Tag: transgender

Third Blog of the Day: Suicidal Ramblings

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, chronic physical pain, depression, suicidality, suicide, suicide attempt, transgender, writing

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.

Don’t Want This Night To End

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, cauda equina syndrome, chronic physical pain, depression

Don’t Want This Night to End

This is a song that I love by Luke Bryan. The video is fricken awesome. Though I don’t really like the follow up video. I was kind of hoping it was going to be another song on his album Tailights and Tailgates.

I had therapy today. It went okay though I don’t think we really talk about anything that was of importance. I brought up the letter and we talked about Hyde. I felt him brewing inside but she and I really didn’t want him to come out. He really is another part of me that is purely suicidal. And I think my menses has something to do with it as well as being in chronic pain. The perfect storm for him to come out is when I am in severe, excruciating pain, late at night, and I can’t sleep. It is the midnight demon quality. I also have to be in a writing mood. For some reason, he expresses himself through writing the most suicidal letters possible. The reason we didn’t want him to come out is because there is always the chance I could attempt suicide while in that frame of mind. I have never really attempted with him in control but that doesn’t mean that I can trust him. She didn’t say, exactly, what the letter did but it apparently had a devastating effect on her.

I went to Starbucks after session like I usually do. I had a Snicker’s latte (2 pumps mocha, 2 pumps caramel, 2 pumps toffee nut) and was contemplating something to eat but didn’t get anything. I journaled a bit while drinking my latte. I wrote a little more in detail about the session as it was fresh off my memory banks. I then wrote about other things. I think the last thing I wrote about was the horrific Amtrak train accident this morning. Seven people are dead because the train was going really fast in a slow zone, 100 MPH in a 50. It’s so sad.

I drank a lot of liquid between the latte and the iced tea I had for supper. I didn’t feel the need to go to the bathroom until I left my house to pick up my prescription at Walgreens. The leaking started and I didn’t feel anything. I hate dribbling. Even as I was approaching the house, the urge to go wasn’t strong, yet I had a full bladder. There was no way I didn’t. You can’t have a twenty ounce drink followed by a sixteen ounce and not be full. That’s over 1000 cc’s of fluid right there! I also wasn’t happy to find out that I am having break through bleeding. Looks like I will be stopping the pill next week so I can have a mense. I went through five packs of pills so it was a good run. I am averaging about 5-6 packs between break throughs. It just sucks because I have to wear female underwear and feminine products for a week. It’s just a big blow to my ego.

coming out as transgender

by Midnight Demon, posted in suicidality, suicide attempt, suicide attempt survivor, transgender

Coming out as a transgendered male (Female to Male) has not been an easy thing to do. It has been a very confusing road since kindergarten. The hardest part of the journey was puberty. I had a male best friend and I seriously thought that we were of the same genders up until I started developing. When I started developing breasts and he didn’t, I was confused so much that I wanted to die. But when you are eleven, the concept of killing yourself is not completely formulated. You knew you wanted to die, but didn’t know how. You knew that suffocation by a plastic bag would do the trick, but were too scared you would get into trouble with your parents. That fear prevented a lot of suicide attempts, especially during adolescence. The more I developed into something that conflicted with my brain, the more it hurt. But it wasn’t a physical pain like that of a broken limb. The psychological pain was so intense that suicide was all that I thought about. The higher the pain, the deeper the suicidal impulses would emerge. But I had to be a “good girl” and fight what was wrong. I suppressed the feelings of maleness but still acted like a “tomboy” in every fiber of my being. I wore baseball hats whenever I could. My father disliked it so much, he often threatened to cut up my hats when I got “caught” wearing one. To him I was a girl and I should act like one. My sisters did act like their gender roles, but that make up and hairspray were something I was not into nor had an interest in. Boys didn’t wear those things and neither would I.

When my menses started, that really started the hardest part of the conflict to deal with. I was bleeding and I didn’t understand why. I was welcomed into “womanhood” and I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t growing a penis. It was a very confusing time and month after month, I hated myself more and more. Even the use of feminine products was abhorrent to me. The more I grew into a freaking woman, the more I hated myself. I prayed for death every night. But no one knew of this struggle. Not even my best friend. With him, we were buddies. I was “Mike” and we played pretend male gendered games such as me being a mechanic or cable repairman. When T-ball season came around, I asked my father if I could play. But he stuffed my dreams of playing saying that is only for “boys” not for girls. I was beyond hurt.

During middle school, my sisters would have boyfriends. I never had an interest in boys. I was a boy so why would I be interested in my own gender. I didn’t have feelings for girls either. For the longest time, I thought I was asexual. It wasn’t until I was in therapy after my family fell apart that my therapist asked if I was gay. I felt really uncomfortable with the question. I just was saying I hadn’t found the right “boy” for me. She didn’t have to know that I was a boy inside just waiting to come out. I had suppressed it so much that I really didn’t think about it at this time.

