Longing to be normal 

I slept horribly last night, largely because I took my medication far too early as I simply couldn’t stand being conscious. I was pacing around the apartment building, losing my mind. I broke down in tears when I got back to my empty and internet-less apartment and decided that I’d had enough.

Since it’s a bank holiday, I’m going to have to go to the coffee shop again to get online.  I feel worse than I did yesterday and i wouldn’t go out at all if I didn’t have the insatiable need to get online and at least feel ‘connected’ to something.

I still fee like I’m eating too much. I feel guilty because I ate an apple when I woke up at 3am. Perhaps I should stop putting soy milk in my coffee and just drink it black.  Since I had a bowl of bran flakes yesterday, I’m not allowing myself to have a bowl of bran flakes again today.  While I feel like I’m losing weight around my belly and can now fit into my size 9 shorts, my arms are still disgustingly ugly. When I go to the coffee shop,  I ether drink coffee with skimmed milk or sugarless ice tea (it’s literally just cold tea with ice, not that nasty sugary chemical shit).   Now that the scars from my surgery have healed enough, I’ve started doing squats and crunches again.

I have no one to talk to in the treatment apartment that I live in. E triggered me far too much and only seemed to want to talk about the guys she’s fucked.  Christine doesn’t talk to me anymore either, even though I’ve tried knocking on her door a few times.  Nobody here likes me and some of them flat out hate me. It is getting old…I feel like I’m an outcast among outcasts.   I am insanely lonely and the loneliness is driving me insane and is further robbing me of any motivation to try to get better.  Even being in the coffee shop is tough, seeing and overhearing normal people have normal conversations.

I’m still not really getting the long-term help I need, which is help in the community.   I cannot continue like this, only able to go 2-3 places on my own (and even that is very dependent on timing).  I don’t feel safe in my apartment because I’m cut off and alone with my thoughts.  I have to get internet and soon.  Going out when I’m not well enough is doing harm, not good.   

When I weigh myself at the clinic tomorrow, I hope I’m at least below 170lbs or I’m done with food completely.  

The freak in the coffee shop 

The coffee shop is virtually empty, which I’m glad of.   I found a comfortable couch with sufficient light to read my book and socket nearby to keep my inactive / wifi only phone charged.  I don’t know what I’d do without this place. It’s the only place in Rochester where I feel both safe and somewhat normal….just another patron reading her book or playing with her phone.   I am the only loner though, as always.  I don’t get the impression that any of the “normal” people here would ever want to start a conversation with a freak like me.  But I’m not in my “cut off” apartment and I’m safe. I’ll stay here as long as I can, until it gets busy. It is Memorial Day weekend and o figured that most people would be out, making the most of the 3 day weekend and the nice weather.


But I’m lonely….lonely and wishing that I could be like them: normal, cisgender, a part of society and with friendship and love in their lives.

But I’m a freak….a freak about to humiliatingly lose a discrimination case.   I have nothing to look forward to and no one to spend any time with.  This is just marginally better than being holed up in my apartment.

“Don’t be a man in a dress”

I spent several hours at Boulder Cafe nearby yesterday, but I left around 5:30pm, when it started getting busy.

I wish I hadn’t opened the letter from the New York Division Of Human Rights.  It’s obvious that I cannot win and it has caused more dysphoria on top of the dysphoria I’m already (not) dealing with. I should’ve just left it and not complained at all.    They’re clearly not going to take any action and are only concerned with covering their own asses, rather than just apologizing for the panic attack and psychotic episode caused that Friday morning.    I’m not even safe in a state or country with good anti-discrimination laws.   Such laws are useless if they’re never going to be enforced.  According to this I’m nothing but a loiterer and I look male. You might as well just put a billet in my head:


The realist is that much of this is a lie. I was presenting female.   I had makeup on and was carrying a purse.  When the 2nd guard saw me, my head was covered up too. I truly wish I’d just stayed quiet now, because this is only hurting me more and nothing positive will come out of it that will benefit anyone else unfortunate enough to be in my position.   Assholes get away with being assholes in this society.  Look no further than the piece of shit sitting in the White House for proof of that.

