My current apartment:
Beyond being overly expensive for the state it is in , the noise and other discomforts keep messing with my psychological disorders. I do not see how I can go keep on living in this place for even just another year. It's time for me to move. This is why I have begun to ask around for suitable alternatives . Frustratingly enough I seem to be fully dependent on others for this.
I crave so much for a quiet place to live. A place where I can relax for the first time in probably two decades, with just the silence to soak in. No fear of sudden sounds.
Maybe someone will help me out here. I really hope so.
Being a medical experiment:
About a week ago I quit the hormone therapy the endocrinologist had put me on again, despite it being an overdose. After suffering the renewed effects of said overdose for a month, including headaches, extreme mood swings, extreme numbness in my right leg, nausea and other fun, I called it quits.
I am not sure in how far I am interested at this point in dealing with being the subject of such pointless experiments. Maybe if they can conclusively prove that I need it to keep healthy bones I'd be convinced. Before that I am however done and through with it. I have been used as a soul-less guinea pig by doctors and psychologists for over a decade. At some point I have to put down my foot and reclaim my human rights.
However, I am not looking forward to the confrontation this may cause with the endocrinologist. If I ever hear from her again, that is. No, I still feel that I cannot trust physicians. How could I?
Surgery, or not:
Will I undergo reconstructive surgery this year or not? It's still the same waiting game, with no feedback or even a hint of what may come. At this point I have simply resorted to acknowledging that all it will likely affect will be my sexuality, which is something which is so useless that one may as well fully ignore it.
Come what may, ultimately such a surgery - or for that matter sexuality in general - should not play a role in my life at all. My experiences have taught me that to hold hope in one's heart is foolish. Better to stab it until it dies, then discard of such useless distractions lest it keeps one from salvaging one's life from disaster. Sexuality isn't a part of being human. Even if it might be nice to have.
Thus, I wait. And wait more.
I really, really hate having post-traumatic stress disorder, mostly because of how it manages to make normal social situations into Hell itself, or a crappy apartment into a trigger-based iron maiden. For most of it I can deal with things, except for the apartment side, as noted above. I reckon that having an actual home where I can feel safe might help enormously with dealing with PTSD in general.