Sometimes, it is difficult to put things into words, emotional turmoils, horrific memories & when these things are at the peak of your being it is all you can really think about.
I try, to do my best, I try to give to others within my capabilities, I try to be there for people, I try to live, I try not to cause my own demise, I try to do alot of things that that are in the hopes, more rewarding for others then it is for myself.... I know I sound like a martyr, but whatever.
Why do I try? why do I 'try' and not 'do'? Because I do not desire to make commitments on things that may or may not become fruition to those commitments entire expectations.
Those of you that know me, and know the 'life' i have lived, that has taken most of who & what I am away, why I am no longer typically that upbeat optimist dreamer that those of you came to know a decade ago, when I first came here.
Most of you have absolutelly no idea why I am 'different' from before, why even though I enjoyed it & why I stopped writing, or well been unable to.
I have many ideas, I make plans, but there is things, even I am unable to comprehend holding me back.
I do not expose my reality to everyone, my history of traumas & medical and financial issues, sometimes I sure, I blurt it out in one of my 'fits' & or because I have grown to trust you enough with those tidbits of information.
I go out of my way to be there for you & sure sometimes in ways I would not doubt for a second that I may lean on you, may overwhelm & horrify you with the things I say.
I do not mean to & I am sorry for I am lost & broken.
The day I posted here for the first time, I was previeously within maybe 2 hours before posting, sat down & forced into an intervention; this is nothing criminal, drug, alcohol etc inflictional intervention.... It was an intervention regarding my plans on transition, right out of highschool.
I planned for many years to 'come out' & I tried but only got more abused.... I was enslaved, beaten, lost my innocense with continually being unconcentually used, sent to conversion therapies.... the list goes on.
For a long time & even still I am broken.
That intervention was monthes after I 'came out' I had waited for the full coming out until after highschool, because when I was in highschool, there was a girl like me transitioning openly.... she unfortunitelly made the list on a TRD (transgender remeberance/memorial day), the only details I know & it is from hearing conversations from distances, was at the least beaten.
I am sick to this day & blamed myself for never reaching out to her, for trying to cover my own being by not standing up for her & yes on 1 account I agreed with a random question twice on the morality or inmorality of her identifications, it was not by heart.... it was survival. Though I still blame myself everyday for that.... I was resentfull towards her, envious as she could have a happy life & supportive parents while even the slightest action or mention of my own femininity no matter how minor landed with extremly cruel abuse..... When the annuncement came one day when, about her demise it wass another breaking knot inside myself, I wish I got to know her..... while at the same time it pushed my transitional plans until gradutation, I had thought maybe 16, I could get emancipated, but life throws unexpected additions sme may call hurdles, walls, barriers etc in the way.
I had medical issues 3 life saving operations & most of my teen years was spent at london children's memorial hospital here in ontario, canada... not the UK lol. Relearned to walk not 3, but 4 times due to complications... all during my 13th and 16th years.... majority of the abuse obviously had to be at the least foregone... doctors where already asking questions and the nurses too on bruises and the like.... I learned long before that to keep my mouth shut & that no matter what I said the authorities would never believe me, or if they did like 1 account told me it was for my own good to straighten me out. Mind you my childhood until the teens hit was mostly in the 90's and that was before the boom in childhood transitions hit the media by like what I think a decade.
I came out to my parents and sibling and grandparents all separatelly, I did not want them cornered against a wall, or agree purely due to immediate persuasion of whomever else was present, I wanted and they needed true expression, so I knew whom to keep in my life & whom not too.
on my 19th or 20th... I still was not fulltime, the only time was in my group and individual therapies, where I would get together for the hour or 2, 1-2 times a week... dad helped, with hiding my stash in his trunk for me after.....
When I then came out due to a breakdown on my birthday, to my stepdad, he was not pleasant but at the time he was not downright an ass, expect later on when mum was not present... I told her a couple or was it 3 years prior.... she found my suicide letter & made the mistake of coming back for a moment to make sure it was within eyesight, so as, i dunno I wanted to at least show some respect, dispite their lack of respect for me.
