“Something Just Like This” 

** TRIGGER WARNING **

I slept relatively well last night, despite waking up twice.    Improved sleep is one added benefit of eating much less.  I had a vivid and long dream in which there was a war going on between 3 kingdoms over disputed and highly arable valley territory. I was a young princess.  I was trying to negotiate for peace.  Then I remember us all being evacuated from a burning castle, but I chose to stay and die as a martyr, but then I woke up (disoriented).

I tried to eat a salad for breakfast, but I could only manage to eat half of it and a cup of coffee.   I really can’t stand the sight of food anymore and I don’t even feel hungry, just lethargic.  I weighed myself yesterday and I’m still at 169lbs. I need to lose much more, as I still feel huge, disgusting, muscular and bloated. It goes to show that before, I was just eating out of sheer boredom. Now that eating is no longer a coping mechanism,  I am letting the rest of these ugly arm and shoulder muscles and my nasty stomach waste away and I can return to single digit clothing sizes.  If I have to start purging food, I’ll do that too, though I don’t eat enough to make that necessary.  

I vented to one of the support staff last night, but it didn’t little more than kill time.   I keep telling them that I don’t need help with living skills – I need help getting out in the community. I need internet access in my apartment more than anything.  I’ve been forcing myself out just to use the internet and that has been damaging on the days when I didn’t feel well enough to go out at all.

I don’t talk to E anymore. Part of me wants to thank her for pointing out my ugly muscles, but part of me hates her for triggering my eating disorder that I’d managed to overcome for several years since I stopped drinking.  I wish she hadn’t said anything, but then I’d still be 184lbs and blissfully unaware how disgusting my arms looked.  She hangs out with men anyway, men that live here and hate me. I don’t trust her.

As for today, I’m not sure whether to go to the clinic or the coffee shop.    I had s meltdown at the clinic yesterday because was getting overwhelmed with all the stuff going on in my life and receiving mail and not knowing what to do with it. I will probably go to the coffee shop first and read my book.

And is this sad, and pathetic or what? I look at the Craigslist personals, “missed connections” to see if anyone in Rochester noticed me in a good way.  I know it’s stupid,, but that’s how desperate I am.  But I also know that I cannot be in a relationship given my disdain for my body and fear of physical intimacy.  Asexual men are hard to find and many asexuals are aromantic, so we’d just be like friends / roommates.

My therapist tells me I need to establish a “safe space” before I start facing the outside world, but that is impossible until I get internet access in my apartment.    I’m afraid to sign up for Frontier as it’s a contract and I am transitioning from DHS cash assistance to SSD and that could take time and leave me with no income for a while.   Also, it’s $50 a month, which seems expensive.  I don’t need or want cable television.  Most of what I watch is on YouTube or Netflix.   But if I had internet, I could make this apartment my home and my safe place.   I’d only go out when I needed to and when I felt well enough. 

I don’t pay much attention to music anymore, but I love this song.   It’s the best thing Coldplay have done in 13 years, even though it’s a collaboration.   I wanted to hate it, but it grew on me quickly:

“She said, where’d you wanna go?
How much you wanna risk?
I’m not looking for somebody
With some superhuman gifts
Some superhero
Some fairytale bliss
Just something I can turn to
Somebody I can miss.”

I ended up at the coffee shop, despite the shitty rain that has been almost constant for almost a week.   

“Blow Up The Outside World” 

I had a bad dream last night that involved one of my younger brothers becoming a parent and my jealousy and envy of them.  I know most people probably wouldn’t understand why such a thing would cause me pain, but I have always felt inferior to my 2 younger half brothers.  They are normal, successful, married and not afflicted with the ugly gene that has ruined my life.

The dream plus my dysphoria has left me feeling extremely low. It was a challenge to even get out of bed this morning and take a shower, but I cannot be in my apartment for too long as I am quite literally “cut off” from the outside world.

Chris Cornell’s death is really affecting me.  I listened to an hour long tribute to his life and music on the radio last night on the Nikki Sixx show.  I knew Chris suffered from depression, but I never thought that he’d take his own life or die before his time like many of the other tortured grunge era musicians.    I also thought of an (almost) ex girlfriend of mine who was utterly obsessed with Soundgarden and Chris Cornell. She must be devastated.

I feel utterly burned out for some reason. I think I did too much socializing yesterday.  I think my dysphoria is getting the better of me.   Too much “outside world” exposure and rejection have done a number on me. I’ve given up on the idea of dating and ever becoming functional. I’ve largely given up on myself too.  It’s a permeating sense of defeat that is only going to continue to eat away at me until I can no longer take it.

I’m going to starve myself after I’ve used the food I have left.   I feel like a bloated, huge ugly monster.   I still have too much muscle in my upper arms and shoulders, despite being on HRT for over 3 1/2 years and not producing teaosterone.  If I starve myself, I’ll waste away.   It’ll make me sick, but I don’t care.   I’m disgusted by my body and by food.  I wanted to put a bullet in my head when E noticed the muscle in my right arm.   

