I started the day with an unusual abundance of energy. I felt like I could face the world and was ready to take it on. That was until I had my therapy session and all bits went to hell. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to curl up in bed and not do anything.
After session I felt a little better after talking about my TG stuff. This stuff is really complicated and I feel very alone with it though people around me are very supportive of it. I am trying to get used to the pronouns and the medical issues I am having. See I go to one place and only my psychiatrist knows my issues right now because I am a “beginner”. I have not told my PCP or any other of my many other care providers. Not like they would turn me away, or they might to another “qualified” individual. I just feel that right now since I am spotting I need to see someone. I got my periods stopped by birth control pills and trust me having to take female hormones to stop my menses kills me enough. But having to explain it without crying my eyes out that is another matter. Not to mention that among my many care providers they all read each other’s notes except my psychiatrist so if I tell one, the others are going to know except I am not there yet. I don’t want it in my medical file that I am a transgendered individual or that I have gender identity disorder yet. I just am not there as sometimes it takes so much emotion that all I do is cry over it as I talk about. I guess part of it is because I hate myself so much that I just want no part of my body. I can deal with the facial hair but I cannot deal with my breasts or my reproductive system. Those are the two things I hate most about myself. I just wish I had the money to get the operation to get rid of both. To look down and not see breasts would make me happy. To actually see hair on my chest would be wonderful and not the little stubs I have now. I truly hate myself for being in the wrong body.
And this is why I am suicidal. This is why I want to end my life. I hope that by the time my date comes around I am half way to the other side or else I just end things and let things be. My parents can bury me as their daughter instead of their son. because it hurts too much to be not who I really am meant to be.
Tag: transgender
Another depressing day
Today was a rough day. I had an annoying appt with my therapist. I wish I hung up on her (we have phone sessions because it is too far for me to see her as I do not have a car). I just wanted to be left alone with my thoughts but she was not having any part of it.
I am in a seriously depressed mood. I started talking about my plans and how I am going to cancel my Tuesday appt because I just don’t feel like talking and she schedules me for a Monday session. I don’t want to fucking talk. I just want to be left alone you idiot but she didn’t get the message.
We talked about how to tell my mother about me being Mike. I am scared. Maybe I don’t have to tell her. There is no time limit that says I have to tell her now. Let me get comfortable with being Mike before I go telling my family. That is how I came out. I came out to my friends before I came out to my family. So far my friends have been more than supportive. My former coworkers are happy for me. Why am I not happy? Why am I feeling so down all I want to do is kill myself?
After therapy and the ensuing fight of getting another session in, I fell asleep. It was cold in my room and I was exhausted from getting up early to see my psychiatrist earlier this morning. Besides it was really cold out so it’s not like I could take a walk anywhere. I can’t walk too far anyways. Damn ankle prevents that from happening. Though my ankle has been behaving the past few days. Until now. Now it is aching and throbbing. I hear the temp is going down to 8 degrees tomorrow, which is a good 20 degrees lower than it is now. Just wonderful that I am a human barometer. I hate that the change in temp causes me pain. I used to love the winter because I love the cold. Now the cold hurts so I don’t love it as much. I just popped 3 baby aspirin because I couldn’t find my advil gelcaps. My left calf is sore and with all the laying around that I have been doing I am scared I might get a DVT, a deep venous thrombosis, a very bad blood clot. But I am trying not to worry because it might be the ticket out this world and keep me from having to kill myself. It takes a lot of planning and energy to kill yourself. I just am too exhausted to try again. Though I still have my plans of throwing myself off my back porch with a rope around my neck. Chances are though I will make a terrible knot and fall to the ground. That will be embarrassing…
Listening to number 8 on my playlist, Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift. Her music always seems to lift me up. Her and Mary Chapin Carpenter are my favorite female artists that I listen to when I am down and out. Right now I have my MP3 player on party shuffle as part of the writing challenge that I am doing. Tomorrow is going to be a tough one because it talks about family. I think I will just make it short and sweet and be done with it.
transitioning is harder than it seems
I did nothing today. Today is supposed to be my writing day off but I can’t stop writing what is in my head. Last night was hard for me on so many levels. My suicidality came back and it stayed with me for a good while. I wanted to hang myself off the back porch, while my sister was having a party down stairs. My biggest fear was that I would be caught in time and I would survive. I didn’t want that to happen as it would be mad embarrassing. But I imagined what it would be like. I didn’t prepare or anything, just thought and fantasized about it. It helps to calm me down when I fantasize about killing myself. It is not the best mechanism of coping but hell it works better than the other bullshit.
