A journey to San Francisco to become no less than Me. (BLOG REBOOT: Former site of Hairy Legs.)

Posts tagged ‘suicidal thoughts’

Personal update; natural transition?

So, since the last post, I’ve had a few more blowups in my life, one involving an old friend and one involving my partner.  One has resolved and the other, I really haven’t had to gonads to pick up again.  I was called immature in a direct response to my last post by someone who wasn’t even involved with the events in it.  Generally when a major fight like this ensues and I walk away from it and give myself a few days to cool off, I’ll come back with a renewed perspective and see how I was in the wrong.  However, and this is rare, three days later I still don’t see what I did that was so immature other than vent about my frustrations on an online blog.  I’ve even come to reconciliation with the person I mentioned fighting with IN the blog.  But since the last thing I said before storming away from the person who accused me of immaturity was “YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW HOW IT’S BEEN,” I’m not sure how my opinion on my own personal maturity will hold up.

It’s complicated.

I honestly don’t feel compelled in any way to apologize though, because I can’t find any error in what I’m thinking, feeling or saying (other than that final blowup, which ultimately might have made the accusation of immaturity right.)  But even that, however wrongly it was said, is still the truth to me.  The last thing I need right now is someone who hasn’t been through any of what I’m dealing with giving me lectures on how badly I’m dealing with it.  I just… NEED HELP DEALING WITH IT.  I’m not finding it anywhere, you know?

I’m finding:

a) people trying to tell me how hard it is on them, which I’m already aware of and only makes me feel guiltier,

b) people telling me I’m not doing a good job of handling this, which kinda just makes things worse because I already know, which is why I’m asking for help in the first place,

c) people who don’t want to hear it, which is fine with me, as long as they make that clear up front so I can find someone else to talk to,

d) and generally just people who don’t seem too interested in supporting me- just criticizing me.

I don’t NEED criticism right now.  YES, constructive criticism is great.  It can really build character when you’re looking to build.  Right now, I’m just looking to hold out as everything in my mind is getting torn down.  Criticism of any kind is really like a baseball bat to the gut right now, and while I’m not looking for anyone to coddle me and treat me like a delicate little butterfly or anything, I just want you to know that if you think that what you have to say might be hurtful in any way, it’s NOT GOING TO BE HELPFUL at this time in my life.  I’ll work on building character when everything’s settled and I can start moving forward again.  Right now, I just need people to listen.

I’m spread open on the operating table and open-heart surgery is taking place.  If I let you into the operating room, if I trust you enough to let you in at this most crucial time in my life, I don’t need you barging in, unscrubbed, with a sledgehammer and a wrench and trying to fix things on top of what’s going on in here already.  This is DANGEROUS.

I’ve found myself at staggering lows of depression in the last few weeks, scary, suicidal places so deep that I’ve never known them before, places that make me want to do crazy things.  It doesn’t take much to push me when I’m even remotely like this.  Last time I got almost this low and weirded out, I wound up in a homeless shelter.  I think that, since I’ve finally found out what’s been wrong all these years and now there’s a goal to fix it, I’m more likely to keep my head on straight, but then again, maybe not.  I don’t want this to read like a threat, I just… don’t have many people I can go to, and being alone in a scary time in my life like this makes me just want to bail out.  If you can be the one person in my life who is just there for me and isn’t trying to…

fix me…

it can make all the difference.

IN OTHER NEWS, and ending on a much brighter note, I’ve been noticing slight changes to my body that make me wonder if my body is reacting to me focusing on transition by upping my testosterone levels.

For one, I noticed a single, long chest hair this morning that was just eccentric enough to give me the shits and giggles.  I decided not to really lay any meaning on it- it’s just a hair, right?  People grow single, random hairs on their bodies all the time.  No biggie.  But it still made me kinda happy.

But then, this evening, (well, this is slightly graphic and awkward, but it’s relevant so just bear with me,) I was spontaneously checking out various parts of my body and I noticed that my clit has definitively grown, in circumference and length.  It’s really not anything to speak of one way or the other in terms of dick measurement, but it kind of shocked me to see it.  I wasn’t even aroused.  What does this mean?

Am I seriously producing testosterone holistically?

I was on an FTM forum a little bit ago, and they were listing foods that can raise your T levels naturally.  I realized I’ve been craving a lot of the foods they listed, somewhat all my life, but particularly lately.  Maybe my body craves T and naturally knows where it can get it.

Either way, not being formally on HRT, I’m pleased with the way my transition is going.

Chest bruising and angry ranting.

I wore binding out for the fourth day in a row today.

What sucks:
– I need a REAL compression shirt of some sort.
– I currently use 6″ ace bandages, which have always worked in a pinch, but obviously not a good idea for every day wear.
– I took them off halfway through the day and noticed a weird purplish coloring, which ironically brought the “tumor” analogy closer to life. Chest bruises = not fun.
– But weirdly enough and even MORE ironically, my friend said that she heard that if you bind enough and cause enough bruises in your chest area, it can cause breast cancer (which kind of has the ring of an urban myth, but you can never be too sure.)

What’s (kind of) awesome:
– My technique has been getting better and it never really has that lumpy look anymore.
– I’m getting better at not noticing the pain until I’ve been in binding for 10+ hours.

Yeah.  It’s pretty obvious the pros are overshadowed by the cons.  Any list that has “but I’m getting better at ignoring the pain” as a positive point is pretty much the sign of a losing battle.

So, I just went to check out the Big Brothers Used Binder program.  I’ve ultimately decided I’m going to have to go on ahead and buy one instead of try to get one through the program.  Let’s face it, I may only make $200 a month, and that may be difficult to try and live on, but I’ve got a place to go at night, I’ve got a somewhat supportive parent, I’ve got food stamps… and to put the icing on the cake, I just blew $100 going to San Francisco a couple weeks ago.  The site said you can actually order a binder for as little as about $20, which I consider far worth it, even if it means I’m going to have to put off getting my car fixed for a little longer.  I’d just feel dirty and awful if I tried to go through Big Brothers.  But they’re an awesome program if you’re really falling on hard times.

Looks like, till I scrounge up the means to get my own, I’m going to be dealing with the Ace Horror for a little while.

In other news, I had my first real fight with someone over my trans issues today.  I was just trying to figure out something for my best friend to call me, because my birth name has been really getting under my skin lately, and I was trying to go easy on her and not make her call me something that would be “hard” for her, or whatever, because it’s so FUCKING hard for everyone else when us transpeople go through this… okay, I’m settling down now.

Anyway, it seemed like one of those rare things she might have a little fun with, something she could join me in and get really excited about- “YOU get to help me pick my new name, I’m trusting YOU with this,” you know?  But just like with anything else I brought up that was trans-related, she got so quiet and distant, offering only the occasional monosyllabic response.  It bothered me.  I had no idea what she was thinking- whether she hated me, whether she had no opinion, whether she thought her opinions were stupid, whether she was completely uninterested, whether she just wanted to change the subject, I had NOTHING to go on.  I’d actually been trying to stifle myself somewhat about it all, only bringing up the things that struck me as positive or funny and not really laying the issue on anyone else, but she finally blew up at me after I questioned why she always got so clammed up whenever I brought up anything.   Apparently, it’s all I’ve been talking about, 24-7, forever… Okay, now I’M exaggerating on HER exaggeration out of bitterness.  But it’s how I feel about that accusation.  Don’t we do other shit together?

I don’t know what to do.  Am I just supposed to shut it away and pretend none of this is happening?  Let her call me a name that feels like a searing hot poker in my skull every time I hear it?  Never bring up any of my current issues, no matter how relevant, awesome, or painfully lonely any of it is to go through?  This is what is going on with me, right now, and if she doesn’t want to hear it, then it’s a choice between not being with her or self-censorship.  I don’t want to make that choice, but apparently it is SO FUCKING HARD for her to see me try and figure out who the fuck I am, as long as it doesn’t comply with what she thought.  I mean, I can’t believe how hard it is for someone to use a different pronoun, or a different name, or just to accept that I can’t be in fucking public and feel like a human being if people can see these… THINGS on my chest!  I’m making myself so vulnerable to her and letting her in on all this, and she can’t see anything but how hard it is for HER to deal with any of this.

God, I can’t believe how angry I am about this.  Sometimes I feel like if I threw myself into a vat of acid and came out an unrecognizable creature, or cut and mutilated my face and chest and anything that can be seen as female on me, or even just killed myself, I’d feel free from this …thing that tortures me.  I’m crawling out of my skin day and night, but it’s SO FUCKING HARD for other people to use a different name, just to relieve a little bit of this hell I’m living in.  My message to the world:  Oblige me for five fucking seconds out of your selfish life, you assholes, and I might not hang myself when I go home tonight.

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