It’s time for me to quit. It’s been time for me to quit for the last few years, especially after losing S and with my mental health declining to the point that I can no longer function in society. I avoid the news, but I keep hearing scary rumors on the grapevine that many of us are going to lose our healthcare soon.  I almost want it to happen to me, because that will be a sure-fire catalyst to force me to take my own life. I don’t have a future anyway,

I stopped reading my book Nightwalker, by Heather Graham at the part after the second killing took place.  The guy was roughly my age and he was killed in what the cops initially described as a “hit and run”, but it was actually a murder. This is the excerpt from the book that has added further fuel to the fire of my suicidal ideation:


I wouldn’t jump in front of a car or truck, unless one happened to be deliberately trying to mow me down.  It would be too dangerous to the driver and would traumatized him or her. But I would pick a much larger and much more fast moving object as my “way out”.  I’m not going into any more depth beyond saying I’ve have the “how and where” planned for several months. “When” is the only variable.  But to go into any further detail on a public blog would be foolish in my part.   I just know that it’s my destiny and it comforts me to know that the one element of control over my existence that I have left is that I can quit at any time.  But the paragraph is how I envisage my own death…painless and so quick that I won’t have time for a dying thought or to have to see my pathetic life flash by me, thus denying my mind one final opportunity to torment me.  

I’m not seeking attention or for anyone to save me.  This blog is a place of unfiltered honesty and I’m just expressing how I feel.  I don’t want any pity or sympathy for that represents validation of my insecurities.  I feel like I’ve not only failed at life, but failed at transition too. I tried to kill myself right before coming out as transgender for the final time, because I knew it wouldn’t work. And something my former transgender “mentor” named Jennifer told me has stuck with me:

“Don’t be a man in a dress”.

A friend of mine blasted her for saying it, but she’s right.  Transgender people are not cross-dressers, so what’s the point in presenting female when people still see you as male?  You are just setting yourself up for abuse, harassment, loneliness and being ostracized from the human race.  Caitlyn Jenner was right too when she said something along the lines of “looking like a man in a dress makes people uncomfortable”.  I can’t stand her, but she makes a good point. Passing isn’t about winning beauty contests and it’s not a pissing contest. It’s about safety.  The more you blend in, the easier your life and transition will be. And in my case, I thought I was doing relatively okay until the incident with those security guards and prior to the rejections I’ve been getting during my attempts at dating.

Now I feel like nothing more than a man in a dress. And that is the reason why I want to kill myself; not because of “haters” and not because of the fact that I’ve failed at life and that part of my depression is due to a chemical imbalance.  I want to die because I know that it’ll only get worse as I get older and uglier and even less relevant as a human being.   I want to die because I am burning with envy of people who represent what I’ll never have and who I’ll never be.  I want to die because fighting back is pointless and I don’t have the energy.  I want to die because I’m a burden to the system and someone with better genetics and a will to live could get the help that I’m getting and actually benefit from it.

Not long now, I promise.   I hope you’re enjoying witnessing my demise, although I put myself out there in the hope that someday someone with the power to change things for the better will read this and use it to help others.  No one should have to exist like this. I wouldn’t wish my life on my worst enemy.

Anyway, since the clinic is closed and I have no internet at home, I have to walk to the coffee shop while not feeling mentally well or strong enough to be in the outside world.   I will pray to god for peace and protection and to be left alone.  I can’t handle any more ‘scares’.  The coffee shop itself is safe, but walking to and from there never feels safe at all.   I will be wearing headphones to drown out all sound and sunglasses to dim the world and avoid eye contact.   

Diet update 

I don’t feel hungry anymore; just tired and lethargic.  I sleep much better deprived of food.  I ate an apple this morning and I feel guilty for doing that.   I think I’ll give my food away again.  

It’s only been a week and I’ve already lost 10lbs.  I told E that I’m tired of people noticing my muscles, but it wa directed at her.  Needless to say, we aren’t friends anymore.  

My right arm , which has the most arm and shoulder muscle:

I’m probably going to lose the discrimination case 

I got a letter from the New York Division of Human Rights with a written response from the accused party. They basically destroyed me in the 4th paragraph by claiming that I wasn’t dressed in female clothing, so they didn’t know how to gender me. This is a total lie – I was and I remember exactly what I was wearing that Friday. On top of that I know I had makeup on, because I never go out without it. But now if I fight this, it’s going to be dysphoria triggering. The guard who called me “sir” didn’t even look at my face because i was covering it and not did he hear my voice. So rather than consider it harassment, the company they represent claim they were doing nothing wrong and perhaps in a court of law, my ugly face would prove it.

