In a depressed mood. I had therapy today and it just made me realized I am in a state of grief. Between the TG incident last night and me putting off my plan, I feel totally down. I thought about jumping in front of train today just to feel something. Well, maybe just getting close enough on the platform to think about jumping and feel the rush of air as it races past me. Course the conductor will most likely blow its horn and scare the shit out of me, forcing me back like it has before. But then I think of the people who will be caught in the delay as they try and get my body out to resume service. I will piss a lot of people off.
My therapist surprisingly didn’t go on her soapbox today like I thought she would. But it was tough talking to her. Half way through I asked if we were done. I just couldn’t bare talking with her anymore or anyone else. I just wanted to hunker down in my blankets and go back to sleep. I feel like I am in a deep hole and no one can get me out. And I am not so sure I want to get out this time. I know I eventually do. But it sucks while being here.
I showered and got dressed. Went to Starbucks to get my coffee. I had something different other than my Isla Flores. I got a Panama coffee and it was strong yet not strong to burn a hole in my stomach. I wrote in my journal about things that I was hoping to get to my blog but nothing sufficed. I truly didn’t know what I was going to write today. So this is really on the fly.
I’m back to wearing boxers. That should make me happy but it hasn’t helped my mood. I realized that during the first few weeks of the patch, I must have put the placebo patch on during one of the weeks. I didn’t know they had a placebo patch. Now I have to be careful. I might as well throw it out as not to let that happen again. I found this out when I went to open the next box of patches. These patches are supposed to help my menses be GONE. I don’t know why I feel so damn depressed. I just want to cry. I know that I am probably hormonal right now and I just hate it. I honestly feel that I am never going to be a man and that just drives my suicidal impulse through the roof. I can deal with boobs, I just can’t deal with my menstrual cycle. It’s the ultimate fuck you. I just checked to see if there was a placebo patch and there isn’t. Fuck. So I don’t know what the hell happened to cause a damn cycle to happen. I am so angry that I can cry.
I just put on a shuffle on my entire MP3 player on my phone. I got tired listening to the same music. I wanted to listen to some Garth Brooks and Reba, mixed in with some rock and alternative, well, what was alternative when I was younger. Alternative today is NOTHING like what I am used to listen to. I don’t even know if you can call it music.
I spoke with the editor of the AAS blog today about getting more founding contributors to write more. She got back to me but I think she is going to continue on her course of getting “outside” writers to write. SO if you have a suicide attempt story you want to write about, please contact me through the comments.
There are huge shake downs in Boston right now regarding sports. The hockey team lost the finals. The basketball coach was fired. A football player is accused of double homicide. And while that is all going on, my baseball team is red hot and in first place for the first time since the 2009 season. That is all I am going to say on the matter as I don’t want a ragtime blog of my opinion on the subjects as other than baseball, I really don’t care. Right now only one sport exists and that is baseball. Anything concerning my players or the other teams is of interest in me. Otherwise, I don’t care.
I got a tweet last night saying that there is a 1,200 year old tomb that was found intact. I thought at first it might be a Maya tomb but that would be too late. It was of the Wari people who I didn’t even know existed. I am not too good on the early peoples of South America other than the Maya as they have plagued my interest since learning of their short ruling period. I also have an interest in the Inca as they are presumeably the ones that took over the Maya temples and such and faced the same fate once the Spanish invaded Mexico.
Anyway, I became interested in this tomb as I love archeology. I think that finding things from the past is fascinating. Yes I am a lover of the Indian Jones movies and maybe my fascination came from his work. But I am also interested in the dinosaurs and how things evolved from an evolutionary standpoint. I have yet to read Darwin’s Origin of Species but I plan to one day.
I saw my psychiatrist today. And she didn’t hospitalize me but I did tell her that I have a future date of potentially killing myself. She thinks that I am hormonal and asked that I contact my reproductive endocrine doc, which I did. To my surprise she was available for meeting with me to talk about what to do as I have my menses. She checked the lining of my uterus to see if there was a problem and there wasn’t. What she FAILED to tell me was that it could take up to three months for this new patch to work. That would have been helpful to know!!! So I am going to stick it out the three months (I have two months to go) and see if this patch is better than taking a pill every day. But I have had it will this period bullshit. My psych knows what havoc this is causing me. I don’t feel like a man anymore. I feel it is hopeless to transition. I can’t even talk about it without being very depressed about it. It is killing me more than having boobs.
