— ENTRY 009 —

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。

Yesterday I had a really bad day.

I cried in more than half the classes I had and cried 4 more hours at home. And my art hurts.

I don't know why I cried. I mean, I know the reasons why I cried but not why I cried about it at this very moment.

I suppose I'm just a bit stressed, I asked for help to my psychologist, but I don't think the mail reached her. So I've just been bottling things up for another whole week.

I like my classmates, I feel understood by them and, most importantly, safe and happy that I can be myself. But they're too negative when it comes to the workload teachers give us, always complaining about stuff. And it drains me. Because I try my best to keep up with the homework but so many people in my class say they won't put in the effort because it's not fair, blah blah. And it makes me think that if they can't do it, neither can I.

That's not the reason I cried.

Last Saturday was S' birthday. We threw a surprise party at her house so we had to sneak in while her mother sent her to buy bread as an excuse. I wore a t-shirt and shorts. And it started raining. We got to her house after 15 minutes of being in the streets. I caught a cold, and I've been feeling horribly physically after that.

That's not the reason I cried, either.

I, once again, feel disconnected from my friend group. Like they don't care because I'm not important. We used to have these shared notes to study, and I'm the only one who keeps updating it. Nobody else helps me if I'm not right behind them asking for help. Aka I put in the effort to give them resources, and they don't do anything back. It's just a way for me to give, give and give without them having to give back. And I'm a bit tired of it, but I keep doing my notes there because it's easier for me to type than to write.

But this inconvenience I live wasn't even on my mind yesterday.

My old history teacher put emphasis on us learning about the difference between deep and immediate reasons for a war. I guess all the above things were still reasons, in a way, even if I didn't think about them.

I cried again today, and I'm not even finished writing on how I cried yesterday. Everything's too fast, and I can't even keep up with myself. I'll continue writing about yesterday. Maybe tomorrow I'll write about today.

I woke up, like any other day. Sometimes I'm glad I wake up each morning, sometimes I despise it. Yesterday I didn't despise it, but it did make me go "Oh", because I woke up from a really nice dream. I forgot what I dreamt about, it doesn't matter. My eyes hurt. A lot. A lot more than the day before. I could barely open my eyes.

I went through my usual routine, I think I brushed my teeth. Sometimes I don't have the energy to do that, other times I forget. My teeth are pretty yellow and I can't chew anything with sugar in a particular zone because it hurts, I don't know if that may be something. I changed, comfortable yet dispensable clothes. I prepared my bag, heavier than usual. We were going to do a painting activity in class.

I walked to the bus station. I was in the bus, I tried to sleep, thinking I could sleep the pain of. And I wake up to kids throwing me little papers and talking about me, not even in my back because I was right beside them. And it messed with my head.

First period was ok. I paid attention to the best of my abilities, but I was so dizzy and the teacher speaks so hard that, well... I paid attention to the best of my abilities. Let's leave it at that.

Second period, the teacher starts the class making a small comment about the way this Friday there's a strike to support Palestine and have their genocide be seen and recognized officially as a genocide and, therefore, a crime to humanity. But she trailed off, spoke about the way the world is fucked. And I couldn't take it anymore.

I intervened to vent about how I was fed up with the way our generation had it: We're born and, at one, worldwide economic crisis, terrorist acts everywhere, war, a worldwide virus, another war, more war, economic decline. And we're supposed to fix it.

Two days have passed and I'm still not done writing this day.

She told me thinking that was "having a victim complex" and that we don't have to think like that because there are people out there in worse positions than us and that we have to be happy for not being in their shoes. Like??? I can't vent or feel bad for others because it's them who are starving and not me. I thought that was called empathy? Being aware of your surroundings and calling out people who give us the responsibility to fix every issue in one generation because they haven't fixed it themselves.

That was the immediate reason.

Also the way she called us privileged and lucky for living in a country that's not in war with its people constantly dying. Girl, that is NOT PRIVILEGE, that called living in a NORMAL COUNTRY WITH THE BARE MINIMUM. I swear, it's not my problem the bar is so low, I'm not lucky. Privilege would be actually being rich, I don't think someone who can barely pay their bills and have money left to EAT is privileged. She talks as if I've never felt hungry myself, as if I don't know what it is being hit by your parents at four because you made a hole in the wall with your nails in a rented apartment just to eat the chalk because your family was struggling financially and you were starving but didn't want to ask for food because you just learned that food costs money your parents don't have. As if I don't know what it is to make up lies in the fly when teachers asked me what I was doing in the halls instead of in the playground so they wouldn't catch me stealing paper sheets, glue and chalk, again, to eat, and send me to the principals' office. As if I didn't have a higher sense of hearing steps and knowing who is walking. And I'm only using the word "didn't" instead of "don't" because I punctured my eardrum and had to get surgery.

But, of course, she doesn't know, I haven't told her and never will. But it just makes me angry being called privileged because I don't have black skin, don't follow an alternative religion (don't follow a religion, full stop).

Like, I'm trans, what in that makes me privilege? Dying at 32 instead of at 10? Having the "opportunity" to hide my identity and be safe that way? Yeah, right, tell a Muslim or a Jew person to hide their religion, to not wear their religious clothes, to pray in their homes and not make it publicly. There are part of your identity you can't just hide.

Suddenly I'm privileged. For not living in a country that's actively being bombed, and not being in "actual real danger" (everyone in my family is far-right and transphobic). As privileged as a white cishet man in the United States, in fact.

So yeah, I cried, because I wish that last sentence was true.

But that was only the second period. After the second period, we had a break, where my light visited me and I cried in her arms some more.

Then third, fourth period, I was shaking, but it was ok. Technical Drawing is a fun subject. i calmed down.

Remember all the reasons I said were deep reasons? Yeah, all the above are more deep reasons.

Fifth and sixth period, Artistic Drawing, I cried again.

I was still doubting myself, "do I have a victim complex for feeling bad about others and myself?", "am I like my mom?". I couldn't work, a reinterpretation of Las Meninas by Velázquez. I was too... idk. But the teacher, literally the sun made into a person, told me to go outside the class and walk for a bit, take a break. I was out for like 30 min and then she told me that she could talk with the other Artistic Drawing teacher if we could arrange another day for me to turn in an assignment.

But idk.

Then I talked to the bus monitor to see if I could sit closer to the front, and she gave me the ok. I got home and I cried about everything again. So much in fact I stopped for a sec to recap every fear in my mind at the time and recorded a 27-minute-long audio I sent to my light. I, then, drank a bit and that calmed me down. An Ibuprofen next helped as well.

I called my light so she would accompany me as I worked on homework. I couldn't do much, because my eyes hurt A LOT now. Turns out, crying for 9+ hours in one day when your eyes previously hurt doesn't make it better.

I don't know how to conclude texts like this. Like, what conclusion can I extract? That I'm a crybaby? I already knew so, uhnm, no, that's not it. I don't know, it's a vent, maybe it doesn't need a conclusion.

I feel better now + two days have passed and my light helped a lot!!

Sincerily,