ferret-in-a-sock
Member
- Jan 25, 2023
- 72
I know on the surface my situation is 'fixable', but the steps are so daunting and have already been...
1. Step 1, go to the hospital.
Issues with step 1—I hate them. I associate them with more grief. Well, I haven't been to one in 7 years how bad could it be?
Answer: Horrific.
Last time I went for a panic attack I over reacted during. I didn't think anything of it. To be frank, I'm trans. I'm socially, legally and medically (partially) transitioned—before all this I was going to start saving for top surgery. All my information has been changed for 3 years.
The hospital didn't tell me they wouldn't use my current information because I hadn't filled out forms to change the information from 7 years ago. No, they didn't seem to plan to tell me that at all.
Only one lady did 2 hours later when she realized the name I referred to myself as and the name on my goddamn ID didn't match the system...They didn't tell me when I passed over my ID to check in???? I admit my head injury has made me pretty unobservant. I couldn't read my own damn name on the band until someone pointed it out for me.
Seeing my dead name shouldn't have been traumatizing, for Christ's sake, I'm a grown man. It was. I didn't want to stay. Despite rocking the "I haven't shaved for a week" look, I suddenly felt seen only as a hysterical woman. Clearly I'm crying over nothing. It felt like that's all I was.
Being weighed also shouldn't have hit me. I thought I'd been losing weight. I've been fitting into S—why did the scale say I weighed more? 180? That can't be right, can it? Suddenly, I wonder if I'm insane. Maybe all my S's are stretched out. My body suddenly looks grotesquely fat.
I rate my pain too low, I realize now. But it's hard to put it into words. I can function—just my entire life revolves around the next dose of pain meds. The pain meds don't work and my stomach and body hates I'm taking so much.
They deem nothing is wrong. I don't argue. Go home, the pain will pass with rest and time.
So Step 1...try again? Where? Another town?
Step 2, cope.
I wash my face, shave—might as well, I apparently look womanly enough—and take more pain meds.
I don't drink. Not normally. I do when I've gone to concerts, 1 drink to help the social anxiety and help keep the migraine at bay. I don't go to concerts often. Maybe twice a year. I don't like the taste of alcohol.
The pain is already back. I feel like crying over it. But I'm not going to, because I've already been womanly enough today. Worrying about my goddamn weight, sniffling over having to look at a name—god, stereotype liberal little crybaby, aren't I? Swallow more pain meds, it's technically overdosing but we all know that won't kill us, this is the place we know double dosing pain meds won't kill you. Not even close.
At the alcohol store the cashier immediately flags me. He sidles up and asks me if I need help finding anything. I know I'm dazed and out of it and want to be like "man, I have a head injury, fuck off." I also don't buy alcohol enough to know what I want. I don't ask for help and wander around like an NPC with a broken AI.
Unsurprisingly at cashier he examines my ID long enough I can tell he really is considering not selling to me. With the fact my words slur half the time, I can't blame him. Unfortunately, not tipsy man.
I pay and leave.
Gratefully, the alcohol works + an edible. I low dose both, I don't do either often enough to remotely go harder than one beer and half an edible. I think I might have an actual intolerance to both at this point. That is enough to make me tipsy.
For three blissful hours no pain. I even stumble up and finally do the dishes and take out the trash and put the dirty laundry in the hamper. I feel so good. I'm me again. I'm not irritable and depressed and it's so good.
And then it ends. And the pain is back. And I want to cry.
Step 3, cope. Consider CTB. Consider gouging out my eyes.
I dose up on sleep meds, drink another beer to help them work faster and go to sleep.
Step 4, cope.
Wake up. Pain. Take meds. Doesn't work. Eat so that I can take more meds—should I eat? 180? I feel fat. No, now is not the time. One fucking illness at a time. We can start picking a fight with wanting to starve after the head injury goes.
Eating still feels wrong. I regret going to the hospital.
The pain is going to pass, right? They said it will. Just wait it out. I'm being a crybaby over nothing. Just another hysterical woman. I haven't felt gender dysphoria for years. I feel it now. Imposter. Not a real enough man.
Time for another night of coping. I have work tomorrow. I half wish I could drink through it. Can't. Closest I'll get is benadryl so that at least the pain isn't as close by and feels distant. Disassociate to dodge the pain.
The other thing. Seems minor compared to all this. My favorite celebrity, my idol—mentally ill bastard too, it's why I relate so much to him—wae accused of being abusive by an ex.
The accusation to me felt shit. Reminded me of how my own ex saw me, berated me for being messy and forgetful and anti-social. Worst is his ex happily parading about gaining more followers and attention after she's come forward about her 'story.' Nicely, she even goes on to say depression isn't real. How thoughtful. She also goes on to say anyone who doesn't take her side is also abusive. And that his old friends are 'sheltering' him so unless they come out with a public statement distancing themselves they're also just as bad. I really feel like the only one whose dealt with someone like that I can immediately see the red flag.
I wouldn't be surprised if my favorite celebrity catches the bus. Man always was like that. It's why I loved his stuff. A few of his fans already did over this all.
I know it's criminal to idolize celebrities. But goddamn on top of everything else is that chewing me up, it only makes it harder.
