Sad

I have been sad this week.

I was informed that my company had gone under on Monday, so by Monday afternoon I no longer had a job.  I had a first date that evening, which I opted not to cancel, and so at 8 I met up with this other bisexual girl at a dive bar in the Mission.  We were both clearly a little awkward about hitting on each other so we drank until it was no longer an issue.  That was about 4 rum and cokes for me, but they were strong.

I remember making out with her at the bar, going back to her place, and talking with her roommate for a bit about the book she was reading.  It was the biography of a porn star who could fit her fist in her mouth.  I remember getting into bed with her and taking off some of our clothes, but then somehow I just woke up the next morning in this squishy purple girl bed.  I was glad to note I had not vomited in it, but I still felt pretty hung over.  At some point, she cuddled up to me and she was just so soft.

And, like I guess I am familiar with this.  Girls are softer than boys.  But it was just something I couldn’t get out of my mind.

Afterward, I asked Chris why women even dated men – they were so grizzled and hairy and generally uncomfy.  ”Penis power,” he said.

Later, I went over to the apartment of one of my ex coworkers.  We were sort of tense and weird, because we’d both lost our jobs and because he’s about to go on a vacation with this girl he might end up marrying or something.  I don’t really understand the situation there.  Anyway, we ended up fucking before going to our company holiday party.  I got fucked pretty hard, but he was nice to me so it was ok.  The party was strange and depressing because everyone had been fired, but we still had the bookings so figured we may as well use them.  Still, I couldn’t shake the knowledge that it was the last time we’d all see each other together no matter how lighthearted everyone acted.

My ex coworker drove me home at the end.  I said it’d been a difficult day for me, and he yelled at me for saying that.  I told him he was being a dick.  I don’t fully understand why that exchange happened, but I lay in bed thinking about it that night.

The following morning, I drew a bath for myself.  I put in some shower gel I got for free in a 3/2 sale because it sort of acts like a crappy bubble bath, and I lit a candle instead of keeping the lights on.  I shaved, and I washed, then the candle went out and I just sat by myself in tepid bathwater in the dark.

And I started to cry.

For the first time since my company went under, I cried.

I cried for the squishy girl in her squishy bed.  I cried because I’d never have a penis to fuck her with, even as I felt my own vagina ache from the last time I’d been fucked.  I cried full of gender dysphoria at the shape, and softness, and weakness of my own body.  I cried because I felt so ungrateful that I could even think that.  I cried out of resentment of the people who love me physically and find me beautiful, and cried that I could resent them so.

I cried at the coldness of the world, at the distance I felt from the people I loved.

I cried out of uncertainty.

I cried out of fear.

I cried because I’m special and unique in ways I never wanted to be, and in ways that are ultimately unimportant.

I cried because I am a female programmer, and I’m going to have to embrace that all over again.

I cried for no reason at all.

I cried because I have stopped valuing the things I would be good at.  As a little girl, I wanted to be a gymnast and a ballerina.  How did I end up a wrestler?  When did strength become more important to me than flexibility?   It didn’t start that way.

I cried because I’d learned to hate myself, but I didn’t used to.

I cried because I don’t know where to go from here.

 

Then I got out of the bath, and I came over to Chris’ apartment.