Suicidal Idealations

I want to die.

I’m so tired of struggling, so tired of fighting, so tired of it being insinuated that my life is meaningless because I’m not good enough at being a minority. 

Yesterday was supposed to be a good day. It was supposed to be the beginning of the process to start my chest reconstruction surgery. Instead it ended with me wanting to wrap my car around a tree at 140 mph, and quite frankly the only reason I didn’t was because I wasn’t alone in the car on the five hour trip back home. Killing myself is one thing, taking someone else out with me is totally different, and no matter how depressed I get, or how suicidal I am it’s not something I could ever do. 

I drove over 200 miles, one way, just to have some lackey of the surgeon I was supposed to have a consultation with tell me I was too fat for them to operate on. Then she kept asking if I wanted to see pictures of their results…The surgeon couldn’t even be bothered to see me, even after these people knew I was driving from near Albany, NY to Rochester, NY. 

In 2007 I injured my back, I hurt it while I was working at Fred’s in Piggott, AR but since I didn’t realize it until the following day, the company basically told me to go fuck myself. I ended up going to the ER, where I was given multiple shots in my back and told to get some rest. I haven’t been out of pain since that day. 

When I first tried to see a medical professional about the severe pain in my lower back, I was told it was because I was overweight. None of the doctors that I saw in Arkansas wanted to even listen to the fact that I had been injured, it was all because I was overweight. 

Then I moved to Virginia, where I was told that I had nerve damage in my lower back and I was given a referral to a pain management specialist. When I went to see the pain management specialist I was then told that I would live every day for the rest of my life in pain, but because I was so young (25 years old) there was nothing that they (the pain management specialists) were going to do. I was too young to be taking pain killers. So I was sent on my way with the knowledge that each and every day I was alive from then until I died I would be hurting. 

Since then, I’ve tried to see doctors about losing weight, but now that I present as male I’ve been repeatedly told “just exercise” or “you’re just building muscle”. The latter is every doctor’s excuse for the weight gain I’ve had despite exercising to the point where I feel like I’m about to pass out and eating about a quarter of what I ate before my initial back injury some ten years ago. None of the doctors want to run any tests to find out why I’m gaining weight, it just must be all that muscle gain…

No one wants to help, or even listen and do their job. They just want me out of their office so they don’t have to deal with me anymore. This isn’t just one or two doctors though, is this nearly every doctor I’ve been to in the past five years. I stopped drinking soda, and rather than loosing weight which what one doctor proclaimed would happen, I gained weight. 

I’m not rich, in fact quiet the opposite is true. The only reason I’m living in a house right now is because a really great couple took my family in when we had no where else to go and were living in a tent. I’m not skinny, I’m damaged goods and I’m male. All of which equate to my life isn’t worth the paper my birth certificate was printed on. 

Why should I even bother to fight anymore?

I’m constantly in pain. The one thing that I was stupid enough to get my hopes up for has just been taken away because of issues that no doctor wants to deal with…my quality of life is so low it’s not even funny.

I can’t even function in society.

I’m so tired.

#depression, #discrimination-in-healthcare, #doctors, #ftm, #ftm-surgery, #shoddy-healthcare, #suicide, #transgender

A New Kind of Normal

I’ve never really had anything close to a social life, even when I was in high school. Even though I’m an extrovert I’ve spent most of my life in a reclusive state. Part of this is the fact that I am transgender, and the discrimination that I’ve faced because of it, part of it is because of my sensory issues, and part of it is the fact that I was never really allowed to socialize outside of the halls of my middle and high school. Growing up I was never allowed to have friends over nor was I allowed to leave home to go meet with anyone that could be considered a friend outside of school related activities. 

Since moving to New York, and beginning to emerge myself in the world of the SCA, I’ve found something akin to a social life. There are people around me that understand, or at least accept my eccentricities and it doesn’t seem to bother them in the least. I’ve found something that I never thought that I would have, and that’s a community. I feel like I’ve finally found a place where I can belong not hide away from society as life passes me by like I’ve been doing for the past twenty years. 

It’s past time for me to let go of what happened to me in the past and start working towards the future that I want for myself and for my family. 

For the first time in my life I’ve joined a gym so that I can get into shape. I’ve started attending rapier practice within the SCA, and archery as well. While there has been a few bumps in the road, I am actually starting to look forward to the future with excitement rather than disdain or upset. Things are still rough, I’m still fighting for SSI because of my autism, in July of this year it will be two years since I’ve applied. I went into my final appeal in November of last year and that can take up to 15 months. 

