Today I nearly managed to light myself on fire and it wasn't even the worst thing I experienced this day. The lighting on fire part was due to a fireball which formed when the gas stove I was using to cook dinner had some trouble igniting the gas. Apparently enough gas had built-up to explode outwards when it finally did ignite. It only left me with some mildly singed hairs and a fright, fortunately. Far worse than it was bursting out in tears before all this when I merely had to make some decisions about what I would have for dinner. It's testament to my fragile emotional state at this point.
In the end it can all be led back to me having a body. It being a bothersome, annoying thing which causes me endless grief. I realize this when it has to be fed like earlier. I realize it when I have to find a place for it to be put into, where it can sleep and feed and clean itself. And now that I have finally found such a place the possessions it has hoarded have to be transferred hundreds of kilometers to this new location. For this I require someone else to drive from that location (being Karlsruhe, Germany) to my current location in the Netherlands with a moving van and back again with said body and its possessions. I truly hope that I can find someone next week willing to take on this annoying task, as come Saturday next week this moving will have to take place. No ifs or buts.
Put this against the stark contrast of the details and environment of my early youth, which is the first part the autobiography I'm writing covers. Beyond the very house I was born in burning down when I was just seven months old and me getting bullied during my primary school time, it was a very carefree, happy time. It was the time where my love for science and technology comes from, and when I was given every freedom to develop myself through reading as well as through more physical activities.
In some ways it's beyond cruel that I am forcing myself to relive those happy memories next to the shambles of my current life, where I'm literally rebuilding everything from scratch, while harassed by frequent periods of depression and PTSD, such as today and yesterday. To add to this the hope that everything will be fine now is just cruel beyond words. Hope is what kept me going during the past nine years, but hope is also that which has betrayed me most often.
So too with this German surgeon I'll be visiting after I move to Germany. For me it'll mean reliving the whole nightmare again, as me as a human being will be put to the test again. Everything I believe about my body to be true can still turn out to be a lie, or so it feels. There's every chance of disappointment even if this surgeon does decide to perform the surgeon. This does also indicate why it is that I need to have this surgery performed. Not out of some sexual desire, or to complete my body or anything like that. It's purely to confront this cold terror I feel inside, which keeps whispering to me that everything I think is true is still a lie. I'm not a girl. I'm not a woman. I'm not even a sane human being. This surgery will prove it once and for all.
Of course, with the surgery a success it would mean banishing these dark spirits away forever, but to walk this road towards it is worse than to face one's own execution. It means the final battle in this war I have fought with myself since even before puberty. As I'm compiling notes for my autobiography this pattern is becoming eerily clear. From the innocent youth I gradually turn into this lost, confused and oh so very lonely person, slowly drifting away from its body as nothing makes sense any more.
My war didn't end in early 2012 as many still think. It's still raging, and I can not finish it without people to support and guide me. Even if it's with something as silly as driving a van and helping me put up curtains in my apartment.
Please help me win my war by assisting me with some household chores? *smiles* I guess that's one way to put it.