Just over four years ago my mental health was deteriorating quickly: after the divorce of my parents I felt I had lost the last home I used to have, had found zero sympathy or help from (Dutch) medical specialists for my intersex condition, had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and was suffering increasingly frequent bouts of complete mental breakdowns which had me either collapse in a paralysed state or send me into dark places where I'd tear and rip at my own flesh, choke myself until I passed out or inflict pain on myself in some other way.
At that point I was then told that I had to leave this person's place where I was staying at that time, even though I had virtually no money, no job, no education and zero prospects in my mental state at that point. I just went through the motions then: I found a room to rent (horribly expensive) and my mother would come over to help with the moving. I realised quite well that there was no future for me at that point.
Even if I did move, I'd run out of money in 2-3 months time, be unable to pay the rent and get kicked out. The night before the move I found the only way I could make peace with my situation. I ensured that the stack of sleeping pills were where I had left them and went to bed.
The next morning I got out of bed, got dressed, did my hair, my face and rest of the morning routine. Then I took every single one of the sleeping pills out of their packaging and took all of them with some water. After that I just remember walking towards the door of my room before everything went black.
I do not regret trying to commit suicide. I still feel it was the right decision and I would do it again if I were placed in the same situation. Without any prospects and no help there was after all nothing that I could have changed. I am also fortunate that my mother understands this and in a sense also was glad that I took that step as it managed to shake things up in a way which otherwise would have been impossible.
This then brings me to me feeling completely suicidal again this morning as I cycled to work. Not to the point where I'd veer into a bus or do something else impulsive, but more at the point where planning out a new suicide attempt seemed like a good course of action. I mean, why not?
At this point I'm also struggling with housing, true. I may also risk getting thrown out or at least face continued harassment by the owner if I do not find something else. Yet it's not just that. The main issue as far as I can tell is that I am not two people.
For the past eleven, nearly twelve years I spent begging, fighting, doing everything humanly possible to get information about my body and help with my intersex condition. When I finally got this help - early this year - it caused the most incredible sensation which I hadn't felt before in my life. Finally I had completed this one thing which had pretty much occupied me since I was five years old and had begun to feel ever more isolated from my body.
That feeling was one of emptiness, of a sense of aimlessness. But also of extreme tiredness. No longer did I have to fight. It was finally over.
Yet I am but one person. That life-long fight took it all out of me. Before I finally found help I was on the verge of giving up on it. This final doctor was quite literally a last-ditch attempt as I didn't have the energy to try it even once more afterwards. Yet even though it was at long last the success I had hoped for, I didn't suddenly, magically regain all my energy and shed the decades of trauma. None of that changed.
Thus it is that the minor effort yesterday of just occupying myself with replying to this one single email from the relocation service, explaining to them once again what it is that I am looking for and why, which has sapped my energy. The emotional disturbance caused by thinking about this issue and by some well-meaning advice by others then sent me spiralling into a suicidal depression which I only slowly managed to crawl back out of during today at work.
I clearly do not have the energy to help myself at this point, whether it be by hunting for houses being rented or anything else involving emotional stress. Not on my own at least. If this relocation service doesn't work out because families have priority, or since I'm single I must be satisfied with an apartment since houses are for families... then I may have to consider contacting a real-estate agent and look at buying a house.
Money makes the world go round, after all. Money also staves off suicide.
Money is wonderful.