Pushing people away and sabotaging potential friendships and romantic relationships 

Although I’ve been unable to break the cycle as far as pushing people away and sabotaging potential connections go, I’m aware that I do it.  I do it because I find it so hard to trust and to let people in. CI’ve also done it to remove myself as a burden to that person.  It is a common trait associated with BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder), which I have been diagnosed with in the past.  

There are a few people I’ve pushed away over the last few years that I truly regret pushing away.  The most recent was a transgender woman named Paige.  I also now regret pushing Holly and Stephanie away.  They had no malicious intent towards me, they were just out of their depth as far as helping me was concerned.  There are even people online who I regret pushing away or being rude to because I took something they said the wrong way.

I actually hope that some of the people I’ve pushed away get to read this.  While they may not forgive me, I hope they’ll understand why. But there are some that I would give my right leg to have another chance with.

I suggest watching the video on this page if you push people away or simply want to understand why some people engage in such behavior:

Pushing People Away, Yet Wanting Closeness | Abandonment & Being Hurt

While I can relate to the “why” part, I feel like fixing it is possibly beyond me, as it requires building of confidence and self-esteem.  I’ve never had either confidence or positive self-esteem.  But it is an issue I plan on raising with my therapist next time, if I remember that is.

Why I need to stop romanticizing my relationship with my ex-wife

I need to stop romanticizing my relationship with S, largely out of respect for her and because tumultuous and thanks to yours truly, devoid of any kind of passion.

I’ll never stop feeling guilty about wasting so many years of S’s life or for making her unhappy. I cannot even begin to imagine how lonely and trapped she must’ve felt, as I spent almost every night drinking alone in the bedroom until I fell asleep. All I did was worry incessantly about her and it drove both of us mad.

Then there’s the “secret” I kept from her and from everyone else. I didn’t just become transgender in the 7th year of our relationship. I’ve felt this way for as long as I am remember, but I buried it because I wanted to be normal. I was so desperate to be the person she wanted me to be and needed me to be. I wanted us to have a good life.

But I became trapped. While she was suffering alone in the other room, I didn’t know what to do or say and I tried to drink mine and our problems away. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow” was always my motto. S and I were living like nothing more than depressed roommates, trapped in dead end jobs and a dead end relationship.

I made the sorry mistake of confiding in an ex girlfriend of mine, Bernadette. I was drunk that evening in May 3011. (as always). I told her I wanted to be a woman, thinking it would help me to confide in someone that had been with me. She seemed supportive at first, then she said she was going to find S on Facebook and tell her. I was terrified, but I didn’t think she would actually go ahead and do it.

But 2 weeks later, she did just that. I remember it well; it was a Saturday sometime around this time in June 2012. I had just left our condo to go an buy pastries from the French bakery we used to go to in Sunset Place (Miami). I had just merged onto the I-95 south onramp when I got a text from S and my heart instantly sank:

“Who the fuck is Bernadette and what is it that she wants you to tell me??”

I knew it. I got off at the next exit to make a u-turn, almost rear-ending another car.  I made my way back to the condo and that’s where the fight started.  I ended up telling S and she was both livid and devastated. The first thing she said was “I want a divorce, I’m not a lesbian”.

The thing was, just a few weeks prior to the T bomb being dropped, S and I were going to separate.  She came into the bedroom one evening and said that we’d “drifted apart”.   The plan was that she was going to move to Boston and I was going to move to NYC.  Up until the T bomb hit, we had been very civil with one another.  The crying and suffering that I did, I made sure to keep hidden from her.  Sometimes I’d go down to the car just to drink and burst into tears. My drinking definitely intensified.

S and I ended up moving to Massachusetts together, despite the issues.   I tried to bury my gender identity again, but it led me back to the drinking and S wasn’t fooled for one second.

