Every morning this year it's been the same story. If I didn't have some nightmare I don't remember any more from which I wake up with my fists closely clenched against my chest, I'll be waking up feeling quite alright until the first negative memories begin to trickle in through the daze of fitful sleep.
From that moment on I'll be going through such intense feelings of loneliness, abandonment, frustration, anger, humiliation, sadness and terror that I'll be struggling to not kill myself right then and there. A lack of easy means to do so is pretty much the sole reason why I'm still alive.
The reason why things are like this is because of a single acronym: DSD. Disorder of Sexual Development. It is the catch-all phrase for physical conditions where the development of an individual didn't result in a perfectly normal and socially acceptable man or woman. It is what the European Union, the US and many other places have decided to shove intersex conditions like mine into.
This leads to the situation where not being a regular male or female means only one thing: you're a freak but we're here to help you become normal. You'll be so happy once you're normal. Just a regular male or female.
I'm a hermaphrodite. My body is mostly female, but has enough male elements in the genital region that nobody would mistake me for a regular female when fully undressed. I have lived for twenty-one years in the understanding that I was male, while my body underwent a strong feminization during puberty. It has torn me apart, and I still find it really hard to deal with my youth.
I don't have to expend any effort to be seen as a regular woman in public, even at swimming pools. I'm fine with the way my body is, though I would like to get labia surgery to open up the vagina which is also present. It's there, so why not use it? This is my body, I was born with it. It's functional and healthy. What disorder?
My options as provided by the government and physicians here are to either undergo the transsexuality protocols, and undergo sex reassignment surgery. A risky procedure, which would remove any trace of male development in my body. The other option is to undergo beatings and constant humiliation, having medical care denied in any form or shape (I can't even get help for my suspected chronic bronchitis at the moment...), and live a terribly unhappy life.
So why don't I get SRS? Why don't I give up on being hermaphrodite? Because it wouldn't help me deal with my youth, it wouldn't help me deal with the PTSD I have suffered during the past years. Because it's not what I want, nor what I and others who know me feel is right for me. It'd just traumatize me even further.
Undergoing SRS is like voluntarily entering the gas chambers at Auschwitz. I'd be giving up my existence, the person I truly am right then and there.
For real development disorders which lead to life-long discomfort and health risks I can understand why surgery is recommended. Nobody would opt to live with a malformed spine or a not fully closed up skull. Those are conditions which should be corrected because there's no justification for not correcting them, unless your goal is torture.
I don't have a development disorder. Other than a standard check and diagnosis which should be required for most if not all intersex conditions to ensure that there's no increased risk of cancer or so due to development glitches which could be present in anyone anyway, there is NO medical need to use something as heavy-handed as sex-reassignment surgery. It's an unnecessary risk and unnecessary waste of tax money.
But do I have a choice? How long can I last until I break? After the terror of getting beaten up the Dutch police and spending time in jail with no idea how long I'd be staying there I don't think there's much to give any more. I'm still clinging on to life, even started a new blog (http://mayaposch.wordpress.com) which is only about programming and basically shows the real me, the person I want to be. Not this pathetic, traumatized pile of misery.
This morning I spent some time again thinking about suicide. There really isn't much to say against it, is there? Slow death or quick death. I'll pick the latter. Simple.
I don't want to die...