waiting to live
i'm waiting to live
and waiting to love
oh it'll be over, and i'll still be asking when
signal lights shift hue above the quietly buzzing rails - green, red, green. the voice of east midlands railway softly informs me 'this train does not stop at this platform'. its subject seems to speed up on the approach, as if to challenge my standing past the safe embrace of the yellow line adorning the concrete. the already bitterly cold wind starts to pick up, my cheeks flushed. the scratch of metal on metal drowns out the comparably pathetic hiss of the air. i consider the choice of stepping onto the next train, the one i'd been waiting almost an hour for, or in front of this one. both are appealing. the train passes. i do not step forward.
i started writing this blog - just the previous paragraph, at the time - the day before my brother's wedding. i'm now finishing it the day after. the wedding was beautiful. i'm indescribably happy for both him and my sister-in-law, and it was wonderful seeing the event they'd both stressed themselves to hell over for months go off (pretty much) without a hitch. i was, unfortunately, correct in my concerns about being the Transgender Freak present, but. i mean. my dress looked good. i learned how to walk in heels just for this. i continued to walk in heels while drunk. fuck it.
oh yeah, getting drunk. i don't do that often. well, no, that fact is a little out of date. i have done it more recently, as things have continued to be as hard as they are and i increasingly wish to just dissociate instead. i actually got very upset on my way home this evening as my trains were so delayed that i missed every store being open by the time i got back to my city, so i could not fulfil my hope to buy beer, get drunk and dissociate from existence after dealing with my family for a weekend. tragic.
last night, though, i succeeded in getting drunk. with flying colours, really.
i had one of my worst breakdowns in recent memory. now, this was something i mostly expected and had mentally prepared for. i figured that i'd keep it together throughout the ceremony and reception, then go back to my room a little past midnight and fall to pieces alone. no harm to anyone else, no scenes made, no foul.
this plan fell apart before i did, sadly, as a conversation i had (privately, thankfully) with my mum about how well my brother was doing in life just set me off. i realised midsentence that i was going to start hyperventilating, and it was too late to stop it.
she knew i'd been struggling, but she didn't know how badly i've been doing. i made the mistake of beginning to open up and be completely honest about how much of a knife's edge (ha) i'm on, and everything else just came spilling out like a fresh wound. there's nothing quite like your own mother running her finger down your oddly bumpy forearm. she has never been more worried about me. and i hate that. i'm grateful she cares, of course, but. you know.
there were a few reasons i knew i'd shatter at some point around the wedding. it's a reminder, and genuinely no bitterness towards him of course, that my brother is a wonderful child to my parents who is doing everything right. i'd have to see family members who do not feel good, to say the least, about the person i am. there were precisely five people i would be comfortable talking to in a room of however many, and one was the groom.
most importantly, though, it was the one thing that i knew i absolutely had to be around for. i can't not be here for my brother's fucking wedding. i had to hold out until then.
i held out until then. it has now passed. and i must be honest, i am quite scared by the knowledge that i no longer have it to ground me. i don't know what to hold out for now.
i just have to find a new once-in-a-lifetime event to be here for. that's doable, right.