** TRIGGER WARNING **
I can’t do this anymore. Going out last night further validated my fear of WRPs. But I cannot live like a prisoner anymore. It’s also become painfully obvious that I’ll never be a functional , productive member of society. My future is bleak; I’ll just get older and uglier, forced to deal with the physical effects of aging, along with my mental anguish from not fitting in and being disgusted by the TALL UGLY FREAK I see k the mirror.
It’s too late to de-transition and I can’t go back, but I wish I hadn’t opened Pandora’s box in the first place. Maybe I could’ve suppressed it if I’d tried harder or sought conversion therapy. This hasn’t brought me any happiness. I’ve gone from one hell and one prison to another. Both are equally as bad.
Death is the only way out and I need it. I am still hoping for that 0.00001% chance that the ultrasound I had 2 weeks ago reveals that I have a malignant tumor inside me. It would be better than winning the lottery, because money is meaningless to me.
I’m sick of being told that it’s just haters, assholes or those who are ignorant. It is the truth – the ugly truth. It’s why I’m alone in the world and I’m not going to deal with trying to exist anymore. I can’t even go out without someone harassing me over my height. Why can’t people just leave me alone? I don’t bother anyone on the rare occasions when I go out. I don’t even look at anyone. It’s as if I’m invisible to those I want to notice me and visible to those I don’t want to notice me.
I’d have the same problem anywhere, but the small town mentality in Rochester doesn’t help matters. People here are generally conservative as far as diversity goes and there are a lot of bad people here who have zero respect for anything or anyone and that makes them a threat to me. I don’t get why a medium sized city in a blue state would be this way. People here seem to have no filter whatsoever when it comes to speaking their rotten opinions or pointing out a physical flaw that you try so hard to put to the back of your mind.
Both my mum and my ex-girlfriend live in small towns in the UK and I had no problems as far as harassment goes in either of those places. My mum lives in Grantham, which is a very conservative small town in Lincolnshire and the birthplace of Margaret Thatcher. People were vocal about wanting to leave the EU and I wouldn’t want to be an immigrant in that town, but in all the times I went out, no one ever bothered me or even glanced in my direction. Now I wish I would’ve stayed there, because at least it was safe. I wouldn’t have been as socially isolated or lonely. I felt safe and I was just over an hour away from London via high speed train. I used to believe that the UK wasn’t safe because of British teenagers, but they are no threat at all compared to the degenerate asshole adults here, many of whom are a legitimate threat. I’d always been sheltered from the social problems of the United States up until I transitioned and moved to Rochester and became marginalized.
It’s too late to go back to the UK. I have no means of returning and nowhere to stay if I did return. I don’t even think I could do that journey again anyway, dealing with the stress of airports and planes. To say that the journey here in July last year was a nightmare would be a huge understatement. Just about everything that could go wrong went wrong and then some. My mental health is worse than it was then, particularly my anxiety. I can’t even get on a bus for 10 minutes without having to fight a panic attack. Even if I had the money, I don’t think I could do it.
Even prior to the harassment incident at Family Dollar last night, I had spent much of the day crying or just staring at the wall. I sat in the entrance area of the apartment building for hours, with my ugly face buried beneath my hands. Most people ignored me, one man asked if I was okay and introduced himself, but by then, I was too far gone to speak and until I get up and people see how tall I am, or use my voice, people don’t always realize that I’m a transgender freak, rather than just a regular woman. I didn’t want to take that risk with the stranger, so I ignored him and waited until he’d left before I got up and went back to my apartment.
I don’t know when this will get published. I don’t even feel well enough to get up, let alone leave my apartment and go out there again. I had grandiose plans to spend several hours at the coffee shop today, but that has gone out of the window. God forbid one of the hipsters in there make a comment about my height. That’s unlikely, but being around such people makes me feel ugly and like a failure, as I overhear conversations about their wonderful and meaningful lives, so far removed from my reality that it might as well be a television program, rather than real life.
Talking about suicide is no longer enough. I want it more than ever before. I will keep praying for a terminal illness or the courage to do it myself. It’s not as if anyone will be hurt by my decision. I have no friends or family now.
And I need a sharper knife or piece of glass to finish this. That way people don’t need to bother trying to hurt me anymore. They’ll see my pain and realize I’m already so far gone.