I’ve scheduled an appointment for the 22nd of March for the consultation for my chest reconstruction surgery, and my insurance here will cover it and all other SRS surgeries that I need. I can’t believe this year I’ll finally be able to take that step closer to being whole. 

My depression was really bad for a while, but it’s a bit better now. I don’t wake up every morning wanting to die. I hope that this is a permanent change, but I know that there is the possibility that it isn’t. It’s just something that I will have to deal with as it comes along. I know I’m going to have to find a therapist and stick with them, but for once I have a few clear goals in my life that aren’t just ideas. 

I have an idea of where I want to be headed by the end of this year, I’m not completely lost to the chaos anymore. 

#depression, #letting-go-of-the-past, #lgbt, #mental-health-2, #mental-illness, #moving-on, #new-york, #srs, #trans, #transgender

Outsider

Why did you come to New York just to be homeless?

This really should have been the first clue that the people who are supposed to help people like those in my family didn’t want to waste their time on someone like us. It’s the same everywhere you go though I suppose, especially now with the political climate. The word outsider has never been more foul of a word when you’re desperate and looking for a light among the darkness of your life. An outsider is someone else, not one of the community and needs to be pushed as far away as possible. An outsider can be left to fend for themselves, even to die, it doesn’t matter, they aren’t from “around here”.

This is the path that fear, ignorance, isolation, and bigotry has lead us down this path. The path that in fact leads to far more deaths and far more pain than anyone realizes. In one breath we proclaim that we love our neighbors, and care for one another. Then in the next we curse those who are not like ourselves. We exile those who need the help to most into an abyss of desperation and destitution that leave them wondering if their lives even matter…

Does my life even matter?

I am, after all no one.

I am an outsider, and I always have been. I watch the world pass by me as if I was nothing more than a ghost in the mists of time. I’m just a bystander in my own life, watching it move by me slowly with a sense of lost despondency stuck in my chest like a rock that’s ever crushing the life from me.

I pretend well.

I do a good job of making people think I’m something when I need to be, but at the end of the day I’m alone, empty and lost.

I started writing this post to speak out against the way outsiders are treated, but now I’ve gone off on a different tangent. I’m so damned tired of fighting, of being nothing, being just another tranny freak that is so inept at dealing with the world that I should just go kill myself…

But that’s really what it comes down to in the end. Should I or shouldn’t I? I can name hundreds of reasons why I should just do it. Most of which are selfish, but some not so much. I mean, seriously, if I’m dead my family will actually get the help that they need. Because, you know, gender stereotypes and all, the “man” should take care of the family or he’s a worthless piece of shit. Isn’t that how it goes? Of course you have the ideal that a family with a man in it shouldn’t need help in the first place.

On the other hand, my reasons are selfish. I am tired of fighting. I am tired of hurting. I’m tired of watching people laugh, smile, talk, enjoy being together and only be able to fake those emotions. I’m a fraud really, I don’t understand it. I portray them because it’s expected of me. I’m -supposed- to care if someone is hurt, I’m supposed to display these facial features, or those words. It’s all an act. Someone like me could never find a place to belong. I’m too broken to fit into the picture of society.

Wasn’t high school enough for me…all the acting, all the pretend games that I cared about the meat suits that walked around me, it was all for nothing in the end. I haven’t talked to any of them in years. I’ve only talked to two since graduating, one of which is now dead. Why shouldn’t I join him? He was the nicest one of the bunch…

I tell the truth about what goes on in my fucked up head and I’m told I’m a hypochondriac and that no one with my level of IQ could possibly have as many problems that I do. Once more, they rely on stereotypes to try to make sense of me, and ignore everything else. My own pain, perhaps the only tangible emotion I feel means nothing to them. They simply don’t care, and why should they? I don’t neatly fit into their molds.

They slapped the label of bi-polar on me, but I never abused any substances like so many other people that are bi-polar, after all they don’t count an adrenaline junkie as a real junkie. I was just a kid that liked to do “stupid kid things” like street racing. The faster, the better, but there was always that voice of caution in the back of my mind. “Best not get caught. They’ll lock you up.”

That’s been the motivation for anything really. Not to get caught. Because in the end, even death is better than some cell surrounded by other people stupid enough to get caught.

