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Did I know I was a boy, in a sense I did because everyone kept telling me I was one. I just knew that wasn't right though and started praying and wishing I would wake up as a girl. Despite growing up in the 80s, I learned very early that there were others that felt like I did, what we were called, and that while maybe I couldn't be a girl, one day I could be a woman, although it would take more than wishes and prayers.
I was brought up in a very insular family, I barely knew other kids existed outside of family until I went to school. The few times I tried to tell my parents I was a girl, my Dad hurt me and told me to never say that again. Every time I tried to tell someone outside the family that I wasn't a boy I was told that I was wrong. Eventually, with enough negative reinforcement and outright denial, I figured I must be wrong so I started to repress. As the years went by I eventually repressed a good bit of myself. Looking back I can see that it was a survival instinct. But I knew that I was different, I knew that my instincts were feminine. Religion was used as a whip to force me into line, so I read the bible trying to find answers to why I felt this way. I read medical texts and scientific studies, all in an effort to figure out why I was the way I was. When puberty started, I was informed that in no uncertain terms, any man who dressed in women's clothes was a Gay man who simply didn't want to admit he was Gay. Despite the fact that I liked boys, I knew I couldn't be Gay, so I repressed it and I repressed the urge to dress in my sister's clothes. I'd managed to establish something of a wall in my head. Occasionally the wall would crack, and I'd be sure to patch it back up again. For a brief time, mostly my years in High School, I convinced myself I was just a normal boy.
When I went into the military it was my last resort. I'd already spent a year and a half living in my car. I didn't think I could survive another winter, and I wasn't getting ahead despite working four jobs at one point. Things were starting to slip in my head, having gotten away from my family, things were beginning to resurface. I figured that the military could "fix me" and make all of that go away. It had the opposite effect actually. More cracks developed in my walls, not less. I was terrified of being discovered. They would kick me out on a mental discharge and I'd be back to being homeless. I was being trained for a career, my one chance to have a future that didn't involve dodging the cops and finding someplace to sleep where they wouldn't find me. I couldn't concentrate on my studies, I was barely getting by and dangerously close to failing my classes. This time I made the choice to repress, I decided that I had to do it to get through the next four years, but I figured I could try to sort everything out after that. I used physical punishment, as I'd been taught by my father and the boys at school. After I learned to hide the bruises, I eventually managed to put up some of the strongest walls I'd ever made before. Occasionally I'd have a crack in the wall, but I'd easily patch it back up again.
When I 'popped my cap' it was twenty two years later. I'd only intended to repress for four years, until the end of my enlistment. I'd lived the past twenty two years convinced I was a straight cis-male. The thing that woke me up was HB2 in NC. I'd managed to find a wife, buy a house, and pretty much do all the "normal" domestic stuff you'd expect. I drank like a fish and was only holding on to my job by the skin of my teeth most days, but yeah, I was supposedly living the dream. But I was miserable, constantly annoyed and angry. But HB2 started conversations and made people want to know more. Eventually enough information got to me and it "clicked". It was like my sub-conscious had always been looking for the answer to what I am even though I'd convinced my conscious mind I was something completely different. My memories started coming back, and that was the end of me thinking I was male. I had my answers finally. I didn't fight it or try to deny. Growing up I thought that I was the only one out there like me. I thought I'd been born wrong, I thought I was broken. Now I had my answer, now I knew what I am. That was that, Pandora's Box was open. I reached inside and grabbed Hope, then let the rest fall where it will.
Sorry if this is TMI, but Writer's tend to expound on things a bit!
Love and Light!
Joshua, has your mother ever told you that you are a burden for her? I'm willing to bet that she has not. Is this new insurance putting a financial strain on her. Just about everybody's insurance premiums are going up so this is something that should be expected and allowances made for it. Your mother loves you and I'm sure she would willingly give her last cent for your wellbeing. Life is precious and worth living. Have you given any thought of how your life could be better? What would it take to make it better? Are you seeing a counselor? If so, is it helping?
Life can get better but you've got to take the steps to make it happen. You've been hospitalized several times. Is it helping any? Are you being prescribed medications for depression?
Life is worth living but you've got to stick around for that to happen. You appear to be stuck in a suicidal rut. If you would make the effort to break out of that rut. you would find that life would be a whole lot better. Why not give it a try. You've got nothing to lose and just maybe, a whole lot to gain.
Hello. I've wondered how you've been as I hadn't seen any posts from you lately. I'm glad you reached out. First, you're not a burden to anyone so get that out of your head. So you have a reason take care because of the upcoming party for your mom. What is it for? A special celebration?
You're correct that money should not dictate your healthcare needs but it sounds like you understand the impact to your mom. I'm sure she wants the best for you. What kind of activities have you been involved in recently? Are you back to work?
I've been suicidal for a while and have been hospitalized three times this year, once in April, once in May, and once in June-July. I feel like such a burden because of all the bills my mom pays for me to go to the hospital and get to the hospital by ambulance. I don't have a purpose for living. I can't go back into the hospital because we are having a party for my mom on Saturday and we also got new insurance so we'd be paying even more money than before. I know money shouldn't dictate getting help but it's my mom's money I'm using and the more I use the more of a burden I become. I feel like my life is either living in a hospital or dying.
Also, yes, I am aware there is a chat. I've been going there since 2011.