I’ve written a rebuttal and will send it next week, but what’s the point? The only person that will get hurt here is me. They’ll say I look like a man and that will kill me. That guard is still working the same shift, smug and pleased with himself. I was left to pick myself up after having a panic attack and psychotic episode in which I hurt myself and there were many witnesses (fortunately and unfortunately).

What’s the point of having laws and rights when no one is willing to enforce them? The guards didn’t even so much as apologize. The whole thing makes me sick, because that’s supposed to be a safe place and I was there waiting for my case manager, not loitering. I repeatedly told the guard that I have anxiety and that he needed to leave me alone.

I feel too numb to cry, even though I can feel the tears building up, ready to stream down my UGLY face. This wouldn’t have happened if I looked normal. I need to hurt myself

Things I wish I could’ve said to my ex-wife before we parted ways 

As anyone familiar with my blog or my life will know, coming out as transgender (or rather being found out) around this time in 2011 was devastating to my ex-wife and soulmate, who I refer to as ‘S’ for the sake of her privacy. Our relationship had essentially already died as we’d drifted apart, but it hit her hard, at a time when she was already going her own issues.

We divorced in 2013, but we lived as roommates up until I left South Florida in January 2015. We had many fights and it was extremely difficult for both of us to coexist. During those fights and even in normal conversations, S had already come to many conclusions about me and about what happened. I never got the chance to explain and it was too painful and too triggering for her to even discuss, so it often came out in the form of anger.

Anyway, these are some of the things she said to me and perhaps she believes them, or perhaps she really doesn’t. Either way, I need to set the record straight, if only to try to help me move on:

“You made love to me with hate”
– Wrong. I made love to you in spite of my self-hate and I enjoyed the times we made love, even though they became few and far between. I take the blame for this as I didn’t make you feel beautiful or wanted and I kept drinking my problems away. I have always suffered from a low libido, even before hormones. I also hate my body, even from a non-gender perspective, so it was difficult to be intimate when I couldn’t possibly imagine how you would find me attractive. But talking the time and making you climax several times made me feel very happy, as did just lying in bed afterwards and just cuddling and talking until one of us was got up to make coffee. There was no “hate” I promise you.

We’ve drifted apart”
– On the surface, that was true. You were in the living room smoking away, I was in the bedroom drinking my problems away and shutting out the world. But I never stopped loving you or caring for you. I was just so locked inside my head that I was out of my depth and didn’t know what to do or say.  It was the most excruciatingly painful time of my life.  

“I don’t know you anymore”
– S, aside from my gender identity, you knew me better than anyone else on earth and that is still the case. Remove alcohol and gender from the equation and I’m the same person you fell in love with back in 2003; the same person that embraces you at London Heathrow Airport when I saw you for the first told.

“I’d rather you cheated on me than this”
– I’d rather have not done either, but I didn’t cheat. I cheated you by not being honest about my gender identity, but I wasn’t ready to face that. For some reason I thought it was something you might eventually grow up accept and that it would bring us closer, because I’d be happier and stronger for you.

“I’ll never be able to trust anyone again, you betrayed me”
– Yes, I betrayed you and I hate myself for it. I betrayed your trust just like the others did to you and that guilt will eat away at me forever. I take full responsibility. I was supposed to be different – someone you could trust and depend on. I turned your entire word upside down. But you will trust again and that person will be worthy of it. Like me, you’ve had awful luck with people, even within your own family. You did not deserve what I put you through.

“You are selfish “
– Yes, I am. I was selfish to bring you into my fucked up existence with the problems that I had (and still have). I wish you’d never met me. I wish I hadn’t put you through so much stress, but I loved you too much. Too much to the point that I became so worried about you that it overpowered everything else. I was not someone you could confide in – I was an anxious, neurotic mess. It’s taken us splitting up and me un-becoming that weirdo to realize how far gone I was and for years.

