm glad she has insurance now. I have been able to afford all of my own meds lately, so thats good. I've been gotten on a new one! It helps quite a bit. I'm glad I can afford it.

We are trying to move too. We have friends elsewhere who want to help, but the distance makes it hard. I say "friends" because that's what I'm used to telling people. They are very dear friends--they are our polycule. We miss each other so much. I am desperate to move closer, to have their help caring for my wife. They want the same. Moving is hard, though. We are surrounded with packed boxes, but it doesn't make it easier to find a place or guarantee it's the right place out of all the other options.

My mom cries. She asks why I'm leaving, and I tell her all of my reasons. I tell her about our "friends," careful not to mention that we are polyamorous. I don't feel like having her cry about that, too, and she would cry. I tell her that the local government here is cruel and heartless towards me, but she doesn't understand. I remind her I've always wanted to leave the state, but it doesn't make her feel less abandoned.

"Come with me," I offer with no serious intent, throwing all of my false sincerity into my tone. "You'd be safer in a city, near a hospital, near grocery stores." She doesn't want to leave the country.

She cries. I think she'll miss me. I think she's sad that she won't mind very much that I'm gone. She never recovered from when I came out to her. She's never loved me the same way since then. It's always at an arm's length, always with a sharp edge to her words, always with a sob hiding in the back of her throat. She wants me happy, and she wants to be happy, and the two things can't fit together inside of me. I am only one person. She doesn't know who that is anymore. She can't understand the things I do or the way I speak or the love I feel. I am the enigma that replaced her daughter. She misses me even when we hold one another and wish we were closer. I don't envy her. I don't envy me.

My wife has another procedure coming up. I'm terrified. I'm scared she'll die. At least she has insurance, so I can afford to buy my own meds. Maybe this time it'll help her. Maybe she'll be okay afterwards. Maybe we'll have the time and strength to move to our polycule. It feels like ive been waiting for this my entire life--waiting to move somewhere full of love of homemade food and soft hugs and sweet dreams and a support system to help with the hardships between the good things. Maybe we can finally go. Maybe I'll feel like I'm alive, instead of just waiting to be alive.

I need a moment to breathe. I need a sunbeam to keep me company. I need a hand to hold, a heart to hear, arms to fill. I need to see my wife walk without wobbling. I need to see her in the sunlight, in the store, in the arms of her girlfriend. I need to see her happier. I need something to make her feel better. I need the procedure to go well. I need it. I need it. I need it.

Lately my DID has been like

"I don't know if I have DID. I know exactly who I am right now, and I cant imagine feeling like anyone else. Idk what was up last week though--that felt like an entirely different person."

And then the next week, someone else is saying the same thing

not even in a sexual way but i’m just craving affection because i feel like crap i just want someone to hug me for a couple of hours and tell me i’m going to be okay 

It's too obfuscating to phrase it, "No one can love you until you learn to love yourself" and "You can't really love someone until you love yourself." You can learn to love yourself from the way a loving person treats you. You can learn to actively be tender and understanding and mature in a relationship by observing what a loving person does.

But...! It's important to remember this:

You won't know if someone is treating you as well as you deserve, until you understand that you do deserve it, and understand what it entails.

You can learn how to love others by recognizing your own needs and wants. You can learn that love requires forgiveness about some things, by recognizing your own needs for forgiveness when you mess up.

It's hard to take care of someone who is hurting unless you know what someone needs, and you can learn a lot of those needs via introspection. If you are hurting, you recognize your own needs for help, and then learn about the needs of others.

It's hard to know what a hurting person looks like if you insist your own wounded self is fine.

It's hard to recognize when others need help if you're always ignoring your own needs.

...That being said, it's hard to recognize yourself as a being who needs things, because it can fill you with grief to realize how much you've been neglected by yourself and others.

I have my own opinions on it. In an ideal world, we'd learn how to love when we are kids, when it's okay to soak up love without knowing how to reciprocate. We'd learn how to recognize when we need help, because others would offer. We'd learn how to help ourselves by watching them. We'd learn to apply that to our own loving actions through trial and error, in a safe community where it's okay if you burn every bridge around you because you're 4 years old and learning how to regulate your emotions and surrounded by mature adults who will rebuild that bridge as many times as you need, until youre old enough to decide if you want to upkeep it or let it rot.

The more I study emotions, the fewer I find. What is there, besides grief and love? And are they not two sides of the same coin?

That dream was a fascinating reminder that our dreams process the echos of our waking experiences

As someone who has Trauma about Penises, I don't have any sympathy left for the "well, that genital is traumatic for me" argument that transmisogynists use. I haven't had sympathy for years, since I was 19 and just learning that I wasn't the only queer person in my area and I wasn't alone and that I had a personality hiding under 19 years of trauma.

Penises used to be very triggering for me. I didn't like hearing about them or seeing them depicted or remembering they exist. And when I needed to shelter myself away from them, to heal, I did the best I could to avoid the topic and only approach it on my own terms if I was willing to do so.

And slowly, over time, I healed. I understand genitals can be scary after trauma. Cars can be scary after a car crash. Dogs can be scary if you've had a bad experience with them. It doesn't help if you have assholes in your life who think it's funny to scare you.

I'm pretty neutral/positive about penises now. At first, I got used to medical depictions. Then, plain strap-ons. Then, dating a trans man, I got used to realistic packers. Slowly, my brain stopped associating penises with trauma.

