The straw that broke the camel's back
First of all, before I get to the big stuff, I'm going to say here that I plan on doing a friends list overhaul soon, mostly to get rid of people I don't really pay attention to anymore or whatnot. It'll make my life easier.
The big stuff concerns the saga of my father. I'll give backstory for those who don't know what my relationship with him has been like for my adult life.
Everything with my father has been an up and down mess my entire life. He made promises, never kept them, but generally tried his best to and attempted to be accepting of me. He heard all of my friends from school call me Ken when I started socially transitioning, told me he wanted me to do what I needed to to be happy, and I thought that meant he'd be accepting of me taking the steps I needed to completely become Ken once and for all.
In late October, of course, I saw that he hadn't accepted it and cut off contact with him for the most part. He'd text and I'd ignore him, but I kept Facebook active because I liked being able to talk to other parts of my family.
Tonight was the last straw. But I need to retrace to last week to explain why my mood is such shit before I get to that straw. Here in New Mexico, we're getting ash blown in nightly from wild fires in Arizona. Last Monday, this made my asthma flare up enough that I ended up in the ER, given a week's worth of prednisone to taper down from slowly. Prednisone is a pretty powerful steroid, but it likes to fuck with moods and in the past has just made me teary and a bit nervous. I also started a new medicine Monday for migraine control. Apparently anxiety is a rarer, and typically more serious, side effect of that med, amitriptyline.
So for the last week, I've been dealing with trans-related ignorance in several parts of my life, people inadvertantly making me feel like shit for being a poor person, and general stress exacerbated by medication. I couldn't leave the house today for school because my anxiety was too high and it'll take a lot of effort to force myself to go tomorrow because I can't afford to miss those classes again.
And then my father texts. Just a stupid, passive-aggressive text wondering if I'm alive, complete with a smile at the end. I reply saying that if I died, he'd be the last person to know because I don't want to associate with the bigots in my family. He doesn't take too kindly to being called what he is and goes off on a ramble about me being a misguided child, complete with wrong pronouns, and insists that he hopes I come around eventually. I let Met call him and she went off on him in blind rage. He continues texting afterwards, wondering what the call was about, although he completely deserved everything she said to him. Oh, and he's apparently in New Mexico now.
He still insisted on calling me the wrong name, wrong pronouns, and being an overall fuckwit towards me. I looked up how to block phone numbers (which...may require Virgin Mobile's help directly, since there's no function for it in this phone), called him, and said it would be the last time. I explained, yet again, that if what I was doing wasn't in my best interest, my doctors would never have let me start hormones in the first place. Which makes him insist that the doctors don't know what's best and only want my money. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, what fucking money? My bank account's probably overdrawn until Friday and I'll be lucky if I can scrounge up $5 on Thursday for a follow-up visit related to my asthma attack.
I said he was a piece of shit father for not being accepting like my mother is, like my sisters are, and that the family I've made for myself is far better than any family he's part of. Then I said that he was dead to me, I'm never speaking to him again, and texted him afterwards saying that if he contacts me any more, I'll go to the police and do what I need to so it's treated as harassment.
Part of me is regretting keeping my last name when I changed it back in March -_- Should've just taken a name from my mom's side of the family or reverted to the family name pre-WWII.
The big stuff concerns the saga of my father. I'll give backstory for those who don't know what my relationship with him has been like for my adult life.
Everything with my father has been an up and down mess my entire life. He made promises, never kept them, but generally tried his best to and attempted to be accepting of me. He heard all of my friends from school call me Ken when I started socially transitioning, told me he wanted me to do what I needed to to be happy, and I thought that meant he'd be accepting of me taking the steps I needed to completely become Ken once and for all.
In late October, of course, I saw that he hadn't accepted it and cut off contact with him for the most part. He'd text and I'd ignore him, but I kept Facebook active because I liked being able to talk to other parts of my family.
Tonight was the last straw. But I need to retrace to last week to explain why my mood is such shit before I get to that straw. Here in New Mexico, we're getting ash blown in nightly from wild fires in Arizona. Last Monday, this made my asthma flare up enough that I ended up in the ER, given a week's worth of prednisone to taper down from slowly. Prednisone is a pretty powerful steroid, but it likes to fuck with moods and in the past has just made me teary and a bit nervous. I also started a new medicine Monday for migraine control. Apparently anxiety is a rarer, and typically more serious, side effect of that med, amitriptyline.
So for the last week, I've been dealing with trans-related ignorance in several parts of my life, people inadvertantly making me feel like shit for being a poor person, and general stress exacerbated by medication. I couldn't leave the house today for school because my anxiety was too high and it'll take a lot of effort to force myself to go tomorrow because I can't afford to miss those classes again.
And then my father texts. Just a stupid, passive-aggressive text wondering if I'm alive, complete with a smile at the end. I reply saying that if I died, he'd be the last person to know because I don't want to associate with the bigots in my family. He doesn't take too kindly to being called what he is and goes off on a ramble about me being a misguided child, complete with wrong pronouns, and insists that he hopes I come around eventually. I let Met call him and she went off on him in blind rage. He continues texting afterwards, wondering what the call was about, although he completely deserved everything she said to him. Oh, and he's apparently in New Mexico now.
He still insisted on calling me the wrong name, wrong pronouns, and being an overall fuckwit towards me. I looked up how to block phone numbers (which...may require Virgin Mobile's help directly, since there's no function for it in this phone), called him, and said it would be the last time. I explained, yet again, that if what I was doing wasn't in my best interest, my doctors would never have let me start hormones in the first place. Which makes him insist that the doctors don't know what's best and only want my money. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, what fucking money? My bank account's probably overdrawn until Friday and I'll be lucky if I can scrounge up $5 on Thursday for a follow-up visit related to my asthma attack.
I said he was a piece of shit father for not being accepting like my mother is, like my sisters are, and that the family I've made for myself is far better than any family he's part of. Then I said that he was dead to me, I'm never speaking to him again, and texted him afterwards saying that if he contacts me any more, I'll go to the police and do what I need to so it's treated as harassment.
Part of me is regretting keeping my last name when I changed it back in March -_- Should've just taken a name from my mom's side of the family or reverted to the family name pre-WWII.