“I’m not a lesbian” and “You made me question my sexuality”
– I’m sorry this happened too. But you met me as a male, you slept with me as a male and we got married as a man and a woman. You are off the hook. You were honest from the beginning when you told me you wanted a divorce. You are straight and you need to be with a man. Had I been comfortable with the sex I was assigned at birth and I had I been more “normal” I would have loved to and would have been honored to be that man, someone who could’ve met your needs. This is not on you at all. It’s my fault for not being honest with you or with myself when we met. A parent transitioning to another sex kills most relationships, so don’t feel like it’s just you. It’s rare for a marriage to survive something so drastic. But do I wish it were otherwise? Of course. Only because I think Rebecca could’ve made you happier and been a fat better friend and companion to you, but I don’t blame you at all. I blame myself.

On a final note, I hola that life is being kinder to you. I hope you are able to put the damage I caused behind you and that you meet the right person who can love you as much as I can / do, but in the way that you need and deserve to be loved.

But you will always be my soulmate and my only true love. I don’t remember the fights, I remember us in Paris, or staying at haunted hotels or taking road trips. I remember your goofy sense of humor and how you were a great source of comfort and strength to me. I’ll never forget that you gave me the best years of my life, despite our problems.

The outside world continues to hurt me 

I went grocery shopping late last night, as it had stopped raining and I couldn’t bear to be in my apartment.

I walked to the bus stop, caught the #31 bus and bought groceries without incident.  I bought unsweetened soy milk and apples -most of my diet.  I felt weak, tired and disoriented and gave the cashier the wrong money, but I was too tired to feel embarrassed or stupid.  I then had to wait just over an hour for the next 31 bus home.

However, on the bus ride back, a man kept laughing uncontrollably. I had my headphones on and music playing, but I’m convinced that I was his target.  I was too scared to look his direction and on the verge of tears.  I dropped one of my grocery bags like so idiot as I got off the bus, feeling humiliated and ugly, my worst insecurities validated by the outside world once again.  

I struggled carrying my bags back home, partly because I didn’t want to use my right arm, because that is where E noticed the muscles.  I got back around 11:45pm, took mg medication and fell sleep pretty quickly, as I was exhausted.  I cried myself to sleep over what happened on the bus and would’ve self-harmed if I’d had the energy.  I thought about S and how much I miss her.

The clinic won’t be open on Monday as it’s Memorial Day. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself.  I can’t usually face going to Boulder Coffee at weekends, because of the WRPs (weekend and evening people).   I still have no internet and no phone in my apartment.

I bumped into C at the clinic yesterday. She said she lost her phone and that’s why she hadn’t emailed me back.  I was feeling down and told her I would definitely consider going back on drugs.  She mentioned heroin, but I don’t want to go down that route just yet and I’m not sure if she was serious or not. I’ve got morning left to lose though.  I’m so ugly that people laugh at me on public transportation and I can’t find friends or find love.  I don’t see myself ever getting better, just older and uglier.  What’s the point in being sober when I’m slowly dying anyway?  Next time I see her I’m going to see what she can get.  Maybe escapism is the only way.  

I sent a long email to one of my brothers (the one I’m closest to) and he hasn’t responded.   I think he’s washed his hands of me completely, which I understand, given that he’s probably ashamed of me and embarrassed by me.   Perhaps he thinks I just used him.   I reached out to my mother too, but her response was cold and indifferent and I don’t know what to say to her.

I’ve already eaten my food quota for the day: 1 apple and a cup of coffee with soy milk.    If I haven’t lost any more weight by Tuesday or if my arm and shoulder musicales don’t start going away, I’m going to start purging food.   I can’t take this anymore; being a huge freak and a monster.  I’m not trying to kill myself by doing this, but that would definitely be an added bonus. I wish I could rid myself of my height too, so when I see the podiatrist I’m going to ask about getting the lower part of my legs amputated and my ugly feet replaced with prosthetics. Since the medication to help me breathe more easily trough my huge UGLY nose isn’t making any difference,  I hope I’ll be able to get a rhinoplasty. In the meantime, what I can control is what I eat.  When these muscles disappear maybe I’ll be able to resume a semi-normal diet again or maybe I’ll get lucky and die.

Who cares.