Sometimes I wish I could understand why some people feel the need to be so cold and ruthless towards others.
I was right about being intersex for over a decade, yet during that time many so-called 'specialists' thought it necessary to be condescending to me, calling me 'delusional', 'just a confused boy', and ascribing many types of mental disorders to me. They'd device useless, abusive physical examinations to subject me to. Meanwhile they told me every diagnosis but the right one, even making a few conditions up on the spot, such as autoparagynaecophilia, coined by a group of Dutch 'specialists'.
Just a fancy way of saying that they think that I am crazy and just want to see myself as having a feminine appearance. How nice.
There was no reason for them to be that mean to me. They only needed to do their job. That's all there was to it.
Ditto for landlords and kin. Yesterday the ticking of the heating system started again, thanks to the pipes contracting and extending against metal braces which should be replaced. Yet the building owner refuses to replace them, because 'that would cost too much money'. Meanwhile said ticking noise quite literally drives me insane, thanks to a combination of being hypersensitive to sounds and the existing PTSD. Yet the building owner still insists I should pay the full rent, opting to bully me out of the place with threats of having my apartment cleared out and such.
This person only needed to do their job. That's all there's to it.
I really should find something else, yet I have realised that I cannot trust renting a place from anyone ever again. There are no nice people renting places. Period. That means trying to find something to buy. Dealing with real-estate agents. All of which I am very familiar with and none of which is pleasant, yet at the end one has a property which is one's own.
Ultimately that's the way out which I am looking for. The closest thing to freedom one can find, beyond being so filthy rich that really nothing gets in the way any more aside from the few things which money cannot solve (yet).
Unfortunately such a search will take time and energy. Neither of which are abundant for me at this point, especially the latter. In a number of weeks I'll hear what my prospects for surgery are as well, at which point I won't have time either if the surgery goes ahead. After said surgery I'll need a while to recover (months), meaning that if I have to do everything - surgery logistics, house search, etc. - all by myself, the first point that I can start looking at a new place will be early next year at the earliest.
That means months of being harassed and bullied by this 'landlady' and her lackeys. It means months of loud ticking noises from the heating system's pipes almost every moment of the day. It means recovering from reconstructive surgery in a cold, noisy, draughty apartment.
Maybe the worst in all of this is that the last moment which I remember when I truly felt at peace and comfortable was over five years ago, during the moment between waking up and taking those handfuls of sleeping pills.
Things are supposed to be getting better. Yet I do not see a light at the end of any tunnel. It's just a lot of 'maybe', speculation and wishes. Months of hard work and possible surgery complications await me. Months of most likely emotional suffering. Placed against that sensation of blissful euphoria that I felt that one moment those years ago, I find it so incredibly hard to make the case to go through with this search for the seemingly impossible.
I'm not even certain who I'm saying this to, or why I bother. Maybe just for myself. I really do not expect anyone who could help me in this situation to feel in any way like doing so.
Thus I remain, torn between the path of suffering and that one moment of blissful euphoria before everything is resolved.
Tell me, why should I keep living? What is in it for me?