I haven’t written for a few days, partly because of Mother’s Day and my birthday and party because I’ve been really depressed.

I don’t feel like my writing is doing any good, it doesn’t feel good to get things off my chest, or out of my mind. Unless you are or have ever been depressed, you really wouldn’t understand.

I had this conversation with my younger brother today. I am not depressed because I am unhappy, I’m unhappy because I’m depressed for reason that I have no control over.

I can’t wave a magic wand and put myself in the correct body, one where my mind and my body are of the same gender. I can’t even think about fixing that problem through surgery, because there are so many more important things in my life that warrant the use of funds that would otherwise be used for surgery.

I am having issues with my reproductive parts. I’m having to see a doctor for it while fighting with an insurance company that doesn’t want to cover my visits because I’m trans. I always have the worry of money nagging at the back of my mind, and it gets louder and louder until I can’t think about anything else anymore.

I can’t think at all. I just want to curl into a ball and scream and cry and just simply cease to exist. I am not worth the pain that I cause those around me. I’m not worth it because I have no worth.

I may be crafty and just okay at a hundred different things but I’m never good enough to make a difference. A thousand different horoscopes and fortune tellers say I’ll be someone someday. They foretell that I’ll make a difference, I change the world for the better, but what if I don’t make it that long?

What if my fear if dying and becoming nothing overwhelms my fear of living as nothing, as noone. What then? What of those fortune tellers, horoscopes and soothesayers? Did they lie or did they fail to forsee that I am so close to breaking that I walk a razor wire every night.

My younger brother is getting married in Vietnam in July. The only one of my siblings to invite me to their wedding, and I can’t go. I don’t have the money. I don’t have a passport. I’d overcome my fear of flying to be able to stand at my little brother’s side while he marries the woman that has made him so happy. I would do that because I know what it’s like for your family not to be there at your wedding, because they don’t believe in it. I’d do that for him, so he wouldn’t have to know that pain of no one showing up. But I can’t, and it kills just a little more of me.

Each day I die more and more, until what is left?

A hollow shell of what used to be a person?

When you have people calling for my execution, claiming I’m a child predator and spouting a thousand lies in the name of fear and ignorance, how long is too long.

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