Third Blog of the Day: Suicidal Ramblings

Okay, so this is my third blog of the day. I just feel the need to write as my brain is overloaded with this heatwave.

I love my new haircut but my mother doesn’t. My father didn’t see it today. I didn’t remove my baseball cap so he could comment on it. He was wondering why I didn’t shave my goatie I have going on. I usually trim it when I see him but I am tired of trimming it.

My brother in law put in my AC so my room is more tolerable now than it was earlier this afternoon. I am wicked tired. I should be sleeping but I feel like I should write. I got too much stuff on my mind. Like why am I not a boy. Why do I have to have female breasts. I feel like such a loser.

My therapist doesn’t know the week I plan on killing myself. I won’t be telling her. I have everything planned out, sort of. Only question is timing of it. I still need to give my psychiatrist her goodbye letter that I wrote a month ago. That is important to me. She needs to know what I have written. I think I will mail it the day I will die. Course, I am still ambivalent and might not go ahead with my plans. I still have not found a cyber person to take care of my social media accounts when I die. But then, I don’t think too many people pay attention to what I write so it might not be a big deal, especially on Twitter. I really don’t see too many people responding, but I could be wrong. I won’t know because I will be gone.

I wish I could say what my reasons are for killing myself. Pain is one. Being transgender is another. Living in a female’s body sucks. In June, I have to go for a pap smear because it’s been ten years since my last one. But I am wondering if it will be worth it at all seeing as I will be dead a few weeks after I am gone. It’s almost like, why bother? I go through the motions as if I want to live so no one has a clue I want to die. It’s not like it is written on my forehead.

Another reason I don’t want to live anymore is because I am tired of living a life I just don’t want to live. I am tired of breathing. I am tired of just being. I am tired of my life being such a struggle every day and no one noticing. I am tired of hurting every single day. I am never going to be a stellar writer. Hell, I can’t even sell 100 copies of my book. I can’t even give them away for free. That is how bad my book title is, perhaps. I am not looking for awards but a simple appreciation can go a long way. I am going to give the book away to the two people that have influenced the book the most. Then I am going to kill myself. I am such a loser. I keep thinking that this is wrong, that I can’t kill myself. I don’t have the guts to go through with it. But I can’t help thinking that suicide is the answer for me. It will solve the pain piece. I won’t be in pain anymore. I can go to my death bed as a female like how every one sees me. My psychiatrist still sees me a female, not as a male. But then I have known her since I was a kid. I don’t blame her. How do you make that kind of transition? Even my eye doctor is the same way. It’s all confusing and rather than sort out the confusion, I rather die. I should maybe write a goodbye letter to my eye doctor. I have known him for more than twenty years. But how do I even begin to write something like that? He is a good guy. We have hung out together for a little bit, coffee and movies. I have even made him dinner a few times.

Then I think about my family and how devastated they will be when I am gone. It kills me. Some days I care and others I try not to. Knowing that I will be a source of their pain is not a fun thing to know. I try not to think about it because it always puts a stop gap measure in my planning. I love my sisters and my nieces and nephew. I know that this will hurt them beyond all measure. But I know they will get over my death with time. It is the one thing that I think keeps the suicidal demons going is knowing this. I don’t care how my aunts will react to my death. I worry that my mother will die of a broken heart. But then it will be her “daughter” and not her “son”. She wouldn’t have to deal with me becoming a man. And I think that is better for her.