Some days I just feel beset by severe melancholy; a heavy mood which I just can not shake off, but which fills me with an intense sadness and feeling of something being fundamentally wrong with me, my environment, the world, the universe. Everything. Earlier today as I sat on my balcony, trying to focus on the book I was reading, the same sensation which I had been feeling for a few days now made its way to my mind's surface and burst there like a noxious bubble of gas in a swamp, releasing its toxic contents.
Suppressing memories of a traumatic event is easy. The difficulty lies in keeping it up, day after day, month after month, as countless triggers every day stir these memories, further draining one's mental reserves in the effort of shackling these unwelcome recollections once more. For me things like calendars and photographs in and around the office of (half-)naked women are strong triggers, causing me to avoid these rooms or mentally block out their presence as much as possible.
At this point triggers for my traumatic memories essentially involve people. All people. Any people. Everything which reminds me of sexuality, having a normal body, being able to not feel like a freak. And so on. Yet at the same time I also have to struggle with something I have loathed from the beginning of puberty: the genetic programming virtually every human being is cursed with. To feel both strongly drawn towards sexuality and relationships while at the same time feeling strongly repulsed and disgusted by the same is an impossible struggle.
I also know what underlies these traumas as horrific memories regularly torture my thoughts involving the events which led to become this emotional wreck I am today. Central to all of it is the one question which causes me untold agony: why did they do it? 'They' referring to the physicians, psychologists, politicians, bureaucrats, health insurance officials, lawyers and the like in the Netherlands who felt it necessary to essentially punish me for having this body I was born with. As other, lesser traumas fade, this one central trauma merely gains in strength and intensity.
Even fleeing to Germany to escape the Dutch persecution hasn't provided the desired salvation yet. I blogged before about having reconstructive surgery this month, but the surgery date passed without having received any kind of confirmation from the German clinic. The contact with the other two hospitals I contacted has so far been confusing to say the least and traumatizing in some ways. Though I did undergo that MRI scan recently, I have no idea when I'll hear something from them again, or whether anything will happen surgery-wise this year.
As many have remarked so far in real life and in comments, I don't seem to be able to see myself and my situation as they truly are at times. I am the first one to admit this and agree that it's a result of the brainwashing forced upon me in the Netherlands. With it being virtually impossible that I'll ever learn the answer to my central question related to how I got mistreated and persecuted in the Netherlands, all I can do at this point is that I'll get other important answers here in Germany or elsewhere.
At this point I do not believe in psychologists and the like any more. After sending out a few requests to local psychologists and not receiving any response I realized that they cannot help me either way. My situation and case is too unique, too unusual for any of them to be capable of dealing with it. I'm the only one who understands my situation, the only one who can truly support and help myself. All others can do is support me in the day to day things so that I have more time to spend on counselling and dragging myself along from medical appointment to medical appointment until the long-awaited salvation arrives.
To sit here at home, crying and feeling so horrible and upset as thoughts of destroying this body I inhabit for indirectly causing all of this pain I feel, I wish I could end it all right here and now. In the sense that I would like to be able to tell myself exactly how this body is put together and what it all means to me. At this point I can only stare at myself in the mirror and ask myself frustratedly what the hell I am, what is that I am looking at. A boy, a man, a girl, a woman, something else.
That I need to know the answer to this question is because of what could be called my youth trauma, as for fifteen years of my life - including my entire puberty - I didn't know what I was. Sure, people told me that I was a male, but as I heard many years later after I found out about my medical condition, my grandmother, mother, many of her friends and countless others had always harboured doubts about this. Undoubtedly this also reflected in their treatment towards me.
To once and for all silence these thoughts of self-destruction, I need to get down to the whole, complete truth. All it takes is a single honest and capable medical team. Genetics, reproductive physiology, general physiology and the truth about what my reconstructive surgery options are. I'm not afraid of the truth. All that terrorizes my thoughts is the fear of a repeat of the horrors I went through in the Netherlands. I would rather kill myself than to go through that ever again.
Right now it's time to reset my thoughts once more. Switch off emotions and any thoughts about me having a biological sex or gender. I'm just a floating brain. I like science and technology. I have cool projects to work on. Nothing of it has anything to do with humans. Neither do I. No more superfluous thoughts.