It's 3am and insomnia has me in its hold once again.
I have to leave for work in an hour but I can't find the energy to prepare my shit. I'll end up throwing on my uniform and leaving 5 minutes late again. I just can't be bothered.
I'm one week out from my quarter century. It's amazing I'm still here, I never wanted to survive. I regret each and every day that passes by for the simple fact that I'm alive. I could never top myself though, not deliberately. Too much thought goes into it and the entire thing become much, much more complicated than just trudging through another day and living on.
I just don't fit in anywhere. I have friends, support groups and family, but no matter what, I'm always on the outside, looking in. I'm that one jigsaw piece that doesn't fit anywhere, hell, I don't even have the same picture printed on me.
My story, like many others, starts when I was born. 4:15am, 22nd February 1988. Two whole minutes after my twin sister was delivered stillborn. My mother didn't even know she was carrying twins. All through the pregnancy she was told to expect a daughter. I was just there, after the most horrific experience of my mothers life. I was her reminder of the pain, her stigmata.
My upbringing was fairly normal, growing up with 2 older brothers and an older sister, living just above the poverty line, with no father. Because of my mothers decision to have her tubes tied after 3 kids, and subsequently untied, my siblings were all 2 years apart in age, whereas I was 6 years younger than my youngest brother. I started out life being secluded. I was the young brother no one wanted to play with. Too young to do what they wanted. I was too young for their hand-me-downs so my mother put effort into getting me top of the line things when she could.
Once I was well into primary school I still had trouble fitting in with the other kids. I had 'friends' but I didn't spend much time with them. I became extremely interested in technology and electronics and would spend 95% of my spare time alone with various things pulled apart to see how they worked. At 12 I got my first computer and was hooked on the physical aspect of them. How could all this wire and plastic make images on a screen? I had to know. By 15 I was building PC's and selling them to make extra money. I was still awkward in high school, having 'friends' and trying to fit in, but I was still the odd one out. I could never figure out exactly what it was. It wasn't until I started dating that I started to work it out.
If asked to define my gender, I'd only say male because, well, I was born that way. In my mind though, I'm genderless. It took 5 years of doctors visits and counseling to be told that what I was experiencing was a documented mental illness. Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Now I had answers for why I hated myself so much, why I'd look at my body in the mirror and want to take to it with a razor. My main issue is my genitals, I don't want them. If they weren't there I could be what I want, completely androgynous and genderless. I was sent off to support group after support group but once again, didn't fit in with them. They had the same illness as me, but their cases weren't as severe as mine. I managed to become acquainted with a guy who's case was similar to mine. Where I despised my genitals and saw them as 'alien', he saw his left leg as 'alien'. It simply wasn't his and he wanted it gone. We bonded for a few short weeks and supported each other when we felt like doing something stupid. One day I went to the support group and asked why he hadn't come in for the last few sessions, I was told that he had taken a chainsaw to his leg and was now a ward of the state and permanently locked away. Just like that my support was gone.
I launched into depression, drinking my life away, passing from one relationship to the next in quick succession. Constantly moving, changing jobs. Eventually I came up with a plan. I decided to look into the surgery to be nullified. I found a surgeon that was willing to do the procedure, however, he would not do it before I was 25. I was 19 at the time so this would have given me plenty of time to think it over and decide whether I really wanted to go through with it. I left his office feeling better because I knew I had an option. I became heavily involved in the body modification scene and met with a doctor who specialized in 'alternative' surgeries. We talked for a couple of months and I opened up about my dysmorphia and the surgery I wanted. He was interested but could not perform it himself. He told me that he could perform other surgeries that would effectively turn me into a living Ken doll. This included nipple removal, ear removal and the removal and sewing up of my navel. I was intrigued and booked in to go through the specifics with him. After sitting down and taking about the recovery, dangers and restrictions of the surgery I decided to take him up on the offer. We hashed out a timeline and he booked me in for my first time under the knife, which was to take place in 6 months.
