Cyberpunk trans warriors die alone
Note: I know what I say in this post is not exlclusive to trans people, as I know anorexy neither is. But this is my blog, and I write about what I want. I know there are a lot of lonely people -like me- who commit suicide at christmas and all those things, so I entrust each one to open his irrelevant blog. This one is mine, and in it I speak about trans questions (almost) all the time.
(First time translating a personal post to enlish, I hope it doesn’t look like shit).
I will take this narration as it likes to basic writers: by chronological order, so I will begin with the first facts that affects this story. I only need to take us to past friday, fatidic fifth day of may of 2M23 year of our cyberlord. I was sit in my seedy unipersonal cyberpunk flat in this random suffocating city of the dying world, at the end of my pathetic workday, hating my 80 kg body (this is related to an not translated article).
In my humble disclaimer, I will say that it would be easy to me to stay in my desired weight if I weren’t spreading my time between a depressing job and the also-depressing unvoluntary moving. This continual of disgusting tasks makes me eat in a anxious way, because it is… well, pleasant.
It was the time to run in my usual workout, so I thinked: what if I take the extra time to run twenty km instead of just ten? I only need to make my better mark in life, and done. What can go bad? Well, a couple of things.
In this point I have to add something a little embarrassing. When I face tedious repetitive alienating taks, or difficult milestones with no interest, I tend to imagine fantastic stories, so I can enter them and the task becomes a bit funny. Yeah, I am like a five years child, but I don’t tell to anyone. I am not going to tell what particular scene I did imagine for this run, because it is a little intimate and a bit corny?. But you can ask me if want to know. In my fantasy I had to arrive in a limit time.
So when I was at the exact middle, I was empty. I didn’t value rightly my strength, or the effect of the thirty degrees, or whaterver: I couldn’t run a single step more, so I told to myself to return to home. And then a little voice in my head told me: ”What if it were true? You couldn’t run more? So low is your will?”.
So I did continue. As if something really VERY important, much more than my own life, depended on it. In all the second hald, with inmense pain and suffering. And if in the middle I was empty, and the end I was… more empty? But I had more to do. Forty minutes after, I make up and ready to receive a swordfighting class.
And I receive: handle strikes at the face, because may is hand-to-hand month. And I did return the strike, and I did fight with the remains of my strenght. I thought I would die, I was bad, really bad, I did want to vomit, a strong headache and a huge fatigue that prevented me to raise my arms.
Saturday began very bad. I had fever and headache. I eated something, and at least I didn’t vomit neither had diarrhea. I stayed awoke for a few hours, and tried to organise my moving, bit I did fell again in my bed between pain and shakes. Not the worst disesase in my life, but I did feel very bad, and it affected my morale. And noone sat at my side, bring mi paracetamol or told me “my brave warrior”
Well, yeah, I know I was stupid, not brave, but I was very sick, ok? It would have been nice to hear three kind words and a caress.
I awoke at evening feeling like sheet, and the remain of the day were more or less like that. When I did return to bed, the headache was better, but I did had shivers. That night I sweated the fever, and I awoke soaked but healthy. And hour later I was lifting weights. When I finish, I did the laundry (with sheets too, because of the sweat), vacuumed, cooked, scrubbed and continued organizing my shitty move.
Now I am ok. It won’t happen again, cyberjudge. I have learn the lesson. You don’t have to send me the plagues to punish me.
But the time I was bad, i was lonely bad. I have family no more, and emotional relationships wasn’t my strong point even when I faked being cis, so it is even more difficult now with the little people who accepts me as trans. I have friendships, of course, but doesn implies at this level, and its perfeclty normal because in the abhorrent 2M23 universe, everyone live hurriedly, and its time is full of their own problems.
I didn’t take the time to call to a friend to avoid seeing me humiliated by the following narrative (lesser) exageration.
Valeria: “arg, I feel bad, can you come and help me please?”
Friend: “of course, honey. When?”
Valeria: “What do you say with when?”
Friend: “Do you want to say, today?”
Valeria: “Yeah, today I fell like shit”.
Amiga: “Well, I’m going right now to the country, this is the first weekend without childs this monght, so I can’t. Can we see us tomorrow?”
Valeria: “Well, I supposse tomorrow I will stil…”
Friend: “Sorry, I have been remembered, tomorrow is compromised too, what an error. But I will call you monday without excuse. We will stay this week. The next one, if not. Ok, honey, get better.”
Although this is a little exageration, my personal choices drived me to this kind of loneliness, and I have to assume it. Someday I will be truly dying, I won’t trust anyone.