I normally don’t think about being a male every day because I already think I am one as long as I don’t look at my chest. But when I get my menses, it really, really messes with my head and reinforces the notion that I am in the wrong body. I guess I have been in denial the past week. It just has been so hard but my suicidality has not peaked, least not yet. I feel that I should stop this and try and put it out of my head that I am a male. But that is so hard to do. I am not talking about changing my dress to female or anything of the sort. Just to stop thinking that I would be a male someday. Even if I were to get hormones, I doubt my breasts would shrink enough not to be noticed. I am morbidly overweight so they do have some fat and unless I starve myself, I really don’t see a way to be back to normal weight. I just bought some cereal to help with the diet again. I figure if I just eat cereal for two meals and then eat a normal dinner with some kind of protein, I should be ok. I just hope that I can stick with it. But losing weight is just one of the issues that I have with my self-esteem and body image issues.
My therapist thinks that I have body dysmorphic disorder. I think she maybe right as I do hate my body, every stinking inch of it. And in turn, I hate myself deeply because of it. I really think I am ugly and unattractive. I can’t stand looking at myself in the mirror. I am glad I don’t have any mirrors in my room except a very small one that I use so I can put eye drops in my eyes. Even then I loathe looking at myself. It is just another reason why I want to die. I don’t feel I deserve to be living because I am so heinous looking.
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.
Sense of humor keeping me alive?
Been thinking about this today.. I was at an interview meeting for first year medical students and I remember joking a lot with the interviewer. I was talking about serious stuff, like my suicide and transgender issues and I kept thinking why is every one laughing. I was laughing at myself, but inside. The voices were watching me and I could tell they were not pleased. They always get nervous when I tell people my most personal thoughts. I guess they get jealous when I tell people outside because the voices are lonely and they need me to continue to talk to them to exist. I have not been faithful with my medication the past few days. I find that my mind is better for writing when I am not medicated than when I am. It truly sucks trying to write and you can’t because the thoughts just are not flowing.
I began reading a book on sibling suicide written by a friend of mine. I had no idea how suicide affected siblings. I never thought about how my sisters would react to my death if I died by my own hand. I was more afraid of their children’s grief than theirs. I guess you can say I am too old to kill myself but that does not mean I want to live. I am forced to live because of my responsibilities to others. That is why I am still here. I can joke about suicide and suicidal thinking, because it is who I am. Right now I am feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet and I am betting not a single person on facebook responds to it. I know I post a lot of statuses. It is because I am bored most of the time and have to tell people what I am doing like they really care. I find that less meaningful statuses draw more attention than serious ones. I don’t know why that seems important to me but I have noticed it. Very rarely do my family members respond. Usually my friends do. Even those that are across the pond will respond. I know that not everyone can respond to each of my twenty or more statuses but the ones that mean the most to me are the ones that I find the most painful. I complain a lot about being in chronic pain. I use my Facebook status to vent about how awful I feel, both physically and mentally. It is very rare that I will post I am having a good day. The days last week are gone and I doubt they will happen again. I feel like my air has been let out of the balloon and now I am back to my usual level of depression.
Today I had a migraine. It was really bright outside and I resented having to go out to this meeting but I agreed and I always hold up to my commitments no matter how bad I was feeling. In this meeting I divulged more than I should have and I think that is why I am feeling very terrible now. I can’t shut up the voices in my head. They have been chattering non-stop since I have come home. I have been trying to read to drown them out but it does no good. They keep telling me I am a loser and won’t amount to a thing. That the book deal with my friend will never happen, that it was a joke to start with and I am starting to believe them because why would someone want to hear my voice? What makes me so damn special that others want to know my struggles with depression and suicide and being a transgender or being homosexual? But am I really homosexual if I am a guy and like women? I am so confused!!! I just want to fricken die rather than deal with this stuff. I know that I must continue to live to make others happen but it’s killing me to struggle every damn day, whether I pee my pants, crap my pants, am in chronic pain with my stupid ankle or have the nerve pain from hell or just have the biggest psychache in the world for no reason other than I am not who I am. I am a guy trapped in a woman’s body and it is killing me to be this way.