I still have some lingering negative feelings but only about the one that hurt me. It hurts me greatly to put those thoughts in the forefront of my mind, but I do so now because I want to explain my current experience with penises. I've come to see all the others as neutral by default, at worst. I find beauty in them. I find grace. Gentleness. Softness. Tenderness. It is the same way I view palms and necks and folds of fat and heartbeats. If I find sexual joy in them, including with things like roughness or power, it is only with my consent.

They are not that different from hands, or heartbeats. They aren't made for any moral stance. They simply exist as part of us, and we give them meaning with our experiences.

I haven't had sympathy for the transmisogynists using the argument since I learned that they were transmisogynistic. I didn't learn that through a lesson presented to me. I learned they are transmisogynists by pondering their experiences, words, actions, and effects on the world, and how they adjust (or do not adjust) their behavior to coexist with the people around them.

It's worth noting that trans women can be very traumatized by their own body. When I was very uncomfortable with the idea of penises, I noticed that some trans women had the same feeling. They didn't want any reminder of them, either. Sometimes when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I see little facial features that I share with the person who hurt me. It haunts me. It feels like I am trapped in some traumatizing shell that I can never escape.

I noticed that feeling exists in some trans women about their own bodies. It isn't a good feeling. When I got on testosterone, I did so despite my fear that I might see my face change to closer resemble my triggers. Instead, I simply saw *my* face. The shape of my own eyebrows is a comfort because they are mine. The wispy hairs on my chin make me happy because they're mine. I am allowed to exist in this body and enjoy it. He doesn't get to ruin that for me, too.

I experience dysphoria over areas of my body, but not the parts that have changed on testosterone. But, to be trapped in a body where trauma and dysphoria are woven together... That sounds like hell. It sounds like hell to have people make laws saying you aren't allowed to change into someone easier to see in the mirror.

It is hell, for me, to have my rights cut away, the blades cutting closer and closer to my body. I want the right to let my body become more masculine. I find peace in the mirror now.

Trans women deserve the same right to find peace in their reflection, and to distance themselves from the trauma and dysphoria of their form. If a woman feels neutral about her body, but still wants to change it to feel happier, no laws should stop her.

I haven't elaborated on the complicated traumas that trans women experience because I am not a trans woman and do not possess the knowledge needed to elaborate. If you seek some further knowledge, I recommend being aware that trans women can experience trauma the same way cis women can. They are vulnerable to being hurt by someone else in the same way. I also recommend being aware that it is a good thing to be able to love your body. Women deserve to love their body. If a woman loves her body, it's a good thing. If her body is triggering for you, it doesn't mean she should be ashamed.

I have other triggers. Little things like aprons and forests and colors. Other people find joy in these things, and I don't try to stop them. Maybe one day I won't be afraid of aprons, either. Maybe one day I can exist in a group of trees without adrenaline pumping through my veins and making me precisely aware of every potential danger. Maybe one day I can wear an apron, or go on a walk through some woods, and only feel peace.

The universe is meaningless, except for the meaning we give it as individual sentient organisms and as a collective society and as a worldwide ecosystem.

Telling someone "I don't want to date you, because your body is inherently traumatic for me," is a cruel thing to say, even/especially if it's true. It can be traumatic to hear. I've always been very quiet about my own sexuality, for fear of it hurting another. Straight women fear people like me. They don't want me in the bathroom or changing room with them. They fear me the way I fear men, and it breaks my heart to know the world has been cruel to them and taught them fear, and it breaks my heart to know they worry I will hurt them. I turn myself into a golden retriever. I turn myself as soft and harmless and small as I can be. I leave my glasses on, because I need them to see, but in high school, when I was especially afraid of being seen as some sort of demon, I would take them off around any peers who might be hurt if they thought their form was visible to me.

But don't I have a right to exist, too? Where am I allowed to pee? Where am I allowed to try on clothes in the store? Where am I allowed to wash my hands after retying my dirty shoes? As my body changes from testosterone, I find myself asking these questions more and more. Society wasn't designed for people like me, and there isn't a place I belong. People will always argue about where I belong, because they didn't make a place for me. I try to make a place for myself. It's the best I can do. I need somewhere to exist.

There's no way I can know the experience of a trans woman--not comprehesivly, not absolutely. I try to understand, but I don't even need to understand. I am compassionate without understanding, most of the time. But it does help to try.

When I carve a place for myself in society, I carve it wide enough to hold others like me. I carve it wide enough to hold people who struggle in the same manner me, not regarding if they struggle less or more, in frequency or intensity. I hope others can take shelter in the places I make for myself. I hope I managed to carve myself a home, too, that fits all of the ones I love.

This body is just made to run on testosterone. It falls apart physically and mentally without it. I don't know why. But it's true, very very true.

I have other things to drink btw. There's one on my nightstand. It's been there for over a day. I just managed to take one sip today. I can't make myself take another. The sensory is wrong

I hate running out of my samefood >.< It's impossible to leave the house to get more when I'm hungry for it. Ill tell myself "maybe I'll have more energy later" but I never have more energy later. I need the samefood for the energy.

Being stuck at home so thirsty it hurts >_<

Almost 30 years on this planet and I haven't gotten over the agoraphobia yet. Not to be dramatic but it seems easier to just die.

I hate running out of my samefood >.< It's impossible to leave the house to get more when I'm hungry for it. Ill tell myself "maybe I'll have more energy later" but I never have more energy later. I need the samefood for the energy.

Being stuck at home so thirsty it hurts >_<

Almost 30 years on this planet and I haven't gotten over the agoraphobia yet. Not to be dramatic but it seems easier to just die.