I didn’t want to kill myself because of the new year. I wanted to kill myself because I don’t think I can stand being who I am anymore. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I have changed my name a few times over the years to get used to being called something other than my birth name in transitioning toward being male. Can’t be any more male than Mike right? But people don’t see it as a big deal. Maybe they think that it is easy. I don’t know. I have never done this before. I just want to feel the way I feel inside and project it on the outside. I guess the incident that triggered this was that this was the last birthday that I would be called by my birth name(BN). I just wasn’t ready for it. For months I have been using my BN at Starbucks and other places. Yesterday I decided to use Alex and the idiot that took my order wrote “Alice”, nice but I am NOT a fucking female you nitwit!! That is what I want to scream to the world. I am NOT A FUCKING FEMALE!! I am not a HER I am a HIM!!!! But people just don’t get it. They see breasts and the will always think her. They don’t see breasts they see him. It is how this world is cracked up to be.
I so need to talk to my therapist this week. I am having a wicked hard time with this. I think my very life depends on it. But if I were to seek help, I don’t think a hospital will help. Seeing as I have not transitioned, they will just place me in a woman’s room or ward. How demoralizing is that. Because biologically I am female I get put into that category. I hate categories.
a little more about me
I have been thinking about taking my life since I was eight years old. I was in a lot of pain for some reason or another and it never got taken cared of. Today I think that pain stems from the fact that I am really a male and not a female. I knew at a young age that I was different and back then, there was no expressing how I truly felt. I really think that if I got help sooner, this would have come to light sooner and I wouldn’t be in this pickle today about what to do with my transition.
I’ve know since I was in kindergarten that I was different than the other girls in my class because I wanted to play with “boy” toys rather than with dolls. I found playing dress up boring as all hell and mostly destroyed my dolls as my mother would tell you. I would always take my toys apart, wonder how they worked but could never put them back together again as I would end up destroying them.
I didn’t mind being different. This was a time where I still thought I was straight so I thought that if a boy liked me, he had to like me for who I was rather than what I am. I still feel this way today, though to a greater extent than a five year old’s thinking. I just know that I was a boy though I could not express what I was feeling. Everyone called me a girl and I just could not understand why. It wasn’t until I started my menarche that I inwardly defied being a “woman” and the feelings of wanting to die grew stronger. I knew there was no way in hell I could tell my parents I was a boy. My father downright refused to let me play sports because I was a “girl” and that hurt more than anything. I couldn’t play soccer but I could play basketball when I got to high school. I still don’t know why I had to go to the girls room and be on the girls team but I just figured I was following the rules of play and that was what I did. I hated starting arguments so I just played along. It wasn’t until I was in my early thirties that the realization of me growing into a boy was not going to happen. I think I am a boy for many reasons. I have hair in places most girls do not and I have facial hair. I love wearing men’s clothing, doing men things like watching sports, and my closest friends are men. I tend to think more of man things like how things work and other stuff that is being more than just being a tomboy. Terri Clark is a tomboy but she shows her feminine side at times. I don’t feel I have a feminine side and would hate it if I did. Things like make up and jewelry just don’t interest me. I think just having one pair of shoes is sufficient, I hate shopping, and I can’t stand hair products.
The depression gets bad and I am always hating myself. I hate my appearance. I hate my body. I hate me, I actually loath and despise myself. There is no other term I can describe how much I hate myself for not being who I really am. This constant pretending is killing me. But I don’t think about it often because it will just drive the suicidal self into action if I do. For years I have kept a lid on who I really was but I can’t do that anymore because it just hurts too much. I have to be who I am and if anyone can’t understand it, then they don’t need to be in my life. It hurts when the pronoun gets misused. I love it when I am called sir but then I kind of feel really bad when they correct it. Unfortunately, now that I am severely overweight, my figures are more defined so I am being called Ma’am more often and it hurts. Sometimes with baggy clothes or jacket I can still be called sir or mister but that is rare these days. I hardly go out anymore. I just can’t face the world. I have become reclusive to my own surroundings. I hate going out for anything even if it is for my one cup of Joe a day.
midnightdemons7 
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