I`m again in a dark place.
But have I ever left?
I have bottled everything in me for so, soooo, sooooo long.
So this post will be about me. The true me. Me opening up, sheering, coming out, letting it out. At last some of it.
You have been warned.
Someone once told me that the entire Universe hates me, because there is just no other explanation – no one can have so much misfortune in his life.
I never complained. I have learned to keep my s**t together and move one. No one needed to be bothered with my emotions, fears and worries.
Actually no one ever cared about how I felt… and I felt lonely, unloved, unwanted, misunderstood, hated…
I felt disgusted with myself. I hated myself. I hated myself so much that I tried to kill myself. I have survived my suicide attempt just to get involved in an accident that ended with me being unable to move. I was just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Two times a day a nurse came by and gave me injections with painkillers… I got addicted. Just lying, staring at the ceiling and waiting, and craving this bliss to fill my veins. This state of feeling nothing…
And one day I was told that probably I won’t be able to get up ever again…
I was devastated.
I cried till I wasn’t able to cry anymore.
So I was damaged. Useless. Not worthy of any effort. I was garbage.
It took a lot of stupidity and painkillers, and I literary threw myself out of bed. Did I mentioned a LOT of stupidity? After a few weeks of trying I was able to crawl around my bedroom. After some more weeks I was able to walk on all fours (hands and knees) – still only around bed. When my doctor got the happy news I was “out of bed” he cut me of the painkillers. It took months till I got to stand up. It took a lot of screaming and crying in pain till I managed to walk again and got clean.
I was (and still am) in pain but back on my feet.
The end? No. You may think it would be enough of “life experience” for one person, but don’t forget – the Universe hates me.
It turned out I have Hashimoto’s disease and it explained so much. When I was at the hormone alley my PCOS was also discovered and it explained even more. I was like: “It will be OK. You can do this.” I was once again my own support. I was there for myself. I literally hold my own hand. Pated myself on the head and wiped away my tears. It was me against the world. Again. Alone.
Not a long time after I felt ill again. After some convincing my doctor ordered a glucose tolerance test. The blood sample was drawn, I drank the glucose, the second sample was drawn. I went home. A few hours later a nurse came running to my house. Ringing the bell like crazy and pounding at the door. Turned out the laboratory checked three times and faxed the results to my doctors office with the message someone should immediately check if I`m still alive because my glucose levels where somewhere around the Horsehead nebula. . . . that was fun.
It turned out I have diabetes. BAM!
That I will have to take insulin. BAM!
Once again, there I was – trying to hold myself together.
Once again, there I was – lying to myself that I can do this on my own.
Once again, there was only my own hand to hold…
I was terrified.
Let’s just say that at the beginning I was horrible at shooting insulin. My belly was a blue-yellow-brown-purple-black mess. And I was losing it. I couldn’t make it work anymore. I was exhausted. And it was tempting to overdose the insulin. To shoot everything at once…
Yes. There I was. A suicidal introvert with constant back pain, Hashimoto`s, PCOS, Diabetes, Depression… Hallo? Universe? Anything you would like to add?
Of course you would.
This story needs to begin much further back when I still had my periods. They were heavy and lasted for 2 weeks. Apparently I was ” oversensitive about myself” and everything was OK… well it wasn’t. And it got only worse with time. 3 weeks of constant heavy bleeding – totally normal. But then! Absolutely suddenly – it stooped. Completely. Definitive. No more bleeding. Nothing. I was 25 – the diagnosis – Menopause. Whatever. Fine with me. I forgot about sanitary pads, tampons…
I forgot about that part of my body that didn’t belonged to me. The part that I hated and wanted to get rid of. The part that wasn`t me. And finally I felt somehow free but still hiding in the closet.
I am transgender.
It took me a long time to admit it to myself. But while staring at the selling I had time to think about it. It was so obvious. But it always needed to be well hidden. From my family, classmates, coworkers, … It still needs to be…
Because of it I never was in a relationship. I am unable to lie to someone about it. It would be nice if someone would like me for who I am and not for who I pretend to be. That’s why I`m always alone. Well and because I`m ugly, disgusting actually… Who would like to get involved with someone like me?
Despite everything I was still holding it together.
Somehow.
Till recently.
I fell apart and I struggle to hold the last whole part sane.
After 9 long years of slumber the monster has awaken and started bleeding again.
Believe me it was a real torment to get myself to go to the gynecologist again.
He send me to a hospital to take a sample for the histopathology. I waited and called and waited and waited and called and asked if they have the results and waited. Till one day a nurse called me and told me that the Head of the Gynecology Department would like to speak to me about my histopathology results and that I should come the next day to his office…
You know where this is going, don’t you?
Yep!
Drums please and a big applause to the Universe for the most wicked plot twist.
Precancerous Changes to the Cervix.
With the family history of cancer it’s not a big surprise, but still…
I did it all alone till now. I struggled but I was holding it together the best I could. I didn’t wanted to be a burden to anyone. But I can’t do it alone anymore.
I confess – I`m jealous when I see the husbands coming to visit their wives at the hospital. It hurts. It hurts more that I would ever like to admit. It hurts to know that there is no one who would even care a teeny-tiny bit about me.
It hurts to know that the only hand that ever will be reaching out to me will be the hand of death.
I’m sorry to hear about your diagnosis, and about your history. Both are devastating and you are well within your rights as a human being to feel as if the Universe hates you. It doesn’t, by the way – your depression just isn’t letting you see the many ways in which The Universe shows its love. For one thing, you were born with resilience and internal strength, or you would not have made it this far. You know how to read and write, you can string together some decent sentences, and you are clearly able to afford to spend time and/or money to use the internet. You’re already more fortunate than millions of other human beings on Earth.
I know from my own recovery efforts that your feelings of being “ugly” and “disgusting” stem from the denial of your authentic self. That isn’t to say it’s all your fault. The circumstances of a lot of people’s lives do not allow them to live an “authentic” life. But learning to accept who you is vital in order to heal the emotional wounds of having to hide that part of yourself, and healing those wounds is the only way you can ever hope to find happiness and emotional fulfillment in your life.
Accepting who you are doesn’t mean loving your imperfections – physical or emotional. It doesn’t even mean you have to be happy to have the “plumbing” you were born with. Acceptance just means that you accept the presence of your imperfections, that you realize that everyone else has flaws too, and that you will refuse to let your imperfections keep you from living your life.
Now, that’s a lot easier to say than it is to live. Trust me – I battle with my self-esteem and worthiness on a daily basis. But I can also think logically and, logically speaking, history tells us that beauty is no more a predictor of happiness than it is of wealth or mental stability. Attractiveness (a) is subjective; (b) does not last forever; and (c) does not make one immune to depression or heartache. A quick look at some of history’s “most beautiful people” proves how subjective standards of beauty are. I think of a person’s appearance like wrapping paper. Pretty wrapping paper can be used to wrap a piece of dried-up dog poo just as easily as it can wrap a gold bar. And the funny thing about appearance is that, as you get to know someone, you find their appearance more pleasing or disgusting in direct proportion to how much you enjoy their company.
And finally… you aren’t dead yet!!! You have “pre-cancerous” changes to your cervix… that isn’t a full-on cancer diagnosis. And even if a cancer diagnosis is imminent, it is not necessarily a death-sentence. Many people get diagnosed with cancer every day. Many of them get treatment and go on to survive “the big C.” So it’s not too late!!! If you want your life to change, you have to change the way you live your life.
Best wishes,
SullenGirl76