During that 6 months I fell in love with a woman and became engaged. I had not hidden my dysmorphia or the fact that I was about to undergo the first of many surgeries that would change my appearance. I thought she understood, or would at least voice any concerns to me. However, a month before I was due for surgery I got a call from the doctor saying he'd been contacted by my fiance saying not to perform the operation or he'd face legal action. I was stunned. Someone I thought was finally able to love me with all my issues had essentially stabbed me in the back. I lost my shit and ended up single and homeless. Falling back into depression I was offered a free plane ticket and a house in another state I decided it was time I moved and try to start anew.
I spent the first 8 months after moving in my house. Never leaving and only seeing my housemate. I got out of my depression and started working and socializing with my housemates friends because I knew no one. I was introduced to a guy who ended up becoming somewhat infatuated with me. He kept asking me out but I had not ever thought that I was gay. I was gender blind essentially, everyone, male or female, was attractive to me. I had just never given thought to dating a man before. In the end I said yes to a relationship with him after sitting him down and explaining my dysmorphia and making sure he understood that I was going to have the surgery as soon as I could. It turned out that he was born with a gender issue as well, however he was the complete opposite end of the spectrum. He was born with both genitalia and basically wanted what I had. He couldn't understand why I wanted it gone, but he supported me anyway. The relationship lasted a year and a half. In the end I left him because he had become manipulative and mentally abusive. I moved back to my hometown a month later.
The depression hit again and I went through another period of homelessness. Eventually I found a place to live, got my current job and started getting my life on track. I still rarely leave the house other than for work. I have a handful of friends that I can still hang out with after ditching them all and leaving for 4 years without a word. I have others I'd like to hang out with again, but things never seem to work out.
Now I'm here, one week out from being 25. The age where I can finally go for my surgery if I still want to. I'm not in a place in my life where I can comfortably go through with it anymore. I'd need 6 months off work, which I'll never get. I'd need support throughout all that time because I'll be bedridden. It's just not feasible. And because of that, I'm in a depressive spiral again.
It'd be so much easier if I just weren't alive, but even death is too complicated for me.
Fuck, now I'm late for work -_-'
Ignore these sleep deprived ramblings of a drunkard who is avoiding going to work. This all just needed to come out.
I have to leave for work in an hour but I can't find the energy to prepare my shit. I'll end up throwing on my uniform and leaving 5 minutes late again. I just can't be bothered.
I'm one week out from my quarter century. It's amazing I'm still here, I never wanted to survive. I regret each and every day that passes by for the simple fact that I'm alive. I could never top myself though, not deliberately. Too much thought goes into it and the entire thing become much, much more complicated than just trudging through another day and living on.
I just don't fit in anywhere. I have friends, support groups and family, but no matter what, I'm always on the outside, looking in. I'm that one jigsaw piece that doesn't fit anywhere, hell, I don't even have the same picture printed on me.
My story, like many others, starts when I was born. 4:15am, 22nd February 1988. Two whole minutes after my twin sister was delivered stillborn. My mother didn't even know she was carrying twins. All through the pregnancy she was told to expect a daughter. I was just there, after the most horrific experience of my mothers life. I was her reminder of the pain, her stigmata.
My upbringing was fairly normal, growing up with 2 older brothers and an older sister, living just above the poverty line, with no father. Because of my mothers decision to have her tubes tied after 3 kids, and subsequently untied, my siblings were all 2 years apart in age, whereas I was 6 years younger than my youngest brother. I started out life being secluded. I was the young brother no one wanted to play with. Too young to do what they wanted. I was too young for their hand-me-downs so my mother put effort into getting me top of the line things when she could.
Once I was well into primary school I still had trouble fitting in with the other kids. I had 'friends' but I didn't spend much time with them. I became extremely interested in technology and electronics and would spend 95% of my spare time alone with various things pulled apart to see how they worked. At 12 I got my first computer and was hooked on the physical aspect of them. How could all this wire and plastic make images on a screen? I had to know. By 15 I was building PC's and selling them to make extra money. I was still awkward in high school, having 'friends' and trying to fit in, but I was still the odd one out. I could never figure out exactly what it was. It wasn't until I started dating that I started to work it out.
