There is this one universal truth which applies to virtually every case of suicide, namely that the person in question didn't want to die at all, he or she just didn't want to keep on living. This was true for my cousin and I still feel like I'm treading in her footsteps. As long as life doesn't feel worth it, due to continuing experiences, pain, or anything else unpleasant, the decision to keep living one more day, one more hour for no apparent gain becomes more and more difficult, until the day comes when one sees no other choice but to decline life. Not to accept death, but to accept that one will stop living. It may seem like an insignificant difference, but it's a major difference only those who have gone through their own personal hell can really understand.
Last Tuesday I talked about this with my GP as well, and she understood it. She asked more questions about my wishes and opinions and I felt like we really reached a new level of understanding, for which I am grateful. If only other doctors and psychologists would be as understanding. Next Monday I'll be going to the VUMC again, for what feels like another soul crushing experience in which everything will be denied to me and no options made available.
One thing my GP was surprised by was the rationality behind my desire to be acknowledged by doctors, namely to get my official identity changed and to get all treatments fully paid for by my insurance instead of me paying the thousands of Euros for it each year.
Something the GP and I agreed on as well was that without a clear conclusion on how my body is put together and such, surgery can not even be considered, which is another thing I keep feeling amazed about. At this point the VUMC keeps telling me that "there's nothing" and that they consider me to be male. They completely ignore that my body has never felt like that of a male and in terms of reproductive organs it's even more confusing. Yet apparently it's not important to give some kind of explanation. Instead I get told over and over again that I will probably never know the answers. In which case there can be no bloody surgery, no matter what type, either, and I'm wasting my time at those retarded hospitals with their stupid, moronic idiots.
Last night I experienced one of the worst emotional collapses ever. I barely slept afterwards and at this moment I still feel terrible. Something I have come to realize is that over the past years I have to come negatively associate so many things, including things related to sexuality and relationships. With nearly everything I hear, read or see triggering something nasty and painful inside life is everything but fun. More and more ofen I wonder why I keep deciding to live one more day, or one more hour.
The American friend who sent a letter to Oprah Winfrey a few weeks ago still hasn't received a reply, nor have I to my letter I sent last year. The national media here doesn't think I'm worthy of a reply either. It all reinforces the idea for me that I'm a fool for exposing myself to this pain-filled Hell called 'life' over and over again.
Just tell me what the f*** I am already...