I just want the pain to stop.
1. Step 1, go to the hospital.
Issues with step 1—I hate them. I associate them with more grief. Well, I haven't been to one in 7 years how bad could it be?
Answer: Horrific.
Last time I went for a panic attack I over reacted during. I didn't think anything of it. To be frank, I'm trans. I'm socially, legally and medically (partially) transitioned—before all this I was going to start saving for top surgery. All my information has been changed for 3 years.
The hospital didn't tell me they wouldn't use my current information because I hadn't filled out forms to change the information from 7 years ago. No, they didn't seem to plan to tell me that at all.
Only one lady did 2 hours later when she realized the name I referred to myself as and the name on my goddamn ID didn't match the system...They didn't tell me when I passed over my ID to check in???? I admit my head injury has made me pretty unobservant. I couldn't read my own damn name on the band until someone pointed it out for me.
Seeing my dead name shouldn't have been traumatizing, for Christ's sake, I'm a grown man. It was. I didn't want to stay. Despite rocking the "I haven't shaved for a week" look, I suddenly felt seen only as a hysterical woman. Clearly I'm crying over nothing. It felt like that's all I was.
Being weighed also shouldn't have hit me. I thought I'd been losing weight. I've been fitting into S—why did the scale say I weighed more? 180? That can't be right, can it? Suddenly, I wonder if I'm insane. Maybe all my S's are stretched out. My body suddenly looks grotesquely fat.
I rate my pain too low, I realize now. But it's hard to put it into words. I can function—just my entire life revolves around the next dose of pain meds. The pain meds don't work and my stomach and body hates I'm taking so much.
They deem nothing is wrong. I don't argue. Go home, the pain will pass with rest and time.
So Step 1...try again? Where? Another town?
Step 2, cope.
I wash my face, shave—might as well, I apparently look womanly enough—and take more pain meds.
I don't drink. Not normally. I do when I've gone to concerts, 1 drink to help the social anxiety and help keep the migraine at bay. I don't go to concerts often. Maybe twice a year. I don't like the taste of alcohol.
The pain is already back. I feel like crying over it. But I'm not going to, because I've already been womanly enough today. Worrying about my goddamn weight, sniffling over having to look at a name—god, stereotype liberal little crybaby, aren't I? Swallow more pain meds, it's technically overdosing but we all know that won't kill us, this is the place we know double dosing pain meds won't kill you. Not even close.
At the alcohol store the cashier immediately flags me. He sidles up and asks me if I need help finding anything. I know I'm dazed and out of it and want to be like "man, I have a head injury, fuck off." I also don't buy alcohol enough to know what I want. I don't ask for help and wander around like an NPC with a broken AI.
Unsurprisingly at cashier he examines my ID long enough I can tell he really is considering not selling to me. With the fact my words slur half the time, I can't blame him. Unfortunately, not tipsy man.
I pay and leave.
Gratefully, the alcohol works + an edible. I low dose both, I don't do either often enough to remotely go harder than one beer and half an edible. I think I might have an actual intolerance to both at this point. That is enough to make me tipsy.
For three blissful hours no pain. I even stumble up and finally do the dishes and take out the trash and put the dirty laundry in the hamper. I feel so good. I'm me again. I'm not irritable and depressed and it's so good.
And then it ends. And the pain is back. And I want to cry.
Step 3, cope. Consider CTB. Consider gouging out my eyes.
I dose up on sleep meds, drink another beer to help them work faster and go to sleep.
Step 4, cope.
Wake up. Pain. Take meds. Doesn't work. Eat so that I can take more meds—should I eat? 180? I feel fat. No, now is not the time. One fucking illness at a time. We can start picking a fight with wanting to starve after the head injury goes.
Eating still feels wrong. I regret going to the hospital.
The pain is going to pass, right? They said it will. Just wait it out. I'm being a crybaby over nothing. Just another hysterical woman. I haven't felt gender dysphoria for years. I feel it now. Imposter. Not a real enough man.
Time for another night of coping. I have work tomorrow. I half wish I could drink through it. Can't. Closest I'll get is benadryl so that at least the pain isn't as close by and feels distant. Disassociate to dodge the pain.
The other thing. Seems minor compared to all this. My favorite celebrity, my idol—mentally ill bastard too, it's why I relate so much to him—wae accused of being abusive by an ex.
The accusation to me felt shit. Reminded me of how my own ex saw me, berated me for being messy and forgetful and anti-social. Worst is his ex happily parading about gaining more followers and attention after she's come forward about her 'story.' Nicely, she even goes on to say depression isn't real. How thoughtful. She also goes on to say anyone who doesn't take her side is also abusive. And that his old friends are 'sheltering' him so unless they come out with a public statement distancing themselves they're also just as bad. I really feel like the only one whose dealt with someone like that I can immediately see the red flag.
I wouldn't be surprised if my favorite celebrity catches the bus. Man always was like that. It's why I loved his stuff. A few of his fans already did over this all.
I know it's criminal to idolize celebrities. But goddamn on top of everything else is that chewing me up, it only makes it harder.
I just want the pain to stop.
