Tag: transgender

at least we can say we tried

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicide, transgender

All too often I get the how is your back, you look good bullshit. I want to strangle the person sometimes, especially when I have had a bad night the night before. No one gets it. My family keep telling me to see this podiatrist or go to this hospital or see this doctor. But they don’t get I am tired of seeing doctors who only want to stick a needle in my back or ankle and then say ok at least we tried, good luck to you and leave me hanging with NO FURTHER TREATMENT. Or they look at my ankle and xrays/Mri’s and find that there is nothing wrong with my back anymore or that my ankle looks perfectly normal. Well if it was perfectly normal why do I have friggen pain all the time?? I had another pain bout last night that I was climbing the walls with. And I didn’t do anything yesterday that would have caused it. I am just so tired of being in pain but I got to live with it and it sucks.

Last night I was in the deep throws of dealing with bad ankle pain. I wrote the above just now in response to an email that a fellow CESSG member wrote. I thought it would give me something more to write on but I just can’t think of anything more to say. I am all tired out from being in pain all night. Sure I had my coffee this morning and it was very good but it didn’t loosen my thought process any. I am struggling right now, really struggling with pain and my menses and the depression. No one understands. These three things make me want to kill myself. There is no one I can talk to about it. I sent off the blog I wrote last night to my pdoc, hoping for a response and still have not received one. Maybe she got mad at me because I wrote that she didn’t get it because she always uses the wrong pronoun with me. I don’t care. In my mind, I am a he, not a she. I think I got to let the group (the CES group) know that I have decided to change my name again. This one is a little more permanent and one that I have used since I was a teenager. I might still use Mike from time to time. I like the name, even if it is a common one. But for now I think I will just stick with GC. I don’t know if I will ever change my name permanently but I know that I like being called this and that is part of the transition.

The depression I can handle most of the time, except when everything I do drains me. It takes such an effort to get out of bed, to do daily living activities, etc. I rather just lay in bed and do nothing or instead I just play on my laptop or look at a blank page of a word document wondering if the words will come.

The menses are just an insult to me. I can’t handle it. I detest it with every fiber of my being. It is the constant reminder that I am not a male no matter how bad my brain thinks I am. It confuses the hell out of me and makes me think instant thoughts of suicide. I think it probably would take a suicide attempt for my treaters to know that I am serious when I tell them this makes me suicidal to the Nth degree. I can’t live like this anymore. And again I am downcasted by the psych profession. Call it what you will Gender dysphoria or transgenderism. I don’t care. I just know that I am in the wrong body and I want to kill myself be that is the ONLY way to solve the problem. Obviously birth control pills are not working. I have been on them for at least two years now and they just are not working. I get a few months break and then I get my menses again. This isn’t right. I don’t think my repro endo doctor care either. To her, I am just another female that cannot tolerate her period. But is it normal to want to kill yourself every time you get the bloody thing (pun intended)?? I don’t think so.

moments 2

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, suicide, transgender

Moments

There have been many moments where I find myself thinking about suicide and moments where I wanted to act upon them very badly. Right now is one of those moments. I am suffering under a heavy coat of depression caused by physical pain and now mental pain because my body has gone back into female mode and I have my menses again. I wish I could say that I like it but I don’t. It kills me when I get it. I just feel so empty and despairing and there is no one I can talk to about it. I know I should seriously just end my life and leave people wondering why because that will be easier than trying to tell them I killed myself because I am in the wrong body. Even though I have tried to explain myself to a couple of people I still get called the “proper” pronoun and gender pronoun given this biological body. I must be crazy thinking that I am a male. And it hurts. I am hurting because I cannot get away from my menses. They can put a man on the moon yet they cannot stop this hurt. WTF. I was hoping it was just spotting but the true colors came out as I went to the bathroom just a few minutes ago. Just lovely. Here I am trying to finish my book and now I got to deal with this? I really just want to die. It’s bad enough that I have pain, physical pain that is so putting me over the top. But no one believes me when I tell them I want to be a male. My psychiatrist that I have known forever still calls me a “her”. I don’t tell her it bothers me because I am afraid that I will break down. I have never stood up for myself. Even when my father called me “his daughter”, I wanted to scream at him that I was really his son. I took a lot of meds tonight to deal with my pain, this was before my little trip to the bathroom. I am starting to feel the effects of the pain meds and muscle relaxers. Moments like these I wish I took too much. But I can’t risk having my mother or sister find my body in that state. It would devastate them to no end. Not like my death won’t do that to them anyways, but it’s better to remember me some other way. I am a transgender and that is why I want to die. I don’t think anyone can help me with this. I am too far gone. I am too far developed. But if only my menses could be stopped permanently would I not think about suicide all the time. Meds are kicking in really fast so I will end here. And unfortunately, I know that I will wake up tomorrow. That is truly a pity. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow or any other day. My life revolves around stuff that I don’t want it to be. Now I have to keep track of the bleeding and when it started and I just don’t want to. I just want to die. I just don’t want to exist anymore. Why is that so hard for anyone to understand that I would be better off dead. My psychiatrist would want me to call her right now but it’s 1 o’clock in the morning and I don’t want to bother her with my mundane argument. We have had these go rounds before and they usually, almost always, result in me going to the hospital for more mundane treatment. Moments like this, I wish there was a switch that could just end my life. And poof I will be gone…

