Hello. I do not write often to this blog even though I tell myself I should, but now I am, and honestly this might be a mistake just like how my being born was a mistake in the first place. Still, do not tell me how this is unprofessional the same way some white person “offering” “”portfolio reviews””” had told me that acknowledging my disabilities and health issues and barriers to wealth was unprofessional several years ago. There is no money in our fucking industry and there is no money for a short transgender Asian fag and there is no one hiring me. So, in the off chance that you, specifically, are reading this, fuck you and your high horse. I am tired of being polite.

To everyone else in the audience, should you read this. well. I am simply tired. I am going to talk and quite frankly I don’t care if anyone does or doesn’t read it all at this point. i also don’t really care if you are confused because i am not explaining more than what i will be writing on this page. i am tired.

to begin, i should say that this latest wave of burnout is brought to you by my current irl roommates, who i moved in with starting in january 2025. i spent the majority of 2025 largely offline doing some organizing work to heal from an exploitative gamedev gig that left me deeply and actively suicidal for the majority of late 2023 to all of 2024 despite the fact that i was making the most money i’ve ever made in my entire fucking life. (it was not worth it, do not ask me who i worked for at the time if you do not already know, i scrubbed my name of them). regardless. i was in need of a local support system and i had found it, or thought i had found it, and thus devoted the majority of my waking moments organizing and learning and planning and dreaming with this group.

I would like to believe that I was appreciated, at least for some time. I would like to believe that I helped made a difference for my local community, that I materially showed up and did something to make life easier. If I can be conceited even, maybe the single day I took out of my week to do this work was something worth looking forward to for at least one other person. And I want to believe that means it wasn’t a waste of my time, because I want to believe that community is beautiful and that someone else will help me in my time of need too. It has happened before, and it will happen again. I am grateful for that miracle of giving every time.

unfortunately, that specific group i devoted myself to crumbled apart in january 2026 thanks to some white cis people who believe praxis is inciting violence against transgender people, and especially transgender people of color including myself. it quickly devolved into an environment that was no longer safe for me, and so I lost nearly 80% of that local support network I so carefully nurtured in the past year.

the word “devastated” fails to capture how i felt.I know that they are still exploiting my work to this day, because what I built was useful, intelligent, streamlined, efficient. i actually developed an eating disorder in the weeks leading up the destruction of my social life and was told not to discuss it, should I upset someone else with an eating disorder (you see, that’s i’m too cute and small to have depression!). all the things i did i left personally unsigned, because i did it in the name of that group. i was so convinced that this would be my life cause.

They do not miss me, no. Not in the slightest. What they miss is my labor, passionately and freely given because I believed! I believed that I had finally found my family!

I am bitter about this, just like how I am bitter every time I seem to have outlived my utility beyond the digital screen. I’m rather unskilled and incredibly replaceable, in the grand scheme of things.

i digress. i was bitter and hateful and resentful and more than anything else, i wanted my revenge. so I thrived. I went back to game development, made a shitpost game, reconnected online. I made plans to finish what I started, made plans to move forward in life, made plans to be happy again. And I was doing so well!

and then, my roommates threw out some planters I had just cleaned out so I could grow an endangered crop that my local library had acquired seeds of this year.

didn’t ask me what was in the pots. didn’t set them outside.

just threw it straight into the garbage in early March 2026.

i’ve been suffering consistent chronic pain and fatigue flare-ups since. i spend hours in bed awake at night, unable to sleep despite taking the painkillers and turning on my white noise (it’s the sound of ocean waves lapping the shore. i miss the beaches i miss the sand i miss my sun-kissed skin and i miss not feeling like i have a million rusty nails embedded into my spine). my roommates are so loud and they have the worst taste in media and i wish they’d fucking stop listening to those stupid AI music channels in the morning and i wish at least one of their three (3) cats liked cuddling me because god I am So Touch-Starved and Depressed and Pathetic™

(disclaimer: i have many friends online. maybe you might be one of them. hello. i am grateful to know so many wonderful people but it doesn’t help me when you all are hundreds and possibly thousands of miles away and I am feeling so alone and cold and tired and scared and in desperate need of a hug at this very moment in time)

((disclaimer disclaimer: there is a chance that you do know me locally and are reading this. i am not opposed to considering you a friend also, but why do you not talk to me more often? i ask this genuinely of you. what is wrong with me (there are numerous answers to that question). am i too old and disabled for you? does my fear of catching COVID again upset you?))

I am blessed to have a primary care physician and therapist who listen to my needs, and who have helped me complete my medical transition. I no longer hate the vessel I am in. But as my therapist and I say time and again, I cannot meditate my way out of poverty and disability and lack of support network and being disrespected by every which person who’s intent on misgendering me even when I make it obvious that my pronouns do not include she/her anymore.

I tell my therapist that I want to be an absolute slut sometimes and she nods encouragingly. Then I tell her that actually I’m too afraid of going on dating apps because the majority of people who’d be into my body type are the exact kinds of people who I want to avoid (this is how I lost 7 years of my life to my ex-spouse (it was a largely loveless, sexless marriage (don’t let the christofascists convince you to settle for someone who only tolerates you)) who raped me (don’t look too concerned, i just didn’t want my face so close to the damn litterbox (that cat whose life I dropped $3k on to save didn’t care when i left the house. didn’t think that second human bullshit was real (at least he sat in my lap for warmth and didn’t mind me cuddling him (i miss him (he is dead to me if he isn’t dead from animal cruelty and neglect (he is still in my camera roll (it makes me sick to look (but i think he still brings joy to others, so i haven’t deleted them yet (i should)))))))). i didn’t even cum) when I told them I was transitioning (funny that they declared that they wanted to transition too afterwards (do not tell me that I’m transmisogynistic for having been abused by a transfem person (why do you think i was so ashamed to transition to the “wrong” gender for so long?)))). I tell my doctor that maybe overdosing on T for a few weeks because the syringes I switched to for a short while messed up my measurements was a mistake sure, but I don’t regret the massive tdick growth I got to enjoy during that time (i wish i liked my facial hair but it’s a sensory nightmare for me (when i am financially stable again i want to get hair removal (i hate shaving i hate shaving i hate shaving (better than bleeding every month (was the needle any better? (yes it was)))))).

I do not think that I am ugly, but I wonder if people do not recognize me as someone who yearns for touch and human connection. They tell me that one day I’ll be grateful to look so young (don’t get my hopes up you assholes).

wow, i really am a pathetic man lmao

(I am still better than those who ripped apart everything I made for them.)

sighs. i’m tired. i’m in pain.

i do not think myself ungrateful, but maybe i’m conceited. trust that I appreciate it when someone says something nice about the things that I write and create and do. it is only my aching bleeding soul that I present to you.

but you know. there’s a selfish part of me that wonders when i can lay down and relax. i’m tired of advocating for myself. when can i stop working myself to the bone and have nice things too.

I guess this is all to say that I am afraid for my physical safety and overstimulated to the point of panic attack whenever I’m doing any kind of community organizing work, which is extremely inconvenient since Pride Month is drawing ever closer.

(i hope you’re the kind of person who would like me to rest too (but who will do the work then? (this is the question i am always asking myself)))

i don’t know if i can afford the luxury of staving off further burnout but don’t give me your pity. someone needs to do the work. maybe, by the end of the week, i’ll be back at it.