Thread by @delaneykingrox

My life consists mostly of this.

This isn't meant to be relaxing or idyllic. This is my own personal prison.

I sit on the couch with a device because I am crushed by burn out, from PTSD, and yet my mind is always on, always churning away at ideas.

My neck aches from being in this almost foetal position, I can't sleep, I have packed on weight as I no longer can swim, I feel restless and uncomfortable at my desk.

ADHD is a constant struggle, I am easily distracted or I hyperfocus.

I have written four novels like this under a pen name.

Everyone tells me I am brilliant, talented, that I have amazing ideas and the skills to pull them off.

But all I can do is sit here, on the couch, all but frozen, but for the stream of shitposting, doodling and writing that leaks through the cracks.

I have folders and folders of ideas, art, character designs, stories, scripts, even entire game designs. All mostly done, or partly done.

I have always felt alone or different, and when I finally found out I felt that way, that I actually was born differently to most, I woke up and found a scary world.

It feels safer through a device that I have control over.

I think Peanut Hamper, my pet roomba, has eaten pages of work that many folk would consider of great value. But I just rip it out its shiny little mouth and stuff it in a box.

I used to have such drive, such passion and I was a powerhouse of productivity. I churned out work faster than anyone I knew, so much so that big software companies took notice and used to hire me to work that fast it infront of audiences all around the world.

I had huge success, and worked on some awesome famous projects. My future was shiny.

But then I transitioned, and everything just exploded. Literally everything, I lost everything. I was homeless, single, alone and had to start pretty much from scratch.

Presenting as a girl changed all the rules, and suddenly my skills where not seen as a strength, but as a threat. Work became a daily battle for a shred of respect, late nights fixing the work that men did when they refused to listen to my leadership and experience.

With the help of a lot of friends and former students coming to my aid, I wouldn't be here. But, as a result of all that trauma, I have a hard time doing the work I once did.

I have a hard time even sitting at a desk, because it physically hurts.

Everyone tells me I am brilliant, and should do this or that, and they wonder why someone like me doesn't seem to go anywhere.

That's because I am here, in this picture. I am trapped here.

And I don't want to be this anymore.

I have been trying to find some medications that help, and some therapy that will help me deal with the PTSD, but as we all know, that takes time and a LOT of money.

Coffee helps. Getting likes and supportive messages on twitter helps, but these are not solutions.

Having a great partner helps, and a supportive workplace helps. But still, this is me. This is what my life has become.

A woman, a couch, a phone, a coffee, a notepad full of ideas and a roomba jammed under it all.

At some point, I have to break this cycle. And I am trying so desperately hard.
I got a light laptop so I can at least parsec to my 3d main computer to work like this.

I got an exercise bike, which is the only impact free exercise I can do outside of swimming.

Still, I am far heavier than I indicate here. But fuck it, this is the only place I can be me without gatekeepers, barriers and huge bills. So I shaved a few pounds off and made my neck longer.
I have a mouth in real life too.

I try to use this couch time to be productive. I shitpost a lot when I cannot get up and face the day. Having life constantly pound me for years like I am a butt in a Chuck Tingle Novel has given me a sense of humour that I try to apply to everything.
Saves on therapy, I guess.

I am told the sense that I am wasting my potential is an ADHD symptom. That gives me about 0.045th of a second of relief, but then I remember that my ADHD isn't going anywhere.

Some absolute shit stain of a human being is probably going to sell this as an NFT to another absolutely vile, worthless being and that makes me depressed, because they probably don't have the issues I do and they choose to waste their life like that.

So, I have a bad neck and I can't sleep. I mourn my life before the trauma, and I wish I could just get on with things now.

I hate this. And I want it to stop before time bleeds away.

And I hate that those who harmed me are luxuriating in the success I helped make for them.

So this is my life.

And it isn't what you think it is at all.

Best of luck with your own struggles in this world.x

I work in an industry mostly run by sociopaths, abusers and misogynists. I have had years of getting attacked on line just for being a woman in games, let alone a queer woman. I have so many horror stories about my industry, and I have lived some of them.

Me too.

Me too.

One thing that kept me going is teaching. I have a knack for breaking down complex information into easily digested, often entertaining small chunks.

Watching people light up when I help them overcome the obstacles in their brains is ambrosia.

I have lectured around the world, and I wrote what we believe was the first official 3D artist curriculum in Australia, a structure still used to this day. I have lectured many times at SIGGRAPH and other CONS... though under my deadname and with a much different face and body.

I plan to share my knowledge in a game artist book. But that requires me to sit at my desk and the memories creep up on me and kick my ass.

I do actually have a mouth. I hate seeing photos of me as it often triggers dysphoria spirals. I had hoped for facial surgery to remove the triggers, but it's just an impossible amount of money.

Having the goalposts constantly being moved has kind of broken me. There isn't a point to strive for, there is no way I can win. You can't bounce back from that easily.

I am not going anywhere, and even if I tried, everyone is making even the simplest thing like accessing healthcare, no... even accessing toilets, impossible to the point of being deadly.

Its weird waking up one day with many thousands of people who want you dead.

Opportunities don't go to people like me. Regardless of my experience, my skill, my ideas.

So what is the point? Why get up from the couch?

Everything is unjust, and unfair, and hard, and painful.

Neck ache and insomnia are nothing compared to feeling those feelings, or facing gender dysphoria.

Couch warm. Couch soft. Phone give serotonin.

Would be nice to smile again.