Saturday, 24 March 2012
Intersex As Death Sentence; I Died Years Ago
Last night I found myself wondering about the appeal of social networks like Google+ to me and my inability to easily leave it alone for a while without conscious effort. This led to the realization that the brief interactions make me feel better about myself, but also made me aware of this gaping hole inside me where me as a person should have been. All I have is this desperate need to make money. All I am is a desperate intellect working every day and a victim of severe abuse trying to get attention for a world-wide tragedy while nobody listens.
As a child I didn't understand what I was and thus I was unable to develop myself emotionally. As a teenager I didn't understand who or what I was either and experienced no emotional growth either. By the time I found out what I was I quickly became so tangled up in the torture practices of Dutch healthcare and politics for intersex individuals, not to mention that I got repeatedly sexually assaulted, abused and raped over the course of seven years. No healthy emotional growth took place during this time. It's only my strong intellectual side keeping me alive.
While this all occurred to me last night I managed to get to bed. While trying to fall asleep I found myself unable to ignore the feeling of discomfort. I figured that just crying for a while would help relieve the pressure and I could fall asleep that way. Soon after I allowed myself to cry I noticed that things were going horribly wrong.
The pain intensified. I knew I had to go downstairs and grab those pills, take them all and die. Yet I held myself back. I realized that my situation is only worsening and every day another part of me dies while people around me go on with their lives and I'm still that 8-year old child, incapable of ever moving ahead in life. I won't ever have my own place, become financially independent, have real-life friends or even a relationship. This body of mine is a waste.
Part of my mind acknowledged the desire to extinguish my own existence, recognized it from previous occurrences and realized that the only way I'd get through this without severe physical injuries or even dying was to physically restrain myself. It forced my hands to grab on to my upper arms and not let go. Without that I would have been bleeding from countless gauges, have bruises all over, including possible brain trauma from this strong desire to bash my head against the wall until I'd pass out.
I was rolling around on my bed, crying, sobbing and begging to end the pain, with my head bashing into the pillow as violent urges surged through my body and my fingernails dug deeper and deeper into my arms as another part of me resisted the commands to inflict gruesome damage upon this worthless body. I'm not sure how long this lasted... it could have been five minutes, it could have been fifteen or even an hour. All I remember is that eventually I calmed down and promptly fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.
I still think that I should have died in January of last year when I tried to commit suicide. It would have prevented this further degradation of my psyche and probably been more gentle to my mother as well who keeps having to watch on as the Dutch politicians, psychologists and physicians keep torturing and denying the reality of one of her own children. I do not wish to hear people say that life is worth living, because I'm convinced it isn't and nobody can convince me of the opposite other than through physically, fundamentally changing my situation.
In preparation for this article I looked around for suicide risk factors, and came across this article  at the US National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) on suicides in the US. The sentence whereby I nearly started crying was the following:
"Most suicide attempts are expressions of extreme distress, not harmless bids for attention. A person who appears suicidal should not be left alone and needs immediate mental-health treatment."
I do not expect to feel not alone any time soon. I do not expect to move to a safe place any time soon, let alone receive treatment for the severe psychological trauma I suffer from. It is very reasonable to expect that I will be dead tomorrow.
And there isn't a bloody thing I can do about it. All the more reason to commit suicide, it seems. I have been 'holding on' for seven years. I can't continue doing that for much longer. Events like that of last night show that I'm on the verge of losing my last hold on life. I can only resist those self-destructive urges for so long. Anyone who has experienced such urges or is close to someone who is going through the same thing can understand. Anyone else is unlikely to understand the severity of this situation.
There's nothing keeping me from committing suicide and succeeding this time. There's no logical argument to be made for resisting it any longer. I have wondered for a long time about whether I'm deluding myself into thinking that suicide is the proper course, but with events like last night's highlighting again how much pain I'm pushing away and how I'm ignoring all that is wrong and getting worse, it's clear that thinking that there is hope and that things are getting better is the real delusion.
Anyone want to help me commit suicide without causing too much of a mess for others to clean up? I'd really appreciate it.