I have so many questions that I wish I could ask her. I’ve mentioned this to my therapist and he has given me his own theories.  I keep wondering when she stopped loving me, whether it was early on in the relationship or after the T bomb. Does she really believe that I made love to her with hate or that she didn’t know me? Because to this day, she knees me better than anyone else.

But I’ve got to stop looking at the relationship with rose-tinted glasses. She was very unhappy and felt treated and that was my fault. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again,  I don’t ever regret meeting her, but I wish she’d never met me.  I keep thinking how much better her life could’ve been without me causing her so much stress and pain.

That guilt will never go away. Even if it could be taken away, I wouldn’t want it to be.   I didn’t want to drag what was clearly my soulmate into this mess and have her suffer because of it.  I’ve not heard from her in a long time, but wherever she is, I hope she’s alright.

Tsunami of guilt and regret

I’ve hit by a massive wave of guilt relating to S (my ex-wife).  I don’t want any pity for it, nor do I want to be told that I wasn’t to blame.  I’m only writing because I need to turn those feelings into something tangible, beyond the tears I cry. This has all come about as a result of a bad dream I had last night, involving losing S.

I don’t regret meeting her for one second , because that was my only true love.  I do regret that she met me though. Before she met me, she had plans to go to film school.  We both talked about it extensively and we both thought I’d be able to help her achieve that.  But instead, she had to deal with how mentally ill I was, along with her own mental illness and the stress of living with her mother.  Akd that was before she even knew that I was hiding my gender identity.

She supported me for a year, until I could legally work in the United States. I don’t just mean financially; I mean emotionally too, which put enormous strain on her and caused many horrible arguments and breakdowns.  She worked at a job she hated to pay for the entire immigration process to allow me to stay here.  She’d constantly put my mind at rest when I was terrified they’d send me back to the UK.  She put me on her health insurance so that I could see a therapist and a psychiatrist.  She bought me clothes, as I didn’t have many when I arrived here in 2004. She bought me food and I lived rent free at her mother’s apartment.

I found a job and worked, but that’s all I did. As my depression worsened due to being someone I wasn’t (male), I started drinking heavily as a form of self-medication.  I shut mysslf in the bedroom while she suffered alone. Despite a few good times, that’s how our relationship was.  As she quite rightly pointed out when she asked for a separation, we’d drifted apart and were living as roommates.  I was so far gone mentally and so far out of my depth, that I wasn’t even completely conscious of what was going on and I was oblivious to the suffering of my soulmate and my true love.  I didn’t even act like the adult that I am. It’s difficult to explain, but it was almost like being under some soft of spell.  It wasn’t just the alcohol either; I was running on autopilot.

But I’m not here to make excuses for what I did. If S hadn’t met me, she might have gone to film school.  She’d have eventually met a man and he would’ve loved her in the way that she needed to be loved.  She’d have had a career, children and a better life than the one I ruined.   That is why I need to suffer; I ruined someone’s life – someone who at one point was the only human being that loved me dearly and wanted a future with me.   I don’t want pity and I would never ask her to forgive me, even if she wanted to.  All I hope and pray for is that she’s forgiven herself and moved on. Unlike me, she’s far from being a lost cause.  She’s beautiful inside and out, highly intelligent, creative and strong willed.   I didn’t deserve her and for her sake, I wish that she’d never met me.

Sometimes I imagine that this is all just a horrible nightmare and that I’ll wake up soon.    

Even though I’ve let go, I still can’t get over you 

Music is probably my best and most reliable friend, but with many songs come memories.

I slept well last night, considering what happened to me.  As I usually do, I left Spotify playing randomly on my phone and fell asleep to my playlist.  When I woke up, the song ‘Shake It Out’ by Florence And The Machine was playing.  The song is one of the songs that remind me of S. for a split second, I thought she was sleeping next to me,/ so I rolled over to put my arm around her, only to find the same empty space on the side where she used to sleep on.  The pain quickly overwhelmed me and I broke down in tears, as if we’d only recently broke up.