I feel like I don’t belong anywhere and the feeling is only getting more intense as I get older.  Society has changed, I have no love in my life and most of my idols are dead.  I can’t even look at the news anymore because it scares me to death.  I feel like I’m just waiting to die.

Worry-filled sleepless night 

I barely managed an hour’s sleep last night. I don’t even remember dozing off for that hour, but.  I do remember having a dream involving S, which caused me to wake up crying to no one.

I am dreading the SSD medical assessment in a few hours time.  Worrying about is is largely what kept me awake.   I know they’re going to ask intrusive questions that will cause pain.  I know it’s necessary, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time.  I think I am going to ask if my surgery can be postponed, because that’s just one other stress right now.  I have no idea how I’ll wake up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to go for pre-admission testing having had practically no sleep last night. It’s too much, too soon.  The deadname needs to he killed before I can attempt to tackle anything else.

Laying awake for hours was excruciating as time almost seemed to stand still as my mind raced ahead.    I thought about death and kept imagining myself staring death in the face.  I tried to imagine the relief I’d feel, but then I imagined the pain and how I’d probably bottle it at the last second.  I keep asking myself “What are you doing here?. I’m never going to be happy or even content.   I wouldn’t be leaving anyone behind and I’d no longer be a burden.

I’m scared of what may happen today.  Will they deadname me?  Will I get triggered?  Will they just see me as some sort of joke and attribute my mental health problems to being an ugly transgender freak?  I have all these scenarios running through my head and none of them are good.  I need a period of stability to have any chance of healing, but despite being housed, that is yet to happen.   It’s just scare, trigger, disappointment and breakdown.  Therapy is barely touching on my existing day-to-day problems, allowing me a safe place to just vent.   I’m broken and it’s worse than I thought.   

I have to get ready and head over to meet my care manager.  I barely have the energy to move right now, even after 2 cups of starting coffee. All I want to do Is puke and crawl into a dark hole somewhere and die.  

The pain of missing out on having children (triggered by a dream) 

I have Italian ancestry on my dad’s side, specifically San Marino, which is its own principally, landlocked in the middle of Italy.  I’ve never been there and I don’t speak Italian. I know very little about that side of my family.

Anyway, in the dream I had last night, I was living in San Marino.   The national football (soccer) team had just recorded a historic 4-1 win against Switzerland in a World Cup qualifier, which was unprecedented, as the national team hardly ever wins, because it is the equivalent of a team from a small town.  I was heavily pregnant and going into labor.  In the early hours of the following morning, I gave birth to my first and only child.  It was a girl; I named her Claudia.  I did not know, nor did I care who the father was, but my dad was not happy about it   I remember she had my green eyes and that she was a perfectly healthy baby, with none of the birth defects or afflictions that I was cursed with.  After that, I recall her being taken away from me against my will, for some sort of baptism ceremony.  My dad was behind it, which is weird because he isn’t a catholic or religious at all.  I was frantically trying to find out where Claudia was, but I couldn’t find her. Then I woke up, but it took me a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream.

I always wanted to be a parent, even when I was a child myself.  Now that it’s totally out of reach and not achievable, I feel even more hopeless than I did before.  Despite my problems. I think I would’ve been a good parent. I would’ve made mistakes along the way, but I would have avoided the same mistakes that my own parents made with me and I would’ve encouraged my children to believe in themselves and reach their greatest potential.  If I had more than one child, there would have been no favoritism and no designated ‘problem child’.  I would have raised my children to respect others and to be accepting of those who are different.  I would never have forced gender stereotypes on my children.  I would’ve raised them as people, not boys or girls.  

Even though I’ve always wanted children, the urge has grown stronger over the last 2 years.   Being around babies and pregnant women in particular makes me feel extremely sad, as does not being physically able to give birth, because it’s unlikely that medical advances will be made to give transgender women a full female reproductive system anytime soon.  And even if that were possible, it would only be available to those with lots of money to finance it.

Part of the reason why I am more reluctant to go out during weekends and holidays is that it even hurts to be around families with children.  It’s a painful reminder of what I’ll never have and what I never really had when I was a child myself: a stable and loving family.

Few people understand why I feel this way. I even find that fiction can be triggering, if the story involves pregnancy or families with children.    It’s why I had to stop reading the novel Irish Cream.  I don’t fully understand why it affects me now, when even if I were a cisgender woman with a female reproductive system, it would be somewhat late in life for me to conceive, especially as I am not mentally stable and I’m not even in a relationship, because relationships seem out of reach to me. 

This just reinforces how pointless my existence is, without children or a partner to help me raise them.  When I grow old and my parents are gone, I will have no one. I won’t even have nieces or nephews, because even if any of my half siblings became parents,  I’m not in contact with any of them.  Such half nieces or nephews would be nothing more than strangers to me on the other side of the world.  

