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.

Apologies that I owe various people 

I want to publicly apologize to several people who I upset and pushed away. I don’t have their contact info anymore, but I am hoping that they’ll be able to see this.  I was just very unstable during the time I lived in the motel and I’m still unstable now.   I just wish I hadn’t pushed these people away, if they were serious about wanting to be a part of my life:


Miah
– I took a Facebook comment the wrong way and blocked and deleted you and I’m sorry.  I really enjoyed meeting you, but I was in a very bad place.  


Joella
 – I really wanted to get to know you, but I pushed you away as I thought you were pitying me. I am truly sorry.  


Kylie
– I don’t know what happened here, except that I also assumed you were pitying me.   I am truly sorry and I did enjoy meeting you.


Paige
– we only met once and briefly, but I felt a very powerful connection with you.  So much so that I got scared and sabotaged it. I am sorry to you the most aks I still regret what happened. We would have been living close by and could have at least supported one another. I am sorry.  I felt like we’d met before in a previous life and o screwed it up and it made me sad for days.  


Stephanie
– thank you for letting me stay with you and Ally. I know that I was too much to cope with.  I know you were lumbered with me after your sister decided she didn’t want to know.  I am sorry to both you and Ally and wish we could still be friends. 

Hannah – it all isn’t moved too fast and I wasn’t ready to he anyone’s girlfriend just yet.   I was going through an awful time and I shouldn’t have just shut you out.   We could have at least stayed friends.   I’m really sorry for hurting you cause

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.    

Can’t Go Back

My mum sent this earlier, in response to what I said to her about wanting to return to the UK due to all that has gone wrong here.  When I say “went wrong” I’m referring to both in my own situational issues and the wider political issues – potential ramifications of Trump’s presidency.  She’s right in saying that I chose to come back here, but if I’d known that I’d have ended up in a motel and socially isolated, I wouldn’t have come back at all:

“I’m sorry Becca, but I can’t support the idea of you coming back here. For one thing you need to stay in one place long enough to get proper treatment otherwise each time you move you have to start back at the beginning again. For another thing you don’t know anyone in this country well enough to be able to stay with them for an extended period of time. You have no money and they will soon get fed up with having to keep you, whatever they say, and it will then be down to me and Ed to “rescue’ you, which is not fair on us. By all means look towards coming back when you’re better and you can work again but you have to give the therapy you’re getting there a chance. Yes it must be lonely but, once you move, you’ll be in a situation where you’re getting support in a way that you never did here.

You probably don’t like what I’ve said but I have to make clear what I feel and it has nothing to do with what I think of you. You did agree last time you left for the UK that you were going to stay there- for better or worse. So hang on in there and talk to your therapist on Wednesday. Let me know how you get on. X”

Ironically, (January 9th) marks the two year anniversary of when I went back to the UK for the first time, after living here in the US for the best part of 11 years.  I remember being so excited about it and so relieved to have left many things behind.  At the time, I needed to get away from living with my ex-wife, because we were unable to coexist as roommates.


But that was then and this is now. I cannot make my mum understand my fears and concerns about staying here. There’s no guarantee that I’ll be out of this motel anytime soon and the longer that I’m here, the more I’ll continue to deteriorate as far as my mental health goes. I feel like I’m in danger here and longer this goes on, the greater my chances are of something bad happening to me. There’s a criminal element in this motel, along with guests who blatantly smoke weed and have no respect for property or the right of other guests to peace and quiet. Such people probably wouldn’t think twice about harassing me, or worse.

Trust me, I understand where my mum is coming from.  I’ve already gone back to the UK twice and returned here.  But since this blog is a place of honesty. part of the reason I keep coming back to America is that I’m still chasing my ex-wife’s ghost.  But I’ve woken up to that now, quite recently. I’m going to come clean and tell my therapist on Wednesday.  I need to let go, because not letting go has cost me dearly, just as much as trusting the wrong people has.   As for my mum, I didn’t ask for her help anyway, I just wanted her to understand, but that’s a losing battle.  

