perdredenord
he/him • wishing for a will to live
- Dec 26, 2020
- 59
— x —
This is probably going to be long and I'm so sorry, but I feel like I've found a place where I can finally say something and not scare everyone away from me. I'm used to screaming into the void, but I feel like this is a place where it's not quite a void. I'm also sorry if some of this doesn't make sense. I don't know what makes sense and what doesn't anymore.
The past few weeks, it's been fast and overwhelming increase of this horrible feeling of despair. I've been here a handful of times before, and I wasn't doing great before this got so intense, but... I'm so tired and I don't want to do this again. I'm weak, I'm incompetent, I'm an idiot and a failure, and I'm a burden on every single person who has the misfortune of dealing with me. My brain is broken and I've been trying for so long to get help, nothing works, and most attempts have ended in worse symptoms, more trauma, and a new aversion to something. And I always end up in this horrible spot where my roommates and housemates finally realise how toxic of a person I am, and they do whatever they need to do to get me out as quickly as possible. People offer to help me and then, it's like they finally figure out there's something horribly wrong with me, and I've been hiding it.
I can't count how many times I've been told by someone who was trying to help me, usually while kicking me out, that they understand why the last person left me. It's like no matter how much work I do, how much I try to work on my flaws, I am still just the same grotesque person I always have been.
I feel like I'm made of something rotting and poisoned, and it seeps out of me and destroys everything I spend too much time around. That's where my bad luck comes from, I am something destructive and intrusive here and I should be removed... it's not something I can fix, my brain is broken like this because I am not good for this human body and it's trying to reject me, the world is trying to get rid of me, but whatever horrible thing I am is resilient, and everything I do to make it better or ctb just doesn't work, and I fail to do anything further, and I'm getting worse.
My first ctb attempt was when I was 11. My mother told me what a horrible burden I was to have to take care of and pay for my therapy and medications, but she did for a while. She put me involuntarily in a hold when I was 12 and left me there for 7 weeks. And that's... just where everything went downhill. I'm not going to get into it, but from 12-18 was years of """mental health professionals""" not really listening to or believing anything that I said, and most interactions were them telling me that I ~ didn't have ~ << insert diagnosis here >> and prscribing medications that always made things worse. From then thru 21 it was my own research and trying to work on myself. 21 I also came out as trans, and was in a heftily abusive relationship that pushed me right back into the closet. 22 I was living my dream life in a downtown apt, running my own business, taking trips when I wanted... I was known for my arts and my personality and our community was so tight and it was so good, and I was loved for who I was.... but only at a distance, no one spent time with me outside of shows or events, they'd make plans with everyone else but unless it was a place where I was useful, I was never invited. I was used for sex a lot and then dropped once they got what they wanted, after so many dates. Sometime that year I realized I had no idea when the last time I felt genuine happiness or joy. I don't remember that feeling. There are shows that I know brought me positive feelings and that was where I felt the best, but I can't even bring the feeling back, I just feel this horrible yearning to remember. Toward this time 2016, when I was almost 23, even those muted good feelings went away. I tried to kick my roommate out so I could try to ctb again, and she coaxed my plan out of me and talked with me. She was the only person who knew about my actual name and pronouns and who I really was, and she grabbed my face and told me that at least a part of it was because I'm a boy, and I was hiding it and playing this role that I absolutely hated. I think she was the last person who loved me. She had the light and warmth that fit perfectly with my heart. Not romantically at all, we were soulmates in a different way, at least at that time. It was a platonic love but god, I have loved maybe one other person as much as I love her and for a while, she get the same. She tried to help the best she could and refused to move out - and I'm so grateful she did, but there wasn't really a change in my feelings. Then suddenly, fast forward a few months, she told me some things happened and she needed to move out. Ok, of course, understood. Tbh, when she told me it shook me to my core bc I didn't want to lose her as my home companion. But then suddenly I felt at peace. I decided I was going to do it finally, since I knew she would be taken care of and I wouldn't be further burdening her. It was time to finally go home. But then she suddenly broke down and told me that she was afraid to leave because she didn't want to lose me, and she held my hands and cried and told me if I couldn't find anything else to live for, to please live for her. And... fuck. I've never felt that loved in my life, not by anyone else in my life. Not before then, and not since. I decided to try to get help, one more time. I never saw her again after I left. One day after trying for weeks to reach her, she responded to one of my messages to never contact her again. I still have no idea what I did, and it still digs at me to think about.
