Love of Cousins


Love of cousins

Yesterday, I went over my cousins that I haven’t seen in a long time. Usually we see each other for special birthdays or some other special occasion. We don’t see each other often enough. One of my cousins gave me a special gift yesterday. I am now the owner of a replica World Series ring of the 2013 Boston Red Sox! I am wearing it as I type this. It is heavy. But I love it just the same. I nearly had a coronary in the car when my cousin gave me the ring. She knows I love the Red Sox very much. I have more Red Sox things than I have any other Boston sports team. I own just one Patriots hat. I lost interest in the Celtics when Larry Bird retired (more than twenty years ago) and I don’t care for hockey. All I know about the Bruins is what I read on Twitter or Facebook. But the Sox to me are special. I have been a fan since I was a little kid and that hasn’t changed. Even when they suck, I still love them. My cousin knows this. I will always treasure this gift. I might not wear it publicly, only because it is huge and heavy, but I will wear it in the house.

I slept late today, a rarity. I woke up around 0530 and miraculously, I was able to get back to sleep around 0600. Yesterday was a difficult for me, mostly last night. I feel like I am a failure in my mother’s eyes because I don’t do much around the house. I would try but I know that it hurts so I don’t. My mother telling my cousin that I was basically a lazy ass did not sit well with me. My cousin wasn’t judging me at all. She knows that I suffer from chronic pain and she knows a little something about it because she has fibro.

Last night I was in bad shape. My mother got me very upset. I think between the sleep deprivation and being up all day, I was more vulnerable to her attacks. Normally she doesn’t get under my skin. I really wanted to die last night. I even thought of going in the hospital just to get away from her. But I feel now that will be giving in to her suspicions that I am not well. And that will infuriate her. She doesn’t get my mental illness at all. She thinks I should just let things roll off my back or not think about things. Even more damaging, she thinks I should “talk” to her. I tried talking to her when I was 10 and suicidal. I got no response. So why should I try talking to her now? She doesn’t understand my pain, my depressions, my insomnia. None of it. Hell, she didn’t even want to read my book that I wrote. I don’t even know if she read the New York Times article I wrote. If that isn’t a shun, I don’t know what is.

I need to go to Walgreens to pick up my prescription today. I really don’t feel like leaving the house. It’s cold, damp, and raw outside. Of course, what do you expect in November? The days of it being warm are over. I am not in pain at the moment. But I am afraid that if I walk to and back might cause my ankle to hate me. I really need to get PJs that I can also wear outside. I have sweat pants but it’s the idea of getting dressed that stresses me out. I hate the indecision of picking something to wear, of which socks to wear. I am glad I only have one good pair of sneakers otherwise I doubt I would never leave the house. I would never decide which pair to choose from. Some days it’s easier to just throw something on and leave the house. But days like today, I am dreading it. I just want to listen to Adele and Eric Church and just stay under the covers.

My menses are slowing down. I am going to ask the pharmacist, if I do go to Walgreens, if I can restart the pack today. Course, that will mean I have four pills that I just am not using. I never should have stopped mid-week but I had no choice. I really didn’t want two weeks of bleeding. Just talking about this makes me feel so low. I feel so degraded. I know no woman looks forward to that time of the month but it’s different when you are transgender. I have put up with so much. I just wish I was dead so I don’t have to deal with this at all anymore. I feel so alone. Other than my blog, there is no one I can really “bitch” to about this. I know that this particular mense breakthrough has caused increased suicidality more so than at any other time. It’s just so difficult. Other than my sisters, I haven’t really told a “real” person about my TG. My therapist and my psychiatrist know but they are not people I see every day. But then, there are no people that I see everyday other than my family. I feel so isolated. I know part of it is my own doing. I don’t reach out to people. I could blame my paranoia, especially now as things have kicked up a notch since the Paris attacks. I just don’t feel safe anymore. And I don’t even think being on a locked ward of a hospital will help.

Published by

G. Collerone

suicide attempt survivor writing about the hopelessness that accompanies depression that no one likes to talk about. also writing about my daily struggle with chronic pain and how it affects my suicidality

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