To see the positive side, it is true that I can still run twenty km under thirty degrees in nice mark, and then fight melee with swords. If anyone wants to hire a trans cyberpunk warrior, my sword is for rent. But quality is not cheap.
(First time translating a personal post to enlish, I hope it doesn’t look like shit).
I will take this narration as it likes to basic writers: by chronological order, so I will begin with the first facts that affects this story. I only need to take us to past friday, fatidic fifth day of may of 2M23 year of our cyberlord. I was sit in my seedy unipersonal cyberpunk flat in this random suffocating city of the dying world, at the end of my pathetic workday, hating my 80 kg body (this is related to an not translated article).
In my humble disclaimer, I will say that it would be easy to me to stay in my desired weight if I weren’t spreading my time between a depressing job and the also-depressing unvoluntary moving. This continual of disgusting tasks makes me eat in a anxious way, because it is… well, pleasant.
It was the time to run in my usual workout, so I thinked: what if I take the extra time to run twenty km instead of just ten? I only need to make my better mark in life, and done. What can go bad? Well, a couple of things.
In this point I have to add something a little embarrassing. When I face tedious repetitive alienating taks, or difficult milestones with no interest, I tend to imagine fantastic stories, so I can enter them and the task becomes a bit funny. Yeah, I am like a five years child, but I don’t tell to anyone. I am not going to tell what particular scene I did imagine for this run, because it is a little intimate and a bit corny?. But you can ask me if want to know. In my fantasy I had to arrive in a limit time.
So when I was at the exact middle, I was empty. I didn’t value rightly my strength, or the effect of the thirty degrees, or whaterver: I couldn’t run a single step more, so I told to myself to return to home. And then a little voice in my head told me: ”What if it were true? You couldn’t run more? So low is your will?”.
So I did continue. As if something really VERY important, much more than my own life, depended on it. In all the second hald, with inmense pain and suffering. And if in the middle I was empty, and the end I was… more empty? But I had more to do. Forty minutes after, I make up and ready to receive a swordfighting class.
And I receive: handle strikes at the face, because may is hand-to-hand month. And I did return the strike, and I did fight with the remains of my strenght. I thought I would die, I was bad, really bad, I did want to vomit, a strong headache and a huge fatigue that prevented me to raise my arms.
Saturday began very bad. I had fever and headache. I eated something, and at least I didn’t vomit neither had diarrhea. I stayed awoke for a few hours, and tried to organise my moving, bit I did fell again in my bed between pain and shakes. Not the worst disesase in my life, but I did feel very bad, and it affected my morale. And noone sat at my side, bring mi paracetamol or told me “my brave warrior”
Well, yeah, I know I was stupid, not brave, but I was very sick, ok? It would have been nice to hear three kind words and a caress.
I awoke at evening feeling like sheet, and the remain of the day were more or less like that. When I did return to bed, the headache was better, but I did had shivers. That night I sweated the fever, and I awoke soaked but healthy. And hour later I was lifting weights. When I finish, I did the laundry (with sheets too, because of the sweat), vacuumed, cooked, scrubbed and continued organizing my shitty move.
Now I am ok. It won’t happen again, cyberjudge. I have learn the lesson. You don’t have to send me the plagues to punish me.
But the time I was bad, i was lonely bad. I have family no more, and emotional relationships wasn’t my strong point even when I faked being cis, so it is even more difficult now with the little people who accepts me as trans. I have friendships, of course, but doesn implies at this level, and its perfeclty normal because in the abhorrent 2M23 universe, everyone live hurriedly, and its time is full of their own problems.
I didn’t take the time to call to a friend to avoid seeing me humiliated by the following narrative (lesser) exageration.
Valeria: “arg, I feel bad, can you come and help me please?”
Friend: “of course, honey. When?”
Valeria: “What do you say with when?”
Friend: “Do you want to say, today?”
Valeria: “Yeah, today I fell like shit”.
Amiga: “Well, I’m going right now to the country, this is the first weekend without childs this monght, so I can’t. Can we see us tomorrow?”
Valeria: “Well, I supposse tomorrow I will stil…”
Friend: “Sorry, I have been remembered, tomorrow is compromised too, what an error. But I will call you monday without excuse. We will stay this week. The next one, if not. Ok, honey, get better.”
Although this is a little exageration, my personal choices drived me to this kind of loneliness, and I have to assume it. Someday I will be truly dying, I won’t trust anyone.
To see the positive side, it is true that I can still run twenty km under thirty degrees in nice mark, and then fight melee with swords. If anyone wants to hire a trans cyberpunk warrior, my sword is for rent. But quality is not cheap.