difference is hormones

by Midnight Demon, posted in mood disorders, suicide attempt, transgender

*****WARNING MIGHT BE TRIGGERING*******

I was listening to some old songs tonight and it got me into a depressive funk. I then started to think of why I am depressed as I had no real reason to be. I started mindlessly picking at my chin. Then I realized I shaved off my goatee yesterday. I think a bit of my “manhood” went with it because my mother yelled at me to shave it off. She is never going to be accepting of the transgender identity I have. I guess that is why I feel so depressed and suicidal. I feel no one understands me. My sisters didn’t say anything about the goatee I was wearing in support of my baseball team. My father had nothing to say. Not even my soon to be 90 year old Aunt/Godmother said anything when I saw her in the hospital a few weeks ago.

The reality is that I am a female, not a male like my brain and my feelings think I am. It makes me sick. Really it does. I should be in the grave by now. They always say that transgendered are the most likely to kill themselves. I don’t know why I just don’t go downstairs and get the rope. End it sometime after this week. I can play with the knots and length of rope I will need. I never intended to kill myself at my own house but hotels are too expensive and I don’t have a credit card anymore. I couldn’t get one unless I was paying THEM to get it.

I don’t know why I keep struggling to hold on. Even now I am just saying one more day to get through, just one more day. I don’t want one more day. I want to be dead NOW. Sure there are people I can talk to about this stuff, not. No one understands what I am going through. I don’t even understand what I am going through so how is anyone else? Yet tomorrow I am supposed to put on a happy face and see my family for my Aunt’s 90th birthday celebration and pretend that nothing is wrong with my life. I feel like my whole life is just a poser, an imposter of some sort. I have the façade of someone else all the time. But who that is, I don’t know. But don’t we all at one point have different sides of self? But this isn’t a side of me. This is the whole me that wants to die because I can’t be a male. I was looking at a photo of my Mexican friend with his little Mexican mustache and I was so jealous. Jealous because he can grow facial hair better than I ever could. And the difference is hormones. I have been contemplating getting supplements that boost testosterone. Only problem is that I am afraid it might also kill my liver or some other important organ. I know someone that gets hormones through a gym but I am not the type to do anything illegal. I don’t even know if I could “shoot” up the stuff in the first place. But I am getting far a field with these ideas.

The way I see it I have two choices: die or become a male. And frankly, dying seem a hell of a lot easier.

TG Issues 2

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicide, transgender

Battles with self

I talked with my therapist today about a few things. She didn’t get the packet of letters that I mailed to her last week yet so I didn’t bring up the subject of grief.

What I did bring up, I have been wrestling with all day: my transgender issue. I have been born a biological female yet my head thinks I am a male. I asked my therapist calls me and she said a heterosexual male. My fear is that talking about this is going to stir up some feelings of suicidality. It almost always does because I am not born a male. I just think that I am one. I feel like I am one. Coming to terms of this has not been easy. It has only been so for the last few years that I have been open about this. I wish I could go back and say when I first started feeling this way and it would be around the time that I was in kindergarten, when I felt different than other girls. I always liked taking things apart to see how they worked. I didn’t like dolls growing up. Though I did like trucks and stuff. I would love playing over my friend Tony’s house. He had all the cool boy toys. We would play for hours. I was also into a lot of sports growing up. When Tony started to play baseball, he was on the Oakland A’s. He then decided he was not a Sox fan because he was on the A’s. I got mad at him for that, because I always felt like you had to root for the home team no matter what.

