FallFromGrace
Too Little, Too Late
- Jun 4, 2024
- 44
Hey be(e)autiful people. I'm new, and I wanted to take a second to offer my own story with trying to ctb, and where I'm going from here.
So a not-so-tl;dr on my background: I spent my entire teen years deeply depressed. I had no idea why at the time, but I hated myself and had no real vision for who or what I wanted to be. Into my 20's I finally realized that I'm trans. I denied it for a few years, but it's not something you can bury forever. Transitioning was the best decision I every made in my life, and I was happy to finally have a vision for who I wanted to be. To add to this, I got a great new job, my own apartment, an awesome doctor and therapist. As part of my transition, I really kicked my weight-loss efforts into overdrive. I suffered from childhood obesity, and I never really had the motivation to actually kick it entirely.
As I really started to lose weight, I came to the realization that ended my dream. Skin. The fucking skin. When you're too heavy for too long, your skin doesn't shrink when you lose weight. The end results are hideous. I'm down 60 pounds off peak, with 20-30 pounds left to get to the upper-end of my goals. Sadly, my body is already fucked, and it's only going to get worse as I continue losing weight. Plastic surgery can help, but it's expensive, leaves massive scars, and is ultimately a highly-flawed process that has barely evolved since its inception. No matter how much effort, money I put in, I'll never have anywhere near the body I could have had. I tried so hard to find hope, but there's none to be found. It seems like all the other trans girls my age are thin and gorgeous, something I'll never get to have. Every time I see them, it's like a dagger into my heart. I don't want to live my life watching others have a happiness that I'll never know. Having weighed my options, I ultimately decided to CTB - a final, "fuck you" to my body, and an end to the mourning of the life I'll never get to have.
My original plan was to go out by firearm. I put in a purchase for a Glock 21 Gen5. The ordering process in WA isn't too bad - it's a two-week wait and an online course that I completed in about a minute. I wrote my notes, made arrangements where possible, and waited. After the two-week period, I picked up the Glock along with a box of hollowpoints. With my new die-button in my hands, I set my sights for the following weekend and continued on until that point. I printed out my notes, leaving them on the table in my studio before retreating to the bathroom. The first attempt was a wash - I didn't even put the gun to my head. I called 988 with the intention of telling them that I was CTB'ing so that my family wouldn't be the first ones to find me (I live alone, but they're close enough to check on me if I go missing.) Sadly, the conversation with 988 went on a little too long, and I ended up cancelling my plans. I talked to them, talked to a local mobile crisis. Nothing came of this - no detention, no hospital visit. A small blunder, but I'd kept my ticket out, so I just needed to choose a new date.
That new date was two days later. I did my previous routine, retreating to the bathroom. I put down a towel, sat on the floor, put on some music, and scheduled a text to 988 to go out in two hours after that point. After this, I put the Glock to my head. I am experienced with firearms, an ode to my dad being somewhat of a redneck. This was a problem. I knew guns, I knew the moment I pulled the trigger, it was going to be a loud, violent death. Realistically, I wouldn't remember it at all, but the anticipation of that, "bang!" stopped me from going through with my plans. (Hindsight says I could've tried drinking or smoking weed to calm my nerves.) For some fucking reason that I still don't understand, I called mobile crisis and told them to come get my gun. I wasn't going to be able to use the fucker anyways, so what's the harm in that?
Turns out the harm was the police coming to my house. They were nice enough, I guess? They took my firearm and escorted me to the hospital (I work at this hospital, and nobody there really knew I was transitioning until now. Terrific!) The experience at the hospital sucked. It was noisy, bright, and not particularly comfy. I felt like I was being punished for having the audacity to actually reach out to somebody for help. My county's crisis responders tried talking me into voluntary admission, which I refused on the basis that my issues are not strictly psychiatric and are beyond helping. We agreed on a safety plan and they ran off. I was then informed that the more serious crisis responders would be getting involved to try and involuntarily detain me. This turned into a fucking 12-hour slog where I lied through my teeth and had to get my sister involved to get out without being shoved into a fucking cage. I was exhausted at this point, having not slept for 30 hours.
Since that point, I researched my alternatives. I came across this forum, came across SN, and was able to find a link to SD through a different forum site. I made my order for SN, which I'm waiting on now. My current plan is to get the SN, go to a walk-in clinic for some antiemetics, and gear up for round three. I won't make the same mistake that I did last time - I don't intend to be held against my will and sleep deprived again. I won't talk to my friends or therapist about it anymore because it will only bring them pain and potentially create problems for me. Instead, I'm writing write this post, both to get things off my chest and to maybe offer a cautionary tale to anyone that stumbles across it.