The next label was depressed…well fucking duh. I’ve been depressed since I was a teenager. I even told my mother about it once, her answer “Oh you know we don’t believe in killing yourself.” So I started cutting. It felt good, it felt as good as the high I would get from speed. But once more that tiny voice would whisper, “regulate yourself. Best not get caught, they’ll lock you up.”
My reason for never getting beyond control was simply not wanting to be locked up. The thought of the smell of those kinds of places is enough to make my stomach turn. I hate it. Of course they wouldn’t understand anything about me, and they wouldn’t care. That’s been made perfectly clear by the last time I was “locked up”.

And why was I locked up? That’s a story for another time, if there is in fact another time.

The point is, people don’t give a fuck about each other, on average. Even those holier-than-thou asshats that are PAID to help people, they don’t care.

Their family isn’t struggling to find food for the rest of the week. Their family isn’t going outside in freezing weather without shoes because they have sensory issues and their ONLY FUCKING PAIR OF SHOES won’t work for the day, but they still have to leave the house to run errands. Their children aren’t DENIED the RIGHT to public education even though they are McKinney Vento students (homeless).
They don’t care because they aren’t an outsider…
 

#depression, #discrimination, #outsider, #society, #suicide

Beggar

He begged for help in the darkness and despair,
Groped blindly for a savior but no one was there.
The pressure built, forcing him further down,
Isolated, and lost there was no one around.
Till the day he played the knife down his arm,
No one thought that he would self harm
The freshly fallen snow turning red
It was too late for help now, he was already dead.

#dark-poetry, #death, #depression, #poems, #poetry, #suicide

Nightmares, Lost words, and Side-Effects

​I don’t know what’s worse, being hopeless depressed or waking up crying from nightmares. I haven’t had dreams this bad in years. At least with the deep, dark depression I could escape when I was asleep, I could find something worth continuing on for in my dreams. Granted I hated waking up from my dreams, but there was still something good there; now all I have is nightmares that leave me fighting for sleep in the wee hours of the morning. I guess my depression is getting less depressing? 

I’m not to the point where I’m crying all the time anymore, but I’m still not in a good place mentally. I’m hungry a lot now, but if I eat more than two or three bites of food I get physically sick. I am beginning to feel like a little bird pecking at my food. I’m sure I’ll get to the point where my body decides that my fat cells look tasty and it’s starts cannibalizing itself, which altogether isn’t that bad of an idea except for the fact that I’m weak a lot and shaky, and I have fits where I can’t do anything but tremble. The trembling started happening before I was put on “Don’t Kill Yourself” medication though, so I can’t really blame it on that.

The worst of all of this is that fact that I can’t find a doctor that A) takes my insurance B) will treat me like a human being and C) will actually listen to what I have to say. I may not be a doctor, but I do have medical training, and I’m pretty sure that I know my body A LOT better than someone that I just met. Finding a doctor shouldn’t be this taxing, but it’s just something that you learn to deal with if you’re transgender, at least it’s been that way in my experience. 

I’ve also found that I’m having trouble finding the words that I want to use, I can see the picture so vividly in my mind, but the actual word for that image just won’t produce itself. For someone that has a great love of words like myself this is beginning to become terrifying. This tends to happen only when I’m talking though, it’s like the words get stuck in the neurons between my brain and my mouth. If I’m typing (or texting) I don’t have this problem, the words just flow from my fingertips like water from a fountain. Thus I’m left wondering once more what is wrong with me and why I’m broken all the time. 

This year is almost over though, and I will gladly celebrate it becoming a part of history. I hope that the upcoming year can hold something good, or at least not as horrid as this year has been. I’m starting to feel like whatever deities that exist decided that this would be a great year to start a turn on the wheel of Chaos. 

#depression, #medication, #medication-side-effects, #mental-health-2, #mental-health-awareness, #nightmares, #transgender

Major Depressive Disorder…

For over half of my life I’ve been depressed, not just the cause kind of depression that so many people suffer, I’m not that lucky. I have had this deep rooted, dark miasma of a mental illness since I was fifteen years old. The first time I told my mom I was depressed, she said that everyone went through times in their life when they were sad. When I told her I wanted to kill myself, she told me “You know we don’t believe in that.” I was a lost, alone and depressed teenager with nothing but the hope of something better to hold on to. Well, something better has never come.

I hate the “It Gets Better” project for one simple fact, it doesn’t always get better. There is no fairytale happy ending, and the celebrities that parade their “getting better” about does nothing but give false hope. It builds up people like me only to let us down, and not gently.

The last time I checked, 47% of all transgender people end their own lives, and 80% of us contemplate suicide. I’m one of the 80% and was nearly one of the 47%. I can’t count the times that I have almost been just another statistic on a page for people to cry foul about but do nothing for.