I called my dad to tell him I was going to hospitalize myself for a while, and he told me that he had decent insurance, so he wanted to do some research. I had to come out to my dad again because he'd forgotten I was trans. This was probably my fault anyway. He found an inpatient treatment facility that was covered by insurance, given I completed treatment and was properly discharged. Ok, fine. They claimed they were trans friendly. They absolutely the fuck were not. They started by picking me up at the airport with my legal name written in gigantic letters on the board. My physical exam was done by a woman who demanded I take off my binder and show her what my chest looked like, because she "didn't understand" what I meant by my gender. I was in hysterics and three other staffs came in asking what was going on, and the exam doctor said something about "she's trying to pretend to be a boy". Two of them were horrified and immediately removed her from the room but I had to take a sedative and fucking calm down and then go through the ~ entire fucking process ~ over again. And literally, this is just the first like, 3 hours I was at this facility. I was misgendered every single day I was there. There were several house managers that would come knock on the door and yell out my dead name. I was in the ED house (one good thing, finally got diagnosed with bulimia after fucking 11 years of dealing with it), and trying to explain my aversion had to do with my dysphoria just confused the people in my house and our group therapist. I was fucking bullied by the other women in the house, one full grown woman with GRANDCHILDREN bullied me persistently to the point where our center therapist had to fucking intervene several times. I was an outcast. When we went on our outings all the gals would take photos together and deliberately move away so I was out of the frame. I lasted 17 days and the minimum requirement was 30. I planned ctb twice while there, and was working on how to sneak around the house managers and surveillance. My last day I told the therapist (truly the only person there who cared, he saved my life) I needed to leave at 30 days, and he said he legally could not do that because I wasn't progressing. I told him that if I stayed there I wouldn't survive. He ended up finding a loophole - relinquish me to a psych ward at a hospital. This... counted as failing treatment. So I got billed for this torture. But it wasn't over. The psych ward blatantly refused to use my correct name or pronouns. There was no communication at that hospital. I wanted to die. But I kept my head down until the stupid dumbass fucking psychiatrist changed me from "involuntary" to "voluntary" and said I was good to go. Lmao. And, just like that, I was stuck at a hospital four states away from home. My friends from shows and events helped put together the funds to buy a (greyhound) bus ticket home. And... from there... it's... so many fucking years of just trying to survive. Over so many state lines... I tried starting testosterone, and I had a weird, horrific reaction to the injection site, and the other forms are much more expensive and not covered by insurance... I tried to see a gender therapist and she was so fucking binary and misogynistic it was fucking weird and disgusting and I feel sick thinking about it. And I've just... never been able to go forward. I don't think I've ever come back from that level of depression I was at before that treatment center. I've only gone further down. I try at least once or twice a year to catch it again. My last attempt was April. I decided to try to get help again, because my two closest friends started to show concern and I was clearly not in a good place. So, I did some heavy lifting. Since, I've been cycled through... god knows how many medications. I just tried to count but my brain is numb. At least 4 medications for depression in one way or another, a medication for my nightmares, a stimulant for my ADD(which was the only one that I noted a positive difference with, but that lasted maybe a month), I've gone through a set of ketamine treatments ($400 a pop and 6 of them needed to be done and I'm still not sure how the hell to pay for it), a set of rTMS treatments, and I've been trying to find a therapist for three months and somehow have still not managed to get a single goddamn actual session with anyone despite talking to them for weeks (my current therapist has had errors trying to join our video chat sessions since we started speaking on December 9th lol). I think it was the ketamine that helped, I had like a solid 3, maybe 4 weeks of not actively wanting to leave every single day, but it wore off about halfway through the TMS sessions, and that was literally the only change - unfortunately with how fucking bad I am that change was still extensive, I just didn't cry over everything all the time and didn't actively think about ctb 24/7. And my sessions ended end of October. I nearly immediately went back to the dark thoughts when they stopped. My psychiatrist put me on a new antidepressant mid-Nov, and it made food taste and smell foul for about a week, and I was throwing up every few days and couldn't eat, and then it turned into every single DAY I was throwing up, and I finally got sick of it and stopped taking them last week because I can't do this anymore, I'm sure it's because I didn't taper but I've been nauseated for about four days straight and I still throw up every so often. My two close friends I mentioned earlier have both put their fair amount of distance between us because I'm incapable of getting better. I get it. I wouldn't want to deal with me, either. I guess I don't want to, lol. It was my birthday on the 23rd. No one but the one roommate who shares a room with me (and has also distanced herself) wished me a happy birthday. It came and went as I was alone and talked to no one.
Maybe this is god punishing me. Maybe it's the world's way of trying to eliminate me. Maybe I'm a glitch, maybe I'm just beyond repair. I don't know anymore. I don't think I really care. I'm alone, I'm unlovable, I'm unable to be helped. I think it's worse now that I've experienced what it's like to feel loved and cared about by someone, and know what it feels like to not be focused on not being here anymore. I'm just a malignant energy that ruins everything I touch, I don't even deserve to feel them anymore.