Thanks to anyone who read this far. I appreciate all of you.
So a not-so-tl;dr on my background: I spent my entire teen years deeply depressed. I had no idea why at the time, but I hated myself and had no real vision for who or what I wanted to be. Into my 20's I finally realized that I'm trans. I denied it for a few years, but it's not something you can bury forever. Transitioning was the best decision I every made in my life, and I was happy to finally have a vision for who I wanted to be. To add to this, I got a great new job, my own apartment, an awesome doctor and therapist. As part of my transition, I really kicked my weight-loss efforts into overdrive. I suffered from childhood obesity, and I never really had the motivation to actually kick it entirely.
As I really started to lose weight, I came to the realization that ended my dream. Skin. The fucking skin. When you're too heavy for too long, your skin doesn't shrink when you lose weight. The end results are hideous. I'm down 60 pounds off peak, with 20-30 pounds left to get to the upper-end of my goals. Sadly, my body is already fucked, and it's only going to get worse as I continue losing weight. Plastic surgery can help, but it's expensive, leaves massive scars, and is ultimately a highly-flawed process that has barely evolved since its inception. No matter how much effort, money I put in, I'll never have anywhere near the body I could have had. I tried so hard to find hope, but there's none to be found. It seems like all the other trans girls my age are thin and gorgeous, something I'll never get to have. Every time I see them, it's like a dagger into my heart. I don't want to live my life watching others have a happiness that I'll never know. Having weighed my options, I ultimately decided to CTB - a final, "fuck you" to my body, and an end to the mourning of the life I'll never get to have.
My original plan was to go out by firearm. I put in a purchase for a Glock 21 Gen5. The ordering process in WA isn't too bad - it's a two-week wait and an online course that I completed in about a minute. I wrote my notes, made arrangements where possible, and waited. After the two-week period, I picked up the Glock along with a box of hollowpoints. With my new die-button in my hands, I set my sights for the following weekend and continued on until that point. I printed out my notes, leaving them on the table in my studio before retreating to the bathroom. The first attempt was a wash - I didn't even put the gun to my head. I called 988 with the intention of telling them that I was CTB'ing so that my family wouldn't be the first ones to find me (I live alone, but they're close enough to check on me if I go missing.) Sadly, the conversation with 988 went on a little too long, and I ended up cancelling my plans. I talked to them, talked to a local mobile crisis. Nothing came of this - no detention, no hospital visit. A small blunder, but I'd kept my ticket out, so I just needed to choose a new date.
That new date was two days later. I did my previous routine, retreating to the bathroom. I put down a towel, sat on the floor, put on some music, and scheduled a text to 988 to go out in two hours after that point. After this, I put the Glock to my head. I am experienced with firearms, an ode to my dad being somewhat of a redneck. This was a problem. I knew guns, I knew the moment I pulled the trigger, it was going to be a loud, violent death. Realistically, I wouldn't remember it at all, but the anticipation of that, "bang!" stopped me from going through with my plans. (Hindsight says I could've tried drinking or smoking weed to calm my nerves.) For some fucking reason that I still don't understand, I called mobile crisis and told them to come get my gun. I wasn't going to be able to use the fucker anyways, so what's the harm in that?
Turns out the harm was the police coming to my house. They were nice enough, I guess? They took my firearm and escorted me to the hospital (I work at this hospital, and nobody there really knew I was transitioning until now. Terrific!) The experience at the hospital sucked. It was noisy, bright, and not particularly comfy. I felt like I was being punished for having the audacity to actually reach out to somebody for help. My county's crisis responders tried talking me into voluntary admission, which I refused on the basis that my issues are not strictly psychiatric and are beyond helping. We agreed on a safety plan and they ran off. I was then informed that the more serious crisis responders would be getting involved to try and involuntarily detain me. This turned into a fucking 12-hour slog where I lied through my teeth and had to get my sister involved to get out without being shoved into a fucking cage. I was exhausted at this point, having not slept for 30 hours.
Since that point, I researched my alternatives. I came across this forum, came across SN, and was able to find a link to SD through a different forum site. I made my order for SN, which I'm waiting on now. My current plan is to get the SN, go to a walk-in clinic for some antiemetics, and gear up for round three. I won't make the same mistake that I did last time - I don't intend to be held against my will and sleep deprived again. I won't talk to my friends or therapist about it anymore because it will only bring them pain and potentially create problems for me. Instead, I'm writing write this post, both to get things off my chest and to maybe offer a cautionary tale to anyone that stumbles across it.
Thanks to anyone who read this far. I appreciate all of you.
Back to when my sister mocked me with, "You're as flat as a pancake!" Haha, cut-to-me stealijg her favorite floral bras and actually filling them out!
