Each day that passes is another nudge closer to the end. There’s no light at the end of my tunnel, just more of the same pain, loneliness and complete and utter despair. I’ve become so detached and so disassociated that I can’t tell what’s real anymore. I’ve been trapped in a motel room for almost 3 months, tormented by my own thoughts, memories. The noise and the incidents at the motel have pushed my PTSD and anxiety to new heights. My existence is nothing more than a nightmare.
The “it will get better” and “hang in there” gestures of support are meaningless at this stage. This has already gone on for too long. I’m tired of people second guessing me or attributing my problems to transition. I don’t know how many times I have to scream that if it wasn’t for transition, I would be dead by now. I’m tired of being called brave or strong, when I am neither of those things. I’m nothing more than an ugly piece of shit, a loner, a failure and a freak. I don’t want your pity, because it just validates my self-hatred.
My mum is the only one that’ll be affected. I wish I could convince her to let go, but that isn’t going to happen. It’s best that I don’t tell her how I’m feeling anymore. It’s not going to make losing me any easier, but I wish she could understand that I’m already gone.
What I said the other day about this week being pivotal still stands, as does the time limit.