She oddly whom is totally against therapy, advised me to get some, she said she still loved me, what a f****** joke.
When I broke down and told my stepdad, I was ordered to never do it in the house, to have none of whatever feminine belongings on the property etc.... mum even put a chain and lock on her wardrobes & I was treated even worse. I already had said belongings on the property, like most of us girls do, they were hidden, cuts in seams of large coats, toes of winter boots, under matress, behind dresser, you get the drift I reckon. So daily at least when I could leave the premises would take out 1-3 individual items at a time & hide them in the wood pile under the canoe, daddy would come late at night/early morning and collect what I had stashed.
1 day, I was heading out for a job interview & obviously used that escape moment to bring down my foam falsies (I was not within any financial capabilities & they took complete control of my finances, so daddy helped some), I had them hidden inside my coat pocket, it was late fall or very early spring. well when I was getting my footwear on, one of the falsies popped out and hit the floor, and Stepdad came and saw and well he grabbed me & shook me up, hurt me in some ways I do not completely remember....I do know however my ribs were so bruised it took monthes to heal & in severe enough pain they equaled as if they were broken, if they were or not I do not know, I never went to the hospital.
During the intervention, I was told all sorts of horrid things about transition, made up bull$hit, like having to use a spoon inside myself and that they perform it all without anestesia etc... I was told I would never find love... even mum said she never and did not love me, she went so far as to actualy say she should have done what my maternal grandparents advised & did the coat hanger trick (abortion). I asked why she changed, why she is reverting, why she is sticking up for him again, he has abused me, even my sister. I told her then what he had down & she got that look, no not the 'mom is pissed look' but that psycho-b***h look, where she is about to hurt you.... and she did she told me she never loved me, she never would, that no one ever has or ever will.... she told me I deserved it, for being a 'f***ing f***t'.
It was then I ran upstairs crying, I could not take anymore of the 'intervention', I broke down, knees to chest heaving... it took a bit to get my bearings & I dunno I exploded with this need to just put it all down, from my heart.... it is why it sounds even more like a declaration even well almost yelling, course it may not look it... part of why too was my therapist was initiating an attempt to get me to try his music therapy... he was a student therapist, so was learning & I was and am on government assitance, so my therapists were almost always students, 6 monthes at t time.
It did become a poem here 'I am a Girl'. That intervention, that night, was the tipping point of when I began my submissions.
As time went on I was abused more daily for majority of the spinoff series 'The girl in me'. I walked the hour back and forth each way during the day to work, especially when I stopped riding the bike when I got run over that May, worked for 6-10 sometimes longer hours a day & sat and wrote for 5 hour stretches daily, you would think that is more then enough time to put words down, but I was and at least then by no means secretarial inclined.... much like mum & she called it 'typer dan' 1 maybe 2 keys by looking at a time maybe if best a dozen words per minute.
Finally I told daddy what was happeing, he tried to give me a hug but.... like I mentioned my ribs even year later they were still painful I think it took 3 years before I got passed the pain. He then did the most miraculous thing, he told my grandparents as he was living with them since mum and dad's 1993 legally forced separation for domestic abuse.
My 80+ grandparents were 100% supportive and understanding, grandma even told me partially why, I will not give full details but needless to say, her eldest and only brother was like me, but due to the times kept to just crossdressing.... it was him, my great grandma & I think 4-5 sisters, greatgrandpa passed away when grandma was 8 from tarry lungs or something like that. So she knew about such things & the rest they knew, well was dr.phil stuff.
I moved in with them and dad, 1 day after my 20th or 21st birthday, I took care of them and my dad for just over 4 years. I took no job, I took care of them around the clock while maintaining fulltime transition... that is why my writing began to deteriorate, I was too busy. Then something happened, that put me into a melancholie state. I had met a girl from a friend, the relationship was complicated & literally told me she was gonna turn me les, and yes she knew my tg status.... she tried at best she was able to to a small degree get me bi/pan.