I struggle to get out of bed, I make myself get up and move around because I don’t want my children to know how bad off I am. I have surrounded myself with rabbits so I can force myself to do something productive. These tiny creatures depend on me to survive, they trust and love me. At least that’s the lie that I tell myself. If I was gone, they wouldn’t care. Someone else would feed them and care for them.

I’m always trying to find ways to make everyone around me smile, because I don’t want anyone to feel like I do. I don’t want anyone else to feel this sadness…honestly sadness doesn’t begin to cover it, but I can’t put these feelings to paper with any degree of accuracy. Lost, hopelessness, desolation, empty, no one word or even a page of words could properly label depression.

I’m so bad off that I actually went to the doctor today to ask for help. I ended up crying in the examination room not once, but twice. Once when I found out that despite eating less than I have been I’ve managed to gain another twenty pounds. The second time was when the doctor wanted to shove me off on someone else. She didn’t listen to anything that I said, but was real quick to say that I needed to see the counselor who would then refer me to a psychiatrist. If I was really lucky, I’d be able to get some help in three months.

Three months.

I told her, “this is why people kill themselves. Because they come in to a doctor’s office needed help, and what do they get? A three month wait.”

The excuse I got was that Arkansas was way below the national average when it came to mental health.

My wife finally talked her into giving me something for depression. I think she realizes that I’m actually suicidal, but I refuse to tell that to any doctor. It’ll just be an excuse for them to lock me up away from the only support that I have. It’ll be their justification to throw me in a hospital where idiots will misgender me, abuse my patient rights and really push me to suicide. I’m a lot more creative than people think.

The first time I was put in a mental hospital I found more than thirty ways that I could kill myself before the first twenty-four hours was over. They really do make it too easy.

So now I’m thrust into the breast of Chaos, what little order and hope for stability in my life has washed away with the drowning waves of this mental illness that no one wants to talk about. It just makes me different, not evil.

I don’t know how much longer I can even hold on. I’ve been going at this alone for over seventeen years and I’m getting tired. I just want to find stability, somewhere I belong…something that everyone deserves.

#autistic-suicide, #depression, #doctors, #healthcare-2, #mental-health-issues, #mental-illness, #poor-mental-health, #suicide, #trans-suicide, #transgender-depression

Gypsy

More often than not I’ve been homeless, I’ve never really stayed in one place more than two years since high school. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I moved around a lot when I was growing up, the fact that I’ve never really felt at home anywhere I’ve lived, or the fact that my disability makes it impossible to hold down a full time job for any length of time before I have a complete meltdown. Once it was so bad that I ended up admitted to a psychiatric hospital.

I’ve stayed with family and friends most of my life, which isn’t something that I’m really proud of because I feel like a complete waste of space. Even though I try hard to help out; cooking, cleaning, yard work, fixing vehicles when they break down, household repairs, etc., I end up feeling like a burden and unwanted to the point where I’m suicidal.

I’m at that point now.

Couple my depression with the fact that I have a school district that has discriminated against my son, refusing him the services that he needs to thrive (I have a feeling it’s because I”m transgender, something the county of Amelia seems to have an open hostility towards.) and the fact that they like to threaten me with truancy even if I home-school him and things have just gone to hell.

I’ve been trying to find a new place to stay, praying that someone would let my son and I crash on their sofa for a couple of weeks until my wife and I could work out better plans, but that idea failed. The only friends that offered were unfortunately in Australia, with me being in the United States, that just isn’t going to happen. Though I am extremely grateful that they offered, even if we are half a world apart, its more than any of my more local friends offered. That hurt, maybe because I’d open my home to a friend with a child in an instant if they were having troubles like I am.

So it’s back to the gypsy style of life to make a long story not so long. After my wife had an argument with her mother this morning about our predicament it’s obvious that we aren’t welcome here any longer and need to leave. At least this time we have a larger SUV and trailer so we won’t lose everything that we have yet again.

It is for this reason that I’ve had to postpone the TransMuted Project, which is breaking my heart. It gave me something to focus on, and for just a few weeks I felt not so worthless. I felt like I had a purpose in life and now that’s been taken away.

So off into the wild blue yonder with us.

Luckily I still have my Chromebook and for the next month at least a cell phone with internet access, so maybe we can make something happen. Wish me luck everyone, my family is going to need it.

#autism, #depression, #disabled, #friends, #gypsy, #homeless, #homelessness, #lgbt, #transgender, #wanderer