I hate who I have become. I feel like such foul company to live with. I feel like a vicious animal hiding in its cave, ready to bite someone’s head off if they come near it. My dad passed my room too many times today. When I went to leave he passed again, making me angrily thrust the sliding door shut and retreat. I just feel so shit all the time. Everything is so hard. Why does everything have to be so hard? I finally managed to fill out the form to have a stall at an upcoming afternoon market today, only to find I require some bloody Public Liability Insurance. It will probably cost me more than I earn at markets selling cheap badges. I want to bawl my eyes out but can never have a proper cry. My body hurts, my soul hurts. I have PMS on top of everything else. My dad chose the wrong day to approach me. He came in to ask if I wanted the bloody gardener who the NDIS covers to come tomorrow. The gardener’s meant to assist me, but he just gives me meltdowns with his loud machinery. My dad interrupted my addiction to the laptop. I wanted to scream at him. But at least we decided to call off the gardener, which I since regret as my tomato plants have not been growing and are drying up (maybe it’s just as simple as not watering them each day, though sadly my mum says it’s a bit late in the season to save them now). My dad came into my den a second time today to give me some corn. HISS. He put the bowl on my bed and I ignored him. I was sure he could feel the anger radiating out of me like heat from a fire. Continue reading “Gender identity and it/its pronouns”