I think I need to start making plans, but I don't want to be alone when I leave, and I certainly don't want it to be here.
This is probably going to be long and I'm so sorry, but I feel like I've found a place where I can finally say something and not scare everyone away from me. I'm used to screaming into the void, but I feel like this is a place where it's not quite a void. I'm also sorry if some of this doesn't make sense. I don't know what makes sense and what doesn't anymore.
The past few weeks, it's been fast and overwhelming increase of this horrible feeling of despair. I've been here a handful of times before, and I wasn't doing great before this got so intense, but... I'm so tired and I don't want to do this again. I'm weak, I'm incompetent, I'm an idiot and a failure, and I'm a burden on every single person who has the misfortune of dealing with me. My brain is broken and I've been trying for so long to get help, nothing works, and most attempts have ended in worse symptoms, more trauma, and a new aversion to something. And I always end up in this horrible spot where my roommates and housemates finally realise how toxic of a person I am, and they do whatever they need to do to get me out as quickly as possible. People offer to help me and then, it's like they finally figure out there's something horribly wrong with me, and I've been hiding it.
I can't count how many times I've been told by someone who was trying to help me, usually while kicking me out, that they understand why the last person left me. It's like no matter how much work I do, how much I try to work on my flaws, I am still just the same grotesque person I always have been.
I feel like I'm made of something rotting and poisoned, and it seeps out of me and destroys everything I spend too much time around. That's where my bad luck comes from, I am something destructive and intrusive here and I should be removed... it's not something I can fix, my brain is broken like this because I am not good for this human body and it's trying to reject me, the world is trying to get rid of me, but whatever horrible thing I am is resilient, and everything I do to make it better or ctb just doesn't work, and I fail to do anything further, and I'm getting worse.
My first ctb attempt was when I was 11. My mother told me what a horrible burden I was to have to take care of and pay for my therapy and medications, but she did for a while. She put me involuntarily in a hold when I was 12 and left me there for 7 weeks. And that's... just where everything went downhill. I'm not going to get into it, but from 12-18 was years of """mental health professionals""" not really listening to or believing anything that I said, and most interactions were them telling me that I ~ didn't have ~ << insert diagnosis here >> and prscribing medications that always made things worse. From then thru 21 it was my own research and trying to work on myself. 21 I also came out as trans, and was in a heftily abusive relationship that pushed me right back into the closet. 22 I was living my dream life in a downtown apt, running my own business, taking trips when I wanted... I was known for my arts and my personality and our community was so tight and it was so good, and I was loved for who I was.... but only at a distance, no one spent time with me outside of shows or events, they'd make plans with everyone else but unless it was a place where I was useful, I was never invited. I was used for sex a lot and then dropped once they got what they wanted, after so many dates. Sometime that year I realized I had no idea when the last time I felt genuine happiness or joy. I don't remember that feeling. There are shows that I know brought me positive feelings and that was where I felt the best, but I can't even bring the feeling back, I just feel this horrible yearning to remember. Toward this time 2016, when I was almost 23, even those muted good feelings went away. I tried to kick my roommate out so I could try to ctb again, and she coaxed my plan out of me and talked with me. She was the only person who knew about my actual name and pronouns and who I really was, and she grabbed my face and told me that at least a part of it was because I'm a boy, and I was hiding it and playing this role that I absolutely hated. I think she was the last person who loved me. She had the light and warmth that fit perfectly with my heart. Not romantically at all, we were soulmates in a different way, at least at that time. It was a platonic love but god, I have loved maybe one other person as much as I love her and for a while, she get the same. She tried to help the best she could and refused to move out - and I'm so grateful she did, but there wasn't really a change in my feelings. Then suddenly, fast forward a few months, she told me some things happened and she needed to move out. Ok, of course, understood. Tbh, when she told me it shook me to my core bc I didn't want to lose her as my home companion. But then suddenly I felt at peace. I decided I was going to do it finally, since I knew she would be taken care of and I wouldn't be further burdening her. It was time to finally go home. But then she suddenly broke down and told me that she was afraid to leave because she didn't want to lose me, and she held my hands and cried and told me if I couldn't find anything else to live for, to please live for her. And... fuck. I've never felt that loved in my life, not by anyone else in my life. Not before then, and not since. I decided to try to get help, one more time. I never saw her again after I left. One day after trying for weeks to reach her, she responded to one of my messages to never contact her again. I still have no idea what I did, and it still digs at me to think about.
