Saturday