When I first became suicidal, it was when I was fifteen. My family had fallen apart and I fell apart with it. My father called me a liar and my world ended. I was no longer a good “girl” in his eyes so there was nothing to live for. I started self-harm by cutting, thinking it would bring me to the verge of death, but all it did was bring my internal pain to the outside. After that therapist asked the “gay” question, I started thinking about it, but it was on a subconscious level. I remember being on the train and these really good looking women were on it. And I don’t know what possessed me, but I wanted to kiss them and it didn’t phase me that it was wrong. When I got hold of my senses (I made no such act toward them for fear of being called a freak), I was shocked. I grew up as an Italian Catholic and I knew homosexuality was forbidden. I knew I couldn’t bring it up in therapy. I was too proud to do so. Yet I continued to feel like I was crazy. Then things started to make sense to me. The voices that I was hearing, all were female except for one or two of them. I have been hearing voices since I was five, but that is another issue.

When I was sixteen, a therapist that I was seeing was leaving. I was very hurt. I felt I had nothing to live for with her leaving me. So in April 1993, I overdosed. The pain of living my life as what I was, was too great to bear. Subconsciously, I always wanted to die because I was in the wrong body. And I finally made an attempt to kill myself because of it. Though when I was asked the reasons, I just said I was depressed. No one figured out why I was so depressed. People never talked about being transgendered or being gay. Yet here I was, in the mix of being a confused teenager and had no one to turn to for help. Because I had suppressed so much of myself, I couldn’t even bring it to the surface. I had other issues to contend with, such as the break up of my parents.

Then suddenly women were attractive to me, something that has not happened before and I liked it. I thought I was crazy and that no one would understand. I felt isolated and despondent. There wasn’t a gay person that I knew and this was before the age of the internet so it wasn’t like I could ask Google what to do. Instead I internalized and compartmentalized. Then one day in January when I was 17, I started cutting myself and I didn’t stop until I was satisfied. But I didn’t know I did it. I knew I did it as I was holding a razor but I didn’t cut myself. I dissociated. That landed me in the hospital. I met a homosexual male and asked him about being gay. He told me that it was natural and that I wasn’t crazy. I took a chance and told the staff I was gay. I didn’t get a lifetime commitment in the psych ward. I felt a huge burden was lifted off my chest. But my Best friend that I had known since I was in diapers, didn’t like me being gay. He felt if we had sex, that would change me. But we already tried that and every time we were intimate, things turned off. I just wasn’t attracted sexually to males.

Fast forward to now. Around the time I was thirty-three, I started realizing that I wasn’t going to magically become a male. I came out in my therapist office and started crying like a baby because it was the source of my suicidality. I had been really suicidal and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Then when my menses came, I immediately became suicidal. Since I put two and two together, I realized that I was a male and it was time that I stop repressing myself. I wear male clothing all the time, except for that time of the month that I am forced to endure. Trying to stop the female reproductive system has been the hardest task for me to endure.

I was recently hospitalized and am just a little over a week since I have been discharged. The reason I was in the hospital was because I had overdosed on some pills. I couldn’t take the self-hate anymore about being a transgender. There were other reasons too, but being in the wrong body took precedence over the others. I hate feeling like this. I know there are treatments out there but there is a lot of stigma that prevents it from coming to people like me. I am not sure I want the sex organs either but I do know I want a double mastectomy. There are days when I am okay with having breasts and then there are other days, I can’t stand them. I hope one day I can take the next step forward. But I got to first like myself because if I don’t have that, I won’t have anything to like or live for.

TG issues 4

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, depression, suicidality, transgender

TG issues 4

I brought up my transgender issue with my therapist today. I really feel like if I go ahead with the process, there is no going back. But then what happens if it turns out to be a huge mistake. I will just end my life. My mother today called me “Miss” and I nearly lost it. I feel like I am drowning and no one is noticing or cares.

I asked my therapist how I am a transgender and she said she doesn’t know, basically. She gave me a lot of what I termed, bullshit answers. I don’t really remember what the actually words were, I just heard Blah blah blah. I feel so isolated and not having anyone to talk to about this except my therapist is really getting hard.

I have been thinking a lot about ending my life the past few days. It never goes away. I always seem to think about it when I get into this mood that I am in. I got my fucking menses, again. And I just can’t deal. I really can’t. It’s like the last straw. I want to cut ties with everyone and just go do what my thoughts are telling me to do. I should not have to live like this but I don’t have a supportive family. Hell, I don’t even have friends that I can just call up and talk to. Being disabled really took away everything I have so why not just end my life? What purpose do I still have being on this earth??