I called my dad to tell him I was going to hospitalize myself for a while, and he told me that he had decent insurance, so he wanted to do some research. I had to come out to my dad again because he'd forgotten I was trans. This was probably my fault anyway. He found an inpatient treatment facility that was covered by insurance, given I completed treatment and was properly discharged. Ok, fine. They claimed they were trans friendly. They absolutely the fuck were not. They started by picking me up at the airport with my legal name written in gigantic letters on the board. My physical exam was done by a woman who demanded I take off my binder and show her what my chest looked like, because she "didn't understand" what I meant by my gender. I was in hysterics and three other staffs came in asking what was going on, and the exam doctor said something about "she's trying to pretend to be a boy". Two of them were horrified and immediately removed her from the room but I had to take a sedative and fucking calm down and then go through the ~ entire fucking process ~ over again. And literally, this is just the first like, 3 hours I was at this facility. I was misgendered every single day I was there. There were several house managers that would come knock on the door and yell out my dead name. I was in the ED house (one good thing, finally got diagnosed with bulimia after fucking 11 years of dealing with it), and trying to explain my aversion had to do with my dysphoria just confused the people in my house and our group therapist. I was fucking bullied by the other women in the house, one full grown woman with GRANDCHILDREN bullied me persistently to the point where our center therapist had to fucking intervene several times. I was an outcast. When we went on our outings all the gals would take photos together and deliberately move away so I was out of the frame. I lasted 17 days and the minimum requirement was 30. I planned ctb twice while there, and was working on how to sneak around the house managers and surveillance. My last day I told the therapist (truly the only person there who cared, he saved my life) I needed to leave at 30 days, and he said he legally could not do that because I wasn't progressing. I told him that if I stayed there I wouldn't survive. He ended up finding a loophole - relinquish me to a psych ward at a hospital. This... counted as failing treatment. So I got billed for this torture. But it wasn't over. The psych ward blatantly refused to use my correct name or pronouns. There was no communication at that hospital. I wanted to die. But I kept my head down until the stupid dumbass fucking psychiatrist changed me from "involuntary" to "voluntary" and said I was good to go. Lmao. And, just like that, I was stuck at a hospital four states away from home. My friends from shows and events helped put together the funds to buy a (greyhound) bus ticket home. And... from there... it's... so many fucking years of just trying to survive. Over so many state lines... I tried starting testosterone, and I had a weird, horrific reaction to the injection site, and the other forms are much more expensive and not covered by insurance... I tried to see a gender therapist and she was so fucking binary and misogynistic it was fucking weird and disgusting and I feel sick thinking about it. And I've just... never been able to go forward. I don't think I've ever come back from that level of depression I was at before that treatment center. I've only gone further down. I try at least once or twice a year to catch it again. My last attempt was April. I decided to try to get help again, because my two closest friends started to show concern and I was clearly not in a good place. So, I did some heavy lifting. Since, I've been cycled through... god knows how many medications. I just tried to count but my brain is numb. At least 4 medications for depression in one way or another, a medication for my nightmares, a stimulant for my ADD(which was the only one that I noted a positive difference with, but that lasted maybe a month), I've gone through a set of ketamine treatments ($400 a pop and 6 of them needed to be done and I'm still not sure how the hell to pay for it), a set of rTMS treatments, and I've been trying to find a therapist for three months and somehow have still not managed to get a single goddamn actual session with anyone despite talking to them for weeks (my current therapist has had errors trying to join our video chat sessions since we started speaking on December 9th lol). I think it was the ketamine that helped, I had like a solid 3, maybe 4 weeks of not actively wanting to leave every single day, but it wore off about halfway through the TMS sessions, and that was literally the only change - unfortunately with how fucking bad I am that change was still extensive, I just didn't cry over everything all the time and didn't actively think about ctb 24/7. And my sessions ended end of October. I nearly immediately went back to the dark thoughts when they stopped. My psychiatrist put me on a new antidepressant mid-Nov, and it made food taste and smell foul for about a week, and I was throwing up every few days and couldn't eat, and then it turned into every single DAY I was throwing up, and I finally got sick of it and stopped taking them last week because I can't do this anymore, I'm sure it's because I didn't taper but I've been nauseated for about four days straight and I still throw up every so often. My two close friends I mentioned earlier have both put their fair amount of distance between us because I'm incapable of getting better. I get it. I wouldn't want to deal with me, either. I guess I don't want to, lol. It was my birthday on the 23rd. No one but the one roommate who shares a room with me (and has also distanced herself) wished me a happy birthday. It came and went as I was alone and talked to no one.
Maybe this is god punishing me. Maybe it's the world's way of trying to eliminate me. Maybe I'm a glitch, maybe I'm just beyond repair. I don't know anymore. I don't think I really care. I'm alone, I'm unlovable, I'm unable to be helped. I think it's worse now that I've experienced what it's like to feel loved and cared about by someone, and know what it feels like to not be focused on not being here anymore. I'm just a malignant energy that ruins everything I touch, I don't even deserve to feel them anymore.
I think I need to start making plans, but I don't want to be alone when I leave, and I certainly don't want it to be here.