If asked to define my gender, I'd only say male because, well, I was born that way. In my mind though, I'm genderless. It took 5 years of doctors visits and counseling to be told that what I was experiencing was a documented mental illness. Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Now I had answers for why I hated myself so much, why I'd look at my body in the mirror and want to take to it with a razor. My main issue is my genitals, I don't want them. If they weren't there I could be what I want, completely androgynous and genderless. I was sent off to support group after support group but once again, didn't fit in with them. They had the same illness as me, but their cases weren't as severe as mine. I managed to become acquainted with a guy who's case was similar to mine. Where I despised my genitals and saw them as 'alien', he saw his left leg as 'alien'. It simply wasn't his and he wanted it gone. We bonded for a few short weeks and supported each other when we felt like doing something stupid. One day I went to the support group and asked why he hadn't come in for the last few sessions, I was told that he had taken a chainsaw to his leg and was now a ward of the state and permanently locked away. Just like that my support was gone.
I launched into depression, drinking my life away, passing from one relationship to the next in quick succession. Constantly moving, changing jobs. Eventually I came up with a plan. I decided to look into the surgery to be nullified. I found a surgeon that was willing to do the procedure, however, he would not do it before I was 25. I was 19 at the time so this would have given me plenty of time to think it over and decide whether I really wanted to go through with it. I left his office feeling better because I knew I had an option. I became heavily involved in the body modification scene and met with a doctor who specialized in 'alternative' surgeries. We talked for a couple of months and I opened up about my dysmorphia and the surgery I wanted. He was interested but could not perform it himself. He told me that he could perform other surgeries that would effectively turn me into a living Ken doll. This included nipple removal, ear removal and the removal and sewing up of my navel. I was intrigued and booked in to go through the specifics with him. After sitting down and taking about the recovery, dangers and restrictions of the surgery I decided to take him up on the offer. We hashed out a timeline and he booked me in for my first time under the knife, which was to take place in 6 months.
During that 6 months I fell in love with a woman and became engaged. I had not hidden my dysmorphia or the fact that I was about to undergo the first of many surgeries that would change my appearance. I thought she understood, or would at least voice any concerns to me. However, a month before I was due for surgery I got a call from the doctor saying he'd been contacted by my fiance saying not to perform the operation or he'd face legal action. I was stunned. Someone I thought was finally able to love me with all my issues had essentially stabbed me in the back. I lost my shit and ended up single and homeless. Falling back into depression I was offered a free plane ticket and a house in another state I decided it was time I moved and try to start anew.
I spent the first 8 months after moving in my house. Never leaving and only seeing my housemate. I got out of my depression and started working and socializing with my housemates friends because I knew no one. I was introduced to a guy who ended up becoming somewhat infatuated with me. He kept asking me out but I had not ever thought that I was gay. I was gender blind essentially, everyone, male or female, was attractive to me. I had just never given thought to dating a man before. In the end I said yes to a relationship with him after sitting him down and explaining my dysmorphia and making sure he understood that I was going to have the surgery as soon as I could. It turned out that he was born with a gender issue as well, however he was the complete opposite end of the spectrum. He was born with both genitalia and basically wanted what I had. He couldn't understand why I wanted it gone, but he supported me anyway. The relationship lasted a year and a half. In the end I left him because he had become manipulative and mentally abusive. I moved back to my hometown a month later.
The depression hit again and I went through another period of homelessness. Eventually I found a place to live, got my current job and started getting my life on track. I still rarely leave the house other than for work. I have a handful of friends that I can still hang out with after ditching them all and leaving for 4 years without a word. I have others I'd like to hang out with again, but things never seem to work out.
Now I'm here, one week out from being 25. The age where I can finally go for my surgery if I still want to. I'm not in a place in my life where I can comfortably go through with it anymore. I'd need 6 months off work, which I'll never get. I'd need support throughout all that time because I'll be bedridden. It's just not feasible. And because of that, I'm in a depressive spiral again.
It'd be so much easier if I just weren't alive, but even death is too complicated for me.
Fuck, now I'm late for work -_-'
Ignore these sleep deprived ramblings of a drunkard who is avoiding going to work. This all just needed to come out.