Due to my history, sex was ALWAYS off the table & I told her that often, which you can imagine she pretended to understand while seething.... after at least the dozenth time she was fed up and punished me by having me raped again.... it was then after all the years of therapy, that I reverted back into my broken state, that I worked so hard to overcome.... I stopped writing. I went back to her after a few weeks, she had me totally submissive to her & used it to her best potential... my therapists have suggested she was most likely a sociopathic narrccist & give my histoy I blieve they are right, my siser, stepdad and all my exes were the same.
I got away finally a few years later, got back into therapy and wrote 1 or 2 more pieces, until I was ganged twice within a month and a half span. I pulled back again.... I was living back with my mum and stepdad then and for the first year or so all was civil.... then the abuse began and grew all over again. Until I was 'formed', meaning admitted to psyche due to unrelenting suicidal idiation, they kept me the minimal 12 hours but were gonna keep me longer, though I negotiated with them... I had to be in the woman's domestic abuse shelter before the end of the night or they would readmit me for no less then 2 weeks... I did not desire to be restrained like that again & even with all the fear I did it. I packed my laptop and what few things I could carry in the bag, my purse filled up and what I could fit in my jackey.... more or less I left with nothing & fled.
I spent 4 monthes in 2 shelters, I was moved to the second for well; someone forund out my tg status and blackmailed me and abused me when I was there... I got tired of it and told her I would take it up with staff if she continued. I was unable to get up as a newborn was sleeping on my chest... due to my medical issues to get up she would have to be off so... when she came back from a cigerette outside she went to staff and told them I was abusing her, I was put in isolation.... for nearly 2 weeks... I starved myself and got dehydrated... my schitsophrenia started up again after soooooo many years & it got so bad that and I am not proud of it, tried and was unsuccessful of another attempt, this time was the closest I ever came, so a few days later I was told she got an extention to her stay so they advised I take the transfer, I was reluctant as some of my friends there began to stick up for me and believe me and help me once I explained, they advised me to take it so I did.
Lil over 1 1/2 mothes later I was oked for governmental/geared to income housing, though being on odsp, and it was still high price but I had to take it as per the rules of the shelter. I have been getting back, to myself but over all this crap, I have changed I am no longer that same little girl full of optimism and giddyness, that in comparison I was then. Those tht know me even if it was not then, know I am more of a pessimist now & rarely have a day where it is not filled with depressive overtones.
I was professionally diagnosed with many conditions over the past couple of years, which I was not permitted when I was younger..... I am starting to retrieve but my memories are very foggy, they come ad they go dissassociative faughe & amnesia, lovely result of consistant traumatic levels of abuse. Borderline personality disorder, caretakers burden, generalized & social anxiety, very high but forget the term/s or proper name of depression & my idiation is consistant but finally with meds is relatielly under control.
So sometimes I flip out, have fits, C-PTSD is a biatch... when I converse I tend to be too damn depressing & with things and my schitsophrenia I tend to be on the wary and at time flip out thinking this or that person has alterior motives, even if all they are doing is being kind and gentle... I hate this, they tried so long and multiple times broke me.... now I worry if they broke me so bad that I will never regain that full independance that due to what they did took from me.
All this is barelly even a scratch of everything else I did NOT mention here and now, there is far worse things, far more of a history, I have yet to be able to tell my 'story' fully even at a max therapy time of 2 hours.
I was advised to go this rehab facility, there are psyche wards in hospitals but no more asylums , rehab is available though it is not governmentally funded & expensive & even I know with the max single stay period would not even begin to settle things for me.
So that is why things are the way they are atm, I am sorry if it intrudes on other's needs, but I do not know how or any other way to put it, that can help pne understand, that I am not intentionally passing up on you, being slow at replys and messages, why sometimes I flip out... why I am no longer as I was before
I hope those of you, can understand what I am saying & why. I love helping, etc but sometimes I just am not al there enough to do what I intend to do...
So please, if get like this with anyone, please pretty please understand , I mean absolutelly no harm to anyone, I am sorry, I truly truly am sorry for any I have done & or any that may come up.
I love you all so much, met or not.... BCTS has been a huge lifeline for me, and it is not just the stories..... it is you all that are there for me and i am there for you... in my heart here at BCTS we are all family in our own waves even if so distant we never met.
<3