When I quit, it’ll be my decision and I want no one else held responsible.

Wishing that I could turn back the clock to the beginning of July 2016

I’m very grateful for the help I receive here. I’d have not been able to get the same level of help in the UK.  But it honestly wasn’t work hauling myself away from my family and the couple of ‘in person’ friends that I have in the UK.  It wasn’t worth going from an extremely safe place to an unsafe and unfamiliar place, where I quite literally have nobody

For the two steps forward I’ve taken in terms of the help I receive, I’ve taken ten steps back.  Rather than healing, I’m bleeding out from both existing wounds and new wounds that have been inflicted over the past few months.

There’s nothing here for me but almost imminent death by my own hands.  I’ve never felt as alone as this before or as scared.  I wake up scared, I go to sleep scared and almost every dream is a nightmare.  People always tell me to smile, but I can’t remember the last time I smiled or felt any kind of happiness.

I wish I could turn back the clock to July last year.  I should’ve read the writing on the wall when Holly changed plans on me at the last second and told me that I couldn’t stay with her.  I should’ve just stayed. All I’d have lost is a plane ticket.  Perhaps I could’ve just taken the flat and accepted my mum’s offer to pay the deposit on it. I think even she’d have rather done that than deal with me deteriorating and slipping away 3,500 miles away.  I was safe there; I had my mum, the cats and the freedom to go out without needing people accompanying me or taxis called on my behalf.  I had a couple of friends there and the chance to get to know my niece.  I had guaranteed SRS – which even though I’d have had to wait for, it would’ve been free – one of the most important parts of my transition and something that would’ve essentially completed my transition.  But no…..stupid, impulsive me threw that all away over Brexit and because I didn’t want to borrow money from my mum.  Stupid me trusted Stephanie and Holly, though prior to that, they’d given me no reason not to trust them.

Now I’m fucked; too much damage has been done for me to ever recover from this.  I’m bleeding from too many places to be patched up.  I did this to myself, because I didn’t try hard enough to make the UK work.  I didn’t take into account that there’s so much more danger and uncertainty here, because up until the last few months, I’d never really experienced it this close up.  I would give anything to get to go back to the UK.  I’d tear up my green card, just to prove that I’ll stay, third time lucky.  I wish I could get my mum to agree, but she had to remind me that I’ve burned my bridges and that I chose to come back here. I know she’s right,  But I wasn’t expecting this and these are exceptional circumstances.  I wasn’t asking for her help, but I wish she’d understand.  I would give anything to go back.  I don’t care if I’d end up in another hostel again – the last hostel I stayed in was still safer than this motel.

I would love to fall asleep now and wake up in my mum’s house in early July, with the kittens crawling all over me.  I’d kiss the floor, give my mum the biggest hug and block Stephanie and Holly forever, to remove the option of ever coming back to Rochester.  I’d have had a good Christmas and perhaps I’d even be working by now.  I’d also be looking forward to my first appointment with the Gender Identity Clinic to finally get SRS that I’ve always wanted, to ‘complete’ my body.

I’m sorry that I fucked up, but I’m willing to pay the ultimate price.   Please let this all be nothing more than an awful dream. 

Trusting the wrong people (and forgiveness) 

As 2016 draws to a close, I wish to reflect on what was probably my biggest mistake of all;

Trusting people.

It’s not that the people I trusted were necessarily bad.  They were all broken in one way or another and mentally flawed, just as I am.  I blame myself more than any of them, for leaning on broken branches in the first place, when I should’ve thought it through.  But I am highly impulsive, especially when I feel the need to run away from a situation or a place. Ultimately, that’s been my downfall.


I can forgive some, but not others.  I have forgiven my ex girlfriend, Katy and her new girlfriend Lana (for replacing me while I was still living with Katy).  I’m far removed from that situation to no longer be affected by it. I won’t ever let either of them back in my life, but it is a closed chapter.  As for Holly and Stephanie (the sisters who I would have been staying wth had it gone to plan), forgiveness isn’t likely until I’m in safe, permanent treatment housing.  Right now, it’s still far too raw. Even if I do manage to forgive them, I’d not want them back in my life in any capacity.  Neither of them cared to reach out to me over the holidays, knowing full well that I’m alone here.  

I have to accept responsibility for at least half of why these friendships and relationships failed.  Perhaps people try to help me, then slowly realize that I’m a lost cause, or they get frustrated when they fail to penetrate my wall of self-hated.  I’ll be the first to admit that I am seriously fucked up and I’ve got progressively worse, especially over the last five years.  Could I cope with someone like me?  Probably not; although I’m not fake and would not have made promises to someone or given assurances that I was unable to honor.

How do I stop getting hurt from trusting the wrong people?  I don’t know – but I certainly need to do something about my impulsiveness, to reduce the risk of making awful decisions.  I need to avoid leaning on broken branches or branches with hidden thorns.

I find it hard to trust anyone, ultimately.  When you’re a kid and you realize that your biological father doesn’t want to see you and your stepfather tells you after 7 years of being dad “I never wanted you, I only took you on because of your mum”, trusting anyone is difficult.

I accept the blame in the sense of being a difficult ugly child. A horrible partner and a bad friend.  

Losing My Mind (Breakdown Coming Soon) 

I’m not liking Seroquel so far. Like Mirtazapine, it helps me fall asleep and stay asleep for 3-4 hours. But like Mirtazapine, it’s a ‘dirty sleep‘ in which I don’t experience any pre-sleep calming drowsiness; I go from being awake one minute to asleep the next. I wake up feeling awful, as if I’d been drinking heavily the previous night, but without the dehydration. I have to drink 3 cups of coffee just to rid myself of the dull headache and I’m extremely moody, which isn’t good when I’m living in such close quarters with other people.

I had a dream involving S last night. I was trying to convince her that I had rid myself of this transgender curse, so I could be the person she needed me to be. But she didn’t believe me and slammed a door in my face. I then found myself on a street of terraced houses somewhere in north west England, surrounded by other transgender people, some of whom I used to know.

I woke up a few hours ago feeling awful, as I do now. I always wake up with these insane lows. Sometimes they ease up, sometimes they don’t. I miss S so badly. She was my world; the only human being I have ever had such a strong connection with. I know I’m probably coming off as some sort of obsessive moron and I know you’re thinking “Get over it, for fuck’s sake!”. I’m even worried that she’s reading this blog, which is unlikely, but also not beyond the realm of possibility. If she were to read this, she’d probably tell me to fuck off or perhaps she’s even laughing at what a pathetic excuse for a human being that I am. The only reason I’m trying to stop carrying the torch is for her sake, but I believe that carrying this torch is a form of punishment for robbing her of the nine years of her life that we were married, but she was miserable.

I have nothing planned today. It’s Monday morning and I should be going to work, if I had a job and were well enough to work in the first place. By 6am, I am always awake to be up for the job that I don’t have. So it’ll be another difficult day holed up in this apartment, trying to evade sound triggers (misophonia) caused by my friend who I share a bedroom with (I already bit her head off once this morning).

I’m desperate for this nightmare to end, but I’ve no idea how to escape it. A change in medication and a more favorable living situation *might* help, or it’d just cause my mind to torment me with one of the many other things it can torment me with. But at least if I were living someone else, these people would be rid of the burden that is yours truly. I’ve realized that I absolutely cannot be around other people.

Maybe I’ll go out when it gets dark, despite the fact that the soles on my walking shoes are so worn out that they have holes in them. I just can’t relax here at all, unless I lock myself in the bathroom, which gets claustrophobic after a while. My mental state hangs in the balance, as I try to resist the powerful urge to combust and hurt myself so severely that I’d end up in hospital.

I’ve been listening to ‘The Scientist’ by Coldplay on repeat. So relevant….

“Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start.”