Crying...

Crying...spent most of yesterday in bed crying, woke up crying, and have cried all morning. Things are progressing though--I now am experiencing suicidal ideation again--anything to get me out of this drugged up, hateful body. Doesn't sound like me? Well, you are right. I am not a crybaby. It's whatever fucking drug the goddamned PIB's got me on now. Have totally destroyed my ability to do anything--starting with my ability to enjoy and interact with life. I try to find something to give my life purpose, but am so depressed that I can't imagine anything. I desperately need to be physical. All my life, I have be a very physical person, and I think part of my depression is that because I can't be physical, I am stuck in my head, and my head is fucked up with all the goddamned drugs so that I can't think, concentrate or even read. I am just skimming over posts, saying, "I will read this later", but I won't because my brain is too fucked up to even read.

Because the fucking PIB's have mutilated and contorted my body, I am fatter than ever before in my life (they basically took away space, length and breadth, removing the fat from the sides of my trunk, by cutting out my abdominal musculature, and thus enlarging my ass and belly). I was looking at a picture of my sister, yesterday. She was a big girl, who suffered from weight problems from a very early age, and by the time she died at 19, she was already obese. But as I looked at her, I see what I would look like if I had been born in a female body, instead of losing my God-given male body through the botched up, freakenstein mutilation of the Nazi pigs. Kim had broader, much broader, shoulders than I do now. She had not only a broad chest (and she never lifted a weight in her life), but a huge bosom--the gift that God gives heavy set women. She had a strong, thick, masculine-like trunk, but massively wide hips. Her arms fell naturally, and in alignment at her sides, and in the photo, she lifts her arm, without brushing interference from her huge breasts. In short, she had the strong, muscular heavyset Aryan body, but with exaggerated feminine attributes. SHE IS A WOMAN; I CAN NEVER BE ONE--JUST A FAKE WANNABE, MISERABLE IN THIS FORCED, FREAKISH RECONSTRUCTION. For inn my body that is nothing but a freakish anatomical reconstruction of a Mengelian vision, I look nothing like her. I am a freak in this hateful body, and I long so much to be free of it.

I try to exercise, just to get back the lost strength and keep the muscles flexible, but I can't. Working out is no longer the joyful activity it once was, feeling my body push itself to the limits, in harmony with my mind. Even the lightest physical exercise has become a hateful drudge and chore that I do, just to try to keep the body alive. However, it is nearly impossible to be motivated to do even that, as I am so depressed by the truth, that for the last five years, I have faithfully worked out, forcing myself to do so, even though most times I didn't feel like it, only to have nearly 1/3rd of my muscle mass cut out, leaving me weak, soft and flabbily obese. What is the point in working out, when the fuckers will cut on and mutilate my body at their pleasure? They are misogynistic sadists. They like to humiliate, wound, and lessen the feminine form--it makes them feel alive and like men, since they have never learned how to be men in the creative way through relationship and responsibility, but only as haters and destroyers.

My muscles all feel dead. I have worked out for years, and know how a living muscle responds to the stress of exercise. My muscles are no longer responsive; they are just dead, and instead of feeling that "good," healthy soreness, they feel painfully lame and inertly dead. I tell myself to just try to walk, but even walking is difficult as the lower back and ribs are completely locked by lactic acid, and feel dead (and that is when they feel better; when they feel worse, they are locked in misalignment--right now, even as I sit, they are misaligned--and spasming in agonizing pain). On top of that, I never know when my thighs are going to painfully slip out of the pelvic girdle, for they are not properly anatomically grounded in my body.

I can't even go to they gym, without the goddamned PIB's running psychops on me. I have been going to a free community center, because I only am able to work out once a week--and I have to force myself to do that. I keep hoping that I will get healthy enough to do yoga, and say that I will pay to join a gym when I do, but with each passing day, I get less and less healthy. Also, I am now deeply ashamed of my body and do not wish to be seen in public, especially by people who knew me when my body was healthy and whole. It doesn't really matter now, because there is no way I am healthy enough to do yoga. I can't even touch the floor with my hands, and any attempt to try reminds me of how lame and dead my leg muscles are--not responsive at all. I can not circulate any energy. I tried to do a sit up a couple of days ago, and nearly passed out from the abnormal weakness brought on by the circulating energy. But the goddamned PIB's are even trying to drive me out of my once a week workouts!

I suppose I feel sorry for the staff at the community center. They are not set up or staffed for any kind of drama or special needs request, and I am sure that everywhere I go, the PIB's follow behind me, making extravagant demands and requests, playing their little psychops games, making sure that I am appropriately isolated. I no longer know who is friend or foe, but when I go to work out, I just want to be left alone. Fat chance. The last time I was at the center, I went to talk to a couple of very friendly people in the computer labs about an open source (Linux) lab that I had read about, but I was railroaded out by the center supervisor. Again, this is familiar territory to me. Anytime, someone relates to me, human to human, the PIB's immediately jump into action. It would totally undermine their mind control over me, if I were able to really relate to someone. This why they won't let me get a job--every time that I do, I manage to relate to others, and this undermines their isolation of me. This is frustrating, because I know at every step that I am blocked. The PIB's will be ahead of me, spreading lies. I really want to join a transgender support group. I am resolved, deeply resolved to have a sex change operation at the earliest opportunity, starting out at least with a masectomy. But I know that the surgeons are going to require documentation that I have thought this decision through, and the support group would help me with that (not to mention the genuine support I would receive from others like me, who feel that they were born in the wrong body). But I know that there is no point in joining such a support group, for once again, the PIB's would spread their lies, and get me railroaded out with ease.

So all I can do is cry. I have no avenue of change or hope open to me, except endurance. I just don't know the kind of condition my body will be in a year from now. For my muscles, all of them--back, legs, arms--are dying, and there is nothing I can do about it.