How do you get over losing your soulmate and the only one you’ve ever loved?  No matter how many times I commit myself to getting over it, I can’t; something always brings me right back.  There is no future in living someone who stopped loving me well over half a decade ago.

Although it’s unlikely, I hope that she isn’t reading my blog entries.  I’ve never written anything negative amour her; on the contrary.  But she would be mortified and extremely angry to know that I still feel this way about her.  If we’d just been able to talk about what happened openly, it would’ve at least help me achieve closure and move on. But she doesn’t owe me that, considering the terrible deception on my part and my betrayal of her trust in me.  But I still want to now why she reacted the way she did , when i finally ‘broke’ and told her that I was transgender back in the summer of 2011.  I want to understand, because we were planning to separate and had talked about it before she found out about my gender identity.  We’d been living as little more than roommates for years prior to that , which was largely my fault.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I did talk to my therapist amour her during the last but one session with him, but I completely broke down in tears and cools barely being myself to talk about how important she was to me.

Enough said.  I’m still paranoid that she’s reading my blog, although I shouldn’t flatter myself to believe so.  I have let go, but I can’t seem to move on.  My life before her was pointless enough, but all I have left now is a giant void, an empty bed and a heart broken into too many pieces to be put back together again.

I just miss you.

Telling the mentally ill and the lonely to “go volunteer”

Have you noticed that many people will suggest volunteering when you tell them that you feel depressed and lonely?  “Go volunteer” seems to be the standard response of many people and it frustrates me to no end.  People assume that those suffering from mental illness are capable of volunteering, when in fact, many of us struggle to even get out of bed or leave our homes.

In my case, I would volunteer, if I felt that I could.  I’ve expressed interest to my care manager at doing just that when I’m in a more stable living situation and my anxiety and PTSD are more ‘under control’.  It’s not that I don’t want to volunteer – I quite literally can’t at the moment, for multiple reasons that I hope that I don’t need to justify or explain to anyone but my therapist.
You should not try to ‘guilt’ mentally ill people into volunteering.  We know what options there are out there to meet people, but it’s not possible for many of us.  It is not a cop out or an excuse. In my case,  I just want someone to listen and understand.

Telling mentally ill people to volunteer seems like nothing more than a cop out and a guilt trip, even if it isn’t meant that way.  If you truly care about mentally ill people, why don’t you volunteer?  Especially during the holidays, which are extremely difficult.  If you personally know of someone suffering from mental illness or acute loneliness, please reach out to them.  

Thank you for (hopefully) understanding.

No Turning Back (Borrowed Time)

The snow which started falling around 6am yesterday morning hasn’t stopped, although it’s been reduced to flurries.  The snow and wind have ruthlessly stripped the trees outside of most of their dead or dying autumn leaves.  Winter is definitely here and here to stay and i am ill prepared for it. 

Because of the snow and absence of suitable clothing, I most likely won’t be going anywhere until Wednesday, when a cab will pick me up and take me to the clinic.  I have therapy and my once a week, six hours worth of being around other human beings in a controlled and safe environment.  For the other 162 hours a week, I am cut off and isolated.

Since my mum has ruled out helping me get back to England in any way and my dad has failed to make contact, I’m out of options.  She keeps telling me not to worry about losing my healthcare and my rights, because it hasn’t happened yet. I don’t want to wait until it does happen, without at least some sort of assurance that I’ll be able to leave and return to England, if and when the shit hits the fan here.  She made it very clear once again that she will not help me, even if I lose my healthcare and my rights:

My mum cannot ask me to not take my own life, given the dire circumstances that I find myself in.  I understand that no parent wants their child to die before them, but she cannot expect me to continue living if I am forced to give up my transition.  This has been the only thing that has ultimately kept me from taking my life.  Transition gave me a slither of hope, which is gone now. It allowed me to not hate my body as much as I did and allowed me to stop living a lie.  Even the risk of it all being taken away by the very anti-LGBT Trump administration is enough to send me over the edge, as it is already doing.   My mum can no longer use guilt as a means to prevent me from ending my life.  Maybe that’s harsh, but that’s how it is from here until the end.