I hope I’ll get to be a mom in my next life.   I hope my next life will be boring and normal.  Unselfishly, it’s for the best that I can’t procreate anyway. I would not want my children to have to suffer the same way that I did / do, because my defective genes would be passed down to them.  Though in my dream, Claudia was a beautiful health baby, with none of my defects. She could’ve grown up and had the life that I was denied and I would’ve been happy for her, not envious.  

Tuesday thoughts 

The attorney I was dealing with referred me to another who will hopefully be able to help me with the court order, even if it takes time.   As long as it CAN be done and we can get the ball rolling, I can stop the incessant worrying and can focus on other things I do want to stay here, if I can.  But the legal name change is absolutely essential.  The appointment is on Thursday afternoon, so I will hopefully know for sure one way or another.

I didn’t sleep well last night, but I had a dream involving being in a forest and pleading with a group of faeries to take me under their wing and protect me from whatever or whoever I was running from.  I got up at 3am, made coffee and resumed reading my book.

I read my book for several hours this morning before heading over to the clinic to use the internet, which is where I am now.  I immediately checked my email and was pleased to see 2 emails from my care manager about Thursday’s appointment with the attorney. I’m going to be super-anxious, but he is an expert on transgender law and has probably worked on dozens of court orders for transgender name changes.

Raising my hopes would be foolish, but I can try to start my life again, once my identity is safe, as it is in the UK. Otherwise,  I am still prepared to go back, despite my mother’s disapproval and cynicism over something she either cannot understand or refuses to understand.

My progesterone cycle starts tomorrow, which means more food cravings. It’s worth it, because it’s pushed me up a cup size.  As for food. I’ve been trying to eat as cheaply and as healthy as possible. I’ve given up meat completely. I use various types of beans in dishes that  I make and I eat 2 eggs a day and salad vegetables.  I eat only brown I ice and wheat bread and usually 2 apples a day.  The only reasons that I eat healthy is because 1) I don’t want to gain weight as well as being tall and 2) when I eat crap food, it affects both m skin and my mental health.  Besides, eating crap because I don’t want to live is pointless, because it would take years or even decades to kill me. For the same reasons, I don’t drink alcohol.

I’m too ugly to be loved anyway….

I had a nightmare about being back at high school and being shouted at by a teacher for failing to do my homework and for my poor attendance.  The other kids were laughing at me and celling me “mong” and “retard” – which I was often called during that time.  I remember sitting down at a desk at the bask of the classroom and burying my head in my hands and covering my ears, because I didn’t want to hear the bullies.  I woke uo from the nightmare around 3am and have been awake since. It’s just wonderful that the self-torment doesn’t stop, even when I sleep.

T emailed me.  He’d just been very busy at work.  I’ve probably ruined it now though by sending him this last night:

He seemed okay about it, but I’m pretty sure I’ve scared him off.  And I’m still not sure what he wants from me anyway and I still believe that he just feels sorry for me, rather than actually likes me   I don’t deserve anyone though.   I’m far too messed up and I get attached way too easily.  I thought I’d got better, but I’ve actually got worse. I guess it’s been a long time since I’ve actually liked anyone.

Although I didn’t make the community meeting yesterday, my service coordinator emailed me to say that the move-in date is the 28th of this month, which is a week on Tuesday.  While I’m very relieved, I am also scared at the same time. I’ve never been ‘liked’ anywhere I’ve lived, at school or at any job I’ve worked at.  I hope people don’t hate me or trigger me with comments about my ugliness or my height. Anyway,  I have 11 nights left at the mot-hell and 2 more weekends to get through, so it’s fat from over yet.  During this time, I need to really think about whether it’s even worth trying to get better.  I don’t see how my ‘unwanted existence’ will ever become at least tolerable, because I know that love and happiness are out of reach..

A nightmare about being placed in a nursing home 

I just woke from a horrible nightmare that I kept drifting in and out of.  It’s made me realize that I never want to become elderly.

For whatever reason, my mum and my care manager had gone behind my back and I was moved into a nursing home. The room they put me in had no window and smelled of chemicals and death. I kept asking the nurses why I’d been put here.  I got a call from my insurance company saying that they weren’t going to pay the bill and the person on the phone kept calling me “sir”, so I hung up and smashed my phone.  I’d left all of my hormones and blockers behind, but no one was willing to retrieve them for me, so I started to panic.  Then a large male nurse gave me an injection that put me to sleep. 


Then I found myself in another room, where my mum was berating me for something I’d done to deserve being imprisoned here.  An old lady had just died in one of the nearby beds in the same room, which was more reminiscent of a small hospital ward, with 4-5 beds.  

The next morning, I escaped. I found my mum, brother and care manager all casually eating breakfast at a nearby outdoor cafe.   I kept asking them why they’d put me in an old people’s home, but they just ignored me.  I then crashed my wheelchair into the table they were sitting at to get their attention, which is when I woke up finally.

I don’t ever want to get old. What the point anyway, unless you have children and grandchildren to exist for and a partner to grow old with?  The nightmare has left me feeling very low and has also left me with a sickening feeling of dread and nausea.