Thursday, 29 September 2011

A Day In The Life Of A Stranger In A Strange Land

This morning I once again woke up in what could be called my room, but isn't really. It's filled with full moving boxes and all the other elements of my life which I had to postpone while I try to find a way out of what seems like an impossible to change descent into death. It's a depressing sight, not to mention a constant reminder that things still aren't alright.

I had to take a shower this morning as I had an appointment at the beauty salon in Deventer. It's not easy for me to take showers any more, as it is a confrontation with this body of mine, which is a constant, painful reminder that it is what caused my life to spiral downwards like this. Or maybe it wasn't and it is this country I was born in which is responsible for what happened to me. I don't like assigning blame. I just want to do fun things in life and people to not be mean to others. Even if they're just following protocol. Following protocols, regulations and laws isn't being humane.

The stress of arranging such a simple surgery due to the difficulties encountered has pushed me over the edge in many ways. I couldn't even brush my teeth this morning without it causing me to start feeling nauseous and throwing up the breakfast I had consumed an hour before. I hate throwing up. It makes you feel so terrible and weak. Yet the stress is only going to get worse from here on. I wonder what's worse than throwing up which is caused by extreme, chronic, untreated stress? I guess I'll find out soon enough.

Anyway, I digress. I was talking about my difficulty with taking showers as it confronts me with my body. Being confronted with the moving boxes in the room I sleep in, and the problem formed by my body. This morning I was also expecting to hear news from another clinic in Germany via my friend Sandra regarding the orchiectomy. That news turned out to be a 6 week wait for a EUR 150 intake. No good option. I still don't get why the M√ľnster clinic need so long either to decide whether they want to help me. Eventually I succumbed and just told Sandra to arrange an appointment for next week, even if it was in Hamburg. Somehow it has to be done. I have been stuck on arranging this minor, 30-minute surgery for one and a half month now. It's part of the tragedy that is my life, it seems.

Thus I spent today's morning. Around noon I left for the trainstation for my appointment at the beauty salon. As I don't like to dress shabbily when going outside, I was wearing black leggings, short jeans and a white T-shirt with a colourful print on it featuring a French text. I put on some makeup as well. Just some mascara and eye-liner. I was glad it was a nice warm and sunny day today. I'm still not comfortable thinking about myself as a regular woman, though. There's still so much missing inside of me, not to mention the years of mental abuse by psychologists and physicians who tried to brainwash me into thinking that I had to be a guy. That on top of years of self-delusion which took me two decades to snap out of. I'm neither a guy or girl. I'm... something. I need therapy and help to get over this.

Going to Deventer by train was very familiar. Been going there for months now for these electric epilation treatments. While in the train I spent my time reading a newspaper I found there and in my current book, Stephen King's Black House. It's a good book so far. It's co-authored by Peter Straub, another of my favourite authors.

After getting off the train and not forgetting to check out with my digital public transport card, I walked out of the station hall into Deventer. I had to don my sunglasses as it was very sunny today. I made it to the beauty salon well on time as usual. I chatted a bit with some of the interns who work there, most of whom already know about my situation. I notice that I really enjoy this weekly bit of social interaction. It makes me almost feel like I'm not a reject of society. Until the appointment is over and I leave the salon, of course.

The electric epilation treatment is going quite well. Last week the beautician asked me to stop shaving part of the area that is being treated as she really can't see the hairs there otherwise. They're just getting too small. After the first treatment I got a back massage from one of the interns. They get to practice that way, and I get a free massage. I think it's a pretty fair trade, although part of me feels a bit guilty because I don't feel like I am giving back enough. I have that a lot. The massage was followed by another round of electric epilation. Most of the long hairs are gone now. Just got to heal up again.

After the beauty salon appointment I went to check out this lawyer I had contacted via email about two weeks ago regarding the damages caused to me by the police and others, but from whom I hadn't received a response yet. It was a surreal experience walking further into the center of Deventer. Decrepit buildings and randomly laid out streets. Lots of people around who didn't look like they were doing so well in life either. A few times I heard beeping and cat whistles behind me as guys tried to draw my attention. I guess I should be flattered. Part of me was. Another part hates acting like I'm a regular girl as I know the horrible truth. I also know that I can not live with this truth forever.

The lawyer's office turned out to be some shared building, and after pressing the door bell for the lawyer's office I didn't get a response, so I walked back to the station. On my way there phrases from various Stephen King books I have read over the years popped into my head. Mostly descriptions of people and surroundings. Decay being a prominent item. Around me I could see it as well. A crowded city, filled with people who are too tired to live any more but are going on anyway. Young people being oblivious of the decay and hopelessness around them. I did see some fancy stores in one street, though. It's not a place where I would want to live. It doesn't feel real.

Few things feel real any more, I guess. Humans are very good at pretending that reality is different from what their senses perceive. I guess it's also why so many people I talk to do not understand or see that my situation is anything but stable and without external stable I am very likely to end up dead. The constant pains in my lower abdomen which are almost unbearable are a reminder of this. Which pains are just in my head and which are real? Which pains are caused by the stress and which are due to some malignant medical condition?

In a proper world I wouldn't have gone through all of this. I wouldn't have suffered at all. I wouldn't have severe, untreated PTSD.I wouldn't have to flee the country I was born and raised in. Little wonder that I so badly want this suffering to end that I'm ready to quit life altogether. After the nosedive my life took, seven years ago, there's absolutely no sign that things are improving. So far it's just more of the same old promises-and-betrayal. Maybe I'll get the orchiectomy performed after all and my legal gender changed, but what then? Will I make it to Canada or another safe country? Will I ever get treatment for my PTSD? Will anyone powerful ever admit that I was treated horribly and arrange protection for me?

More promises. More pending betrayals. More broken dreams. Just the endless waking up in a room surrounded by the ruins of my life, and no way to fix it. I can't do anything, it's been beyond my powers for years.

This isn't a life. This isn't an existence. It's just an endless, cruel nightmare which some demonic god put on repeat. I'm only playing along while I still have this little shred of hope that it will end one day and this world will no longer feel like part of the nightmare, with everyone just put there to make me feel even worse.

Today there's still no conclusion to the orchiectomy adventure either. Haven't heard from Sandra since this morning. Kinda worried. I hope I'm feeling okay tomorrow. Waking up feeling suicidal is a risky thing. I have already made sure there's nothing in the room where I sleep which I can use to kill myself with. Nothing can keep me from punching, scratching and strangling myself, though. The ability to harm myself and feel physical pain is my only weapon against this nightmare at this point anyway. Only through it can I keep a connection with reality and feel human again for a bit. Without physical mutilation I would already be dead. It's pathetic and sad.

My life is sad. Tragicomedy, or just tragedy. Don't most tragedies end with the death of the main character? I wonder how mine will end... Just a bit longer until the curtains are drawn after the last act completes. The currently final act is about which will give out sooner: my mind or my body. Both suffered so much abuse the past years. Both are on the verge of collapse. It's going to be exciting.

And in a way I'm relieved that there is a good chance that I will be slipping quietly out of this life. Would have loved to have given it another whirl, but one has to be fair about when there's no chance to win any more and gracefully give up.

*bows as the curtains are drawn closed*


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