I’m not sure what to do about my friend Holly.  She says she cares about me, but there’s a huge conflict of interest.  I am angry at her sister,  Stephanie for the way I was treated when I was living with her and her roommate, Ally.  Holly is ultimately going to side with her sister and doesn’t want me trashing her, even though I believe I have a legitimate right to be angry at the way I was so passive-aggressively pushed out of that living arrangement, with Ally getting involved and talking to my care manager behind my back. These people assured me that I would not be put in danger.  Yet here I am, not even feeling safe in my own room and certainly not feeling safe outside of it.  So I don’t know what to do; either make peace with Holly or not. I don’t like that she makes excuses galore for Stephanie, but they’re sisters and that’s what I’m up against.  But I have no friends here in Rochester and that is a scary thing. 

I hope that care management at my clinic are able to take care of the billing issue that almost got me tossed out of here yesterday.  It is another stress that I could do without.  I would consider admitting myself to hospital, but what’s the point in the long run?  I’m merely delaying the inevitable.  I have five weeks left to do what I need to do. 2016 simply has to be my final year; no going back, no talking about it and no more putting it off for the distant future.  I’m absolutely stuck and devoid of any options, except to take my own life, or have the thing that keeps me going taken away from me at some point in what I expect to be the near future.

At Some Point, You’ll Have To Accept My Fate….

It’s obvious that my mum doesn’t share the same fears that have been driving me crazy since Trump’s win and subsequent Cabinet picks and the continued frightening rhetoric coming from Trump and other Republicans.  We got into an argument yesterday.  I don’t think she’s taking any of this seriously enough, or doesn’t care that I may lose my rights, my healthcare and my transition by staying here.

“What about me? You can’t do this to me!”

I understand that I’ll never be able to convince my mum that I will most likely need to take my own life. I  don’t expect her to accept it, but I will not be guilted into continuing an existence that I do not want.

“Have you talked to your care manager about this?”

I did talk to him – last week, actually.  He’s just as much in the dark about this as I am. I  have also talked to online friends, many of whom suggested that I should return to England.

If I stay here, I face an uncertain and potentially terrifying future.  I’d be constantly looking over my shoulder and constantly afraid that my transition will be taken away from me at any given time.

Aside from the prospect of losing my rights, healthcare and transition, I don’t want to exist in this new era of populism that will most likely morph into fascism.  It isn’t the time to be alone, isolated and marginalized in America.

I don’t want to hurt my mum by taking my own life, but she will have to accept it.  It’s not that I don’t love her and it’s not that I don’t care for her.  But I get the distinct impression that perhaps she feels that losing my transition would be an apt punishment for being foolish enough to return to America, knowing full well that Trump *could* win.  The truth is, it was because of Brexit, it was because I was stupid enough to listen to two former friends here and because I didn’t want my mum to have to pay for a deposit on a flat for me using her retirement savings.

I have therapy later today, which is rather pointless as far as self-improvement goes.  I just use it as an opportunity to talk to someone in a safe and controlled environment, as I no longer have any friends here in Rochester.  But after that, it’ll be another week before I talk to anyone again.  I did reach out to an activist / attorney I know of, but I am not expecting him to be able to put my mind at rest or offer any solutions.

The slither of hope that I had up until the brimming of last week is gone forever.  This is nothing more than borrowed time, delaying the inevitable, with the added pain of loneliness caused by the holiday season.  As bad as losing me will be to my mum, I hope that someday, she understands.  I also hope she knows how grateful I am for her help and support and for accepting me as her daughter.  

But I will not go on existing, if my rights, my healthcare and my.transition  are taken away an no amount of guilt will change that.