Before 2005 I didn't have a body. While others said I did, I couldn't tell you anything about it which wasn't based on what others said about it, some of which even contradicted. Deep down, the part of me which was connected to the body still firmly believed that it was the body of a child, not that of a teenager or adult. In my daily experiences I only encountered this body when there was a need for items like clothing, personal hygiene and a haircut, but that was as much related to me as playing with a doll is.
In 2003 I lost my home and most of my family when my parents divorced. It would be the first of many times moving to a new place, on average moving once a year. It also meant that I had to become completely self-reliant as I didn't have any parents any more with an income who could take care of me. I'd also keep losing more and more of my possessions with each move, until the complete loss of everything that remained this year. All that remained to me was finding my body.
I think I have found my body at this point, even though the Dutch medical system still contests this. Their claim that I am a biological male is something which seems so patently absurd at this point that I won't even bother with it any more. Thus remains what both the Dutch courts and German physicians agree on: I'm a hermaphrodite, with a primarily female build. It's really all I wanted to know, back when I was 5 years old already. If I had known it back then it could have saved me from the horrific and traumatizing years that would follow, from the run-up to puberty, to puberty itself and the years afterwards. Yet now I finally know. This is my body. It's what I am. It seems so inconsequential, but it's actually the most important thing to a human being. Everything else arises from it.
Thus what is left is to find that house and with it a home. How is this similar to finding one's body, one might ask? Both are highly personal things with tremendous meaning and consequences to one's future and happiness. Missing one makes the other seem rather insignificant.
The past nine years that I was looking for my body I spent many days researching medical and other topics. Anything that might help me. Even if reading about such things would make me feel horrible and sickened. Even if I felt depressed and suicidal afterwards. I had to push through without relenting, because it had to be done. There could be no existence for me without it. The attempts by Dutch physicians and psychologists to push me away and into their preconceived notions did untold damage to me, as I had to resist, or forever lose myself. I could be living as a transsexual right now, going happily along with whatever Dutch physicians told me. But I didn't believe them, because I felt it wasn't right. It was an immense struggle between specialists and me in there somewhere. Separating fact from fiction.
Now that I'm looking for a home I find that it reminds me unpleasantly of the search for my body. Again I get the nay-sayers, the ridicule, the often well-meant distractions and suggestions. Again I have to confront myself with the question of what I am looking for, what it is that I want. Digging through piles of information and having to foresee any issue which may crop up later. Again I feel like regularly throwing up my arms in despair and just let things for what they are. Before I told myself I was content with dying as I wouldn't find my body anyway. Now I sometimes find myself thinking that I don't really care any more, that I won't find a home ever again anyway.
I have had to adjust my house search radius to just the Karlsruhe outskirts and direct surroundings as I'd get completely overwhelmed by options. I hope it works out now. I really don't know any more. If this works out I can finally put this all behind me. Right now I'm just reliving the same nightmare I have lived in since I was five years old, being lost and alone, with emotions and feelings as the most undesirable thing imaginable. Without emotions life would be so much easier. Unfortunately I don't have the mental strength to control or suppress my emotions in any meaningful manner. I haven't slept well in months, just pushing myself to keep going, but bitterly realizing that it may be all too little, too late.