During the registration period, I asked my father if I could play baseball. It would have made me the happiest in the world. But my father said no because that was a boy sport. I was so hurt. But I didn’t let anyone know how hurt I was. We were poor so I never got the equipment needed except when a neighbor across the street cleanout his place and threw away his gloves. It was the first time I actually had baseball equipment. Tony and I played baseball together after school for I don’t know how long. When he was off with his team, I would throw the ball against the steps making diving plays and making believe I was throwing out the runner on second base. I played like that for hours. It was really fun. I could hit better than Tony did. I guess because I had a lot more anger than he did, I could also throw the ball farther too. We would have contests as to who could throw the farthest. I always won. I also threw the highest. Red Sox baseball became my passion. I would love to watch them play. I didn’t go to many games as a kid. Again it was because sports were a boy thing not a girl thing.

The only sport that I did get involved in was basketball. I might have been able to cream Tony but I never was good enough to make varsity. My career high is 4 points in one game, and that was because only five players showed up. Me being one of the five. It was a good game as we crushed Brighton. It must have been the first game that I ever played in the whole game, minus the time I spent nursing a calf cramp.

My father and mother never went to any of my games, even though we lived only a block from the high school. They just were interested in me. My couch told me I was the shortest player to jump high. That was because there was a high beam between my parent’s bedroom and the parlor. I used to always run and jump to see if I could hit it. It took me a long time but I finally was able to do it, though the downstairs tenants didn’t like it much.

Growing up I look at all the things that I hated about myself. I hated getting my periods and that caused me so much pain. I hate developing breasts. I was always bumping into things with them. And it hurt! I never liked the way I looked because of these things. I still don’t. I still think I am the ugliest person on the planet. And who could blame me. My father helped by calling me Faccia Brutto (ugly face in Italian) everyday for as long as I can remember.

I still am not happy with my breasts over all these years. Though I am getting creative and calling them gynecomastia (male breasts) and hoping that if I lose weight, they will shrink. But losing weight is hard when all you want to do is kill yourself.

For a long time, I never put the two together, the being a male and my suicidality. I really had no clue why I was suicidal until one night I had the revelation that it could be because I think I am a male and I really am not. It is very hurtful to be called a she when you want to be called a he. There was a time that I would always get complemented as a he and when the person recognize my gender they would get all frazzled and apologize. I always said it was ok and that I liked being called a him. It just feels more natural to me than being called a her. I can’t stand it. And I guess, subconsciously, it was hurting me. It took me to a dark place where suicide became my life’s goal. All I thought about was suicide. Killing myself was the ONLY way out of my situation. If I couldn’t be a male and be called him, then what was the purpose of me living.

Last year I decided that I was going to change my name to Mike and be Mike. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be. It still is hard. I told my middle sister this and she was supportive but scared for me. Flashbacks of when I came out gay as a teenager came flooding back. I couldn’t tell my other sister I wanted to be a male or my mother. There would be no way for them to accept me for being me. My eight year old still asks if I am a guy or a girl and I always answer with, what do you think. And she goes with girl. It hurts. I will never forget the day when she came in to the bathroom when I was going and found out the truth. I was crushed. Really crushed. If there was a noose waiting for me that day, it would have had my neck in it. I so wanted to die and still want to die because I know I can’t live my life as a male. I don’t really know what that means because technically I do live as a male. I wear the boxers and clothes that are mens. The only thing female that I own are underwear and that is when I get my stupid period that has not been able to be stopped. I can’t go on if I am bleeding monthly. I know this deep down inside because it kills me to have a monthly so bad. It hurts. And there is no other way to describe it. I can’t tell you why it hurts, it just does. I have been living this way for most of my life and it kills me when people get the wrong pronoun and such. I know that by coming open will get people confused. I feel like I am causing them a burden and believe me, I would rather die than cause this grief.

I had a talk with my mother years ago about why I need to buy male things but it went by the way side. Even my youngest sister tried to get me to buy women’s clothes. I hate them. I never have like them from day one. They just don’t fit right. They don’t feel right. I wear mens clothes because they are comfortable to me. My middle sister wanted a football jersey for Christmas last year. She got a men’s large but she didn’t like it because it didn’t feel right. She wanted me to get her a female version but the only jerseys that I could get were men’s. Oh well. I ended up returning it for a medium. Now the guy is in jail for murder so she won’t be wearing the jersey at all!

I wish I could say that I am a female but it goes against the grain. Even typing the words has my gut in agony. I am a male trapped in a female’s body. I do not like it. I hate myself because of it. And I want to take my life because of the shame it has caused me.