Torn Apart

Yesterday I found out what happens when I receive a message from the UMCG hospital welcoming me back, but only and only if I follow their rules and protocols: a nearly continuous paralyzation attack. It evoked such impossibly strong feelings inside me that I virtually shut down.

It also forced me to question a number of things, such as what I really want regarding my body, and why I did decide to move more towards a female role instead of leaving things as they were. It's still very clear, though. I can't become or know what I want to become at this point as I don't know what I am now other than some intersexual one-person freak show. A medical resolution is required there.

Further, I did move towards a more feminine role not because of some silly desire to become female or anything, but to become more like what I feel my body and I are like; I have a feminine body, so pretending it's masculine as I have done for 21 years prior would be stupid, foolish and suicidal, as history shows. I still don't give a damn about 'male' or 'female' at this point, just 'me'.

What yesterday's attacks showed is how severely the current disconnect between my rational and emotional side has become. Only through actively suppressing, basically tearing off parts of myself, have I been able to more or less function normally lately. It would be hard for those who have never been forced into such a situation to really understand how much of a horror it is to have to live like this. It's akin to having to bite off your own leg or arm to survive, just without the blood and gore.

So now I'll probably be going to the UMCG in a few months from now to have a little talk during which it will probably be concluded that they'll gladly help me pretend to be a pretty little filthy, disgusting transsexual freak, but won't lift a finger to deal with the real issue at hand. This is what has happened before. This is what will happen again. At least I will have given them their last chance.

Is there really any help for a case like mine? Will I only get this help ten years from now when I'll finally have the money to afford it? Will I even live that long? Just living is becoming so bloody tough.

What only keeps me going right now are the things my intellectual side occupies itself with. Tidbits such as Pieter's new supervisor expressing interest in the FPGA/ASIC simulator I'm developing when he mentioned it recently was one thing which kind of put me back onto track. I must feel like I am in control, like there is something to live for. Not just a list of things I can't or never will do, including sexuality, friend- and relationships and other 'normal' things, or things I'm about to fail on, but some real, honest-to-god solid foundations to build a life upon.

I can't live my life in isolation, and yet this is actually the situation I find myself in. Maybe I'm just not good at being horrifically selfish like virtually everyone else and should have opted for something which is easier to sympathize with, such as horrific physical injuries or so. It's so stupid to only have people realize what the heck was going and express their regrets after one has committed suicide already. That's what makes it so pointless, and physical mutilation the more attractive option.

No threats, just observations. And a desperate cry for help.


Maya