I (really) hate weekends 

Did I mention that I hate weekends? Well allow me to reiterate it.  Weekends are not only extremely lonely for me, but Saturday in particular is a day that I’m “imprisoned” the most by my Social anxiety.   Weekends also seem to be when people are at their most annoying and most obnoxious.   Even in my apartment, I hear other residents blasting out god-awful music and shouting from people on the street outside.   I’ll admit that I’m envious of normal people, or rather WEPs (weekend and evening people) who have families and friends to spend their weekends with. 

It’s a very hot day and I wish I could be out there in the sun, with a friend or a partner.  

Makeup is a necessity 

The reason that I don’t enjoy makeup like I should be able to is that it forces me to look at my ugly reflection in the mirror.  The first thing I notice are my very obvious flaws:

  • My huge nose
  • My blotchy and worn looking skin
  • My dirty green colored bulging eyes and the dark circles underneath them
  • My dull brown hair that feels and looks like Spanish moss
  • My ugly forehead lines
  • My deformed jaw

People have said that I have beautiful hair, but my hair is disgusting.  But it occurred to me that as ugly as my hair is, it’s probably the least ugly part of my head, so it makes sense that people would focus on my hair.

I don’t feel comfortable going out in general, but I don’t feel comfortable at all going out without makeup.  Even I take the trash out or just go to sit in the common room downstairs, I cannot risk being seen without makeup.  Makeup doesn’t hide my ugliness, but it takes a little of the focus away from it.  I wish I had the luxury of being able to go out without makeup, but I can’t do it and don’t want to be seen without it.  I would rather only use makeup when I’m actually going somewhere.   I hate feeling like I have to use it just to take the trash out or because I’m worried that someone will knock on my door and catch me off guard.

I don’t even want to be seen by anyone today, but living in an internet-less phone-less apartment forces me to go out.   The pharmacy at my clinic is open until 12:30pm on Saturday’s and so far, the security guard hasn’t told me to leave, even though it looks like I’m loitering. It’s not exactly safe.   Lots of WEPs get their prescriptions at weekends, so I am at risk of being noticed by them or their children (children scare me because they have no filter).

I don’t know what I’m going to do for the rest of the day, except fall into another depressive spell.  I don’t feel comfortable talking to the on duty support worker here who works on Saturday’s.  I don’t have anyone else to talk to and i absolutely cannot risk going out on a Saturday again, especially after what happened at Family Dollar last Saturday.  I want to go out, but I can’t. I feel like a prisoner, shoved in solitary confinement for a crime I didn’t commit.

I want to hurt myself to take my focus away from the anguish inside my head.   But if I were to do that, I’m pretty sure I’d be admitted to hospital against my will, deadname and all. I’d probably be safer in a hospital ward and I know for a fact that the main hospital here does have wifi.  I just can’t live alone – whether in sheltered housing or not. I’ve never managed it in the past and it always ends very badly.

Right now I can’t even leave my apartment because people who pose a threat to me are outside in the hallway.  People who play music really loud with bass can’t have much respect for others in the first place.

I can’t take any more of these weekends 

It’s Friday night, depression and loneliness reign supreme.  I had to get out of my apartment, because I was rapidly drowning in my thoughts, cut off and isolated.  It’s ridiculously cold outside for almost mid-April, so I doubt I’ll be able to stay outside for very long, but hopefully long enough to publish this.  These weekends are becoming more and more unbearable.  From Friday night to Sunday night, the time drags by ten times slower than it does for the rest of the week.

Time to throw on more fucking winter clothes that make me feel huge again to go outside.  The only thing even less appealing than the cold is that I’m sure I’ll have to walk past the usual crowd of assholes in the lobby, many of whom clearly don’t like me.  I can almost feel their stares behind my back as I leave the building. “There goes the ugly freak again”, they probably say.

I’m sick of this.  I’m sick of being alive.

I deserve the abuse for being so tall and ugly


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.


Saturday morning: loneliness and self-loathing 

The abdominal pains never fully came back, although i still don’t feel quite right.  I woke up not that long ago after having a nightmare about my (former) stepdad. He was threatening me and putting me down, which is something he sometimes did.  I haven’t seen him in 20 years and he can go to hell for what he did to me and to my mother.  

I’ve started reading another book called Safe Haven.  I think it might be a bit too triggery though, as it is set in this era and already it is reminding me of what I’m missing out, what I’ll never have and what I’ll never be.

I wasn’t at the clinic for long yesterday. I couldn’t find anywhere quiet to sit, as it was too chaotic in care management.  One of the staff who I often see there came and hugged me and sat by me for a bit.  He’s cute and is always nice to me, but I know it’s just what he’s paid to do and I never know what to say to him.  Then a woman I’d spoken to before asked me if I had a boyfriend yet and that made me feel worse. Why would I?  I’m too ugly for that. She asked me the same question 2 weeks ago.   

I feel incredibly lonely right now and the weekend has barely started.  I can’t wait until the weekend is over and all the WEPs (Weekend and Evening People) go back to work and school so that I don’t feel trapped inside my apartment. WEP’s give me the most anxiety and also remind me of what I’m missing out on: a normal life complete with love, a family, a career and at least looking normal, rather than a tall, ugly freak.  WEP’s are also a greater threat as far as potential harassment goes.  I’ve felt the same about them even before I transitioned. I could deal with them when I had a partner and we’d go to the movies or to a restaurant.  I didn’t feel as self-conscious because I blended in back then and aside from my ugliness, there was little about me that made me stand out.

Rochester’s weather is making my life very difficult, as fab as getting out is concerned.  It’s not much warmer than it was during the snowstorm 2 weeks ago, but now it’s raining non-stop.  I worry that the makeup I plaster on my ugly face will get ruined by walking in the rain for more than a few minutes.  That is the last thing I want, because I’m self-conscious enough as it is about my hideous appearance.  Winters here are much harsher than my native UK.  While London has been enjoying spring temperatures for a month, there’s no sign of spring here yet.  Summer had better be good.  I’m so sick of being indoors. And having to wear clothing that makes me look big as well as tall when I go out.  

I tried to stand outside the clinic to use the wifi last night, but the rain was coming down and my fingers were too cold and numb to type anything. I couldn’t go anywhere else, especially on a Friday night.  As I was standing there, the sound of cars beeping and speeding and rowdy people hollering was making me extremely anxious.  I turned my uglyface to the wall, so that none of the rowdy WEP’s would see it.   I’m sure I look suspicious standing there and I hope that I don’t get told to leave, back to my apartment where I am completely cut off from the world.

I keep seeing a wifi network pop up on my non-phone that the staff use, but no one knows the password.   I don’t know why they can’t just provide wifi for the residents. I’d be willing to contribute for it, as would others.  Most of us can’t afford cable or the installation fees they charge. I don’t have a phone and I can’t get one until Social Security change my name.  I can’t stand feeling cut off during the times when I feel the most lonely and isolated.

Anyway, I’m going to boil my usual 2 eggs for breakfast and head over to the pharmacy side of the clinic for a few hours.   It’s open today until noon, so I need to make the most of that.   I don’t know what I’ll do for the rest of the day.  My head feels too scrambled to read and m.y stomach feels too fragile to exercise.  I’m running out of food, but I can’t go grocery shopping until I get paid on Wednesday.

Another shitty (and rainy) weekend beckons 

Even when I worked full time, I hated weekends.  I would’ve preferred a job where I had 2 days off during the week instead.  Weekends for me are lonely and I find it ten times as difficult to go out because of my fear of ‘weekend people’.  And add to that, the clinic being closed except for 3 hours on Saturday morning.  If I want to use the internet, it means standing outside the clinic in the cold and wet weather or going to the nearby coffee shop, which is tough because of weekend people.

Having friends would make a huge difference.  I’m less afraid of going out less self-conscious when I’m out with a friend or friends.  I have a better chance of blending in and not standing out as a sad, ugly loner.  But friends are seemingly out of reach for me. If the care I currently have was suddenly removed,  I’d have no human contact whatsoever.    I feel like I’ve been hit with old age early, in the sense of experiencing the same social isolation and loneliness that is usually associated with being elderly.

I borrowed 3 more books from those donated to the clinic.  I finished reading A Painted House this afternoon, faster than I’ve finished any book in my entire life.   Adderall certainly works.  If I’d been diagnosed at an early and placed on the right medication rather than written off as slow or stupid, who knows how fat I would’ve gone academically.  My life could’ve turned out very differently.

I haven’t eaten much today because I’m terrified of the abdominal pain returning. I’m not afraid of being ill, but I am afraid of ever having to go to hospital because of my deadname.

Weekend restlessness

I say this every weekend, but I hate weekends.  I also hate the fact that the weather is unseasonably cold and is making my life even more difficult than it should be.  I tried reading, but I can’t concentrate or take my mind off the fact that my life is completely up in the air.  My depression kicked in not long after I got back to my apartment.  I tried to sleep it off, but my restless energy won’t allow me to fall asleep.  I just lay in bed, with both my mind and my heart racing so much that I feel nauseous.

I need to get out of here again, but my non-phone will die within 10 minutes in the frigid temperature outside.  I’m also dreading walking through the foyer area of the apartment building to go out, because there are always people just sitting there aimlessly, because there’s nothing else for them to do.  I’m paranoid that they’re staring a hole in me as I walk past as quickly as possible, doing my best to avoid making accidental eye contact with any of them.

Regardless of the name change, would I be better off back in the UK anyway?   I don’t know anymore.  I avoid the news, because I don’t want to hear about nightmarish policy changes that could put my healthcare at risk here.  The best case scenario under the Trump administration is that no progress is made for the next 4 years.  The worst case scenario is that the policy changes many ruthless Republicans want will become law, putting me at risk.  I don’t want to know what’s going on in the news right now, but I’m pretty sure that none of it is good or positive.

I’m going to try to close my eyes for an hour or so before venturing out to publish this and check my email.  Weekends are all about killing time and trying not to lose my mind, because I can’t really go anywhere because of my fear of ‘weekend people’.  It was bad at the motel, but at least I had internet access there and didn’t have to go out just to connect with the world.  

Also, I’m even more self-conscious after being made aware yesterday that my pain and loneliness are visible to all.  I can’t fake a smile, but I do my best to hide my pain, but I’m clearly failing at that too.  So on top of being an ugly, disgusting freak, I also look sad, lonely and pathetic.  That’s just fucking great.