This was something which was originally wrote in
2008, I vaguely remember writing it, though that time of my life is pretty
sketchy and I wasn’t actually sure if I was writing it to clear my mind or
leaving it behind as a note of finality. Today it has been slightly edited,
polished around the edges but remains intact as to the thought process/fears
that I went through at that time.
2008
I could feel it the desire, the need and the
compulsion, tearing away at my insides, tormenting my mind and ripping apart my
very soul. It was something which in my life I had never got used to, something
which I couldn’t control, something that was so profoundly personal and inbuilt
into who I was that I couldn’t begin to explain. I was both ashamed and fearful
of it, it stalked my every moment and had for as long as I could remember,
always there in the background, constantly reminding me of the feelings, the
belief that I had.
Every time it returned to haunt me, it grew that
little bit stronger, its pain increasing the yearning multiplying. I felt
alone, trapped, isolated with no-one to talk to, it was something which
couldn’t really be slipped into every day conversation, a subject matter that
few could relate to and no-one truly understood. The conflict within me was
real, not mental, the pain was true and agony, I could feel myself slipping once
more into the descent of despair as I write these words.
They say everyone has their secrets, the skeleton’s
in the closet, I was no different, only thing was, mine were more like
poltergeist’s. I never once asked to be like this, I didn’t make a choice for
this, instead it holds me prisoner chaining and suffocating me into its
claustrophobic and all-encompassing torment. Why does this happen? Why to me?
What did I do to deserve this curse? It
was enough to drive a person insane or worse, the more you fought and rebelled
against it, the more it plagued your mind, tormented your body and more guilt
you amassed.
I hated it, yet it seemed I cannot escape it, I was
once told people like me are punished for our sins and the punishment is both
eternal and destructive, well they seem to have got that right. Every day is
constant war against me, three times in my life I have tried to end the
existence, three times I have failed and three times there has been no help
offered, my torment just continues and magnifies with each passing day.
I am scared; I’ve seen the hatred out there, the
abuse and sometimes violence that swirls around in our streets. I know to
accept the truth will help me personally, but I fear also I will lose
everything and everyone that I class as family. Too many this is a mental
health issue, to others it is a lifestyle choice, to a few, it’s something to
be mocked, poked fun at and to be humiliated.
I exist in a lie at the moment, a falsehood,
untruth I’ve crafted, designed an existence for others doing what is expected
of me. Depression is never far away; its tentacles caress my mind, threatening
always to drag me to the depths of my own all. I dream of dying of not waking
up, every night it’s the thought, the hope, so I do not have to confront who I
am and therefore face the ridicule of the shaming of those that I care for.
When the inside of your body is at war with the
outside, when feelings and sensations don’t match what they should, when
prejudice and hate collide with ignorance and you have no-one to turn to, you
know the definition of desperation. Your thoughts are all consuming, dark and
in a place that no-one wants to be. Fear rules your mind rationale begins to
break down, replaced by the torment of an emotional self-destruction time bomb.
I know my family desperately wanted a son, it meant
everything to them and the guilt that ambushes you, when you have that
knowledge is huge, more so with the realisation that can’t be that which those
that you love the most want. You are a prisoner of your gender, a mis-fit, a
person that can take no pride from their current life until the acknowledgement
of their situation is made. Every inch of me feels female, internally my body
feels more female, yet I was cursed to be born a male. I know accepting the
“trans” status, which is a broad brush and at times an unfair one, means
accepting the stigma, the abuse and hatred, but denying it means a continued
battle, break down after breakdown, an emotional drain and a feeling of never
actually being able to move from existing to living.
The life of a transsexual person is one which is
neither a lifestyle choice, nor is it something which is usually entered into
lightly. It is not a mental illness, but can lead to such issues, like
depression, being the most obvious one that is classed as a mental health issue. Ignorance is neither bliss nor is it funny,
amusing or helpful. It is easy to mock someone, any coward can do that, but it
takes brave soul to try and understand, to comprehend the torment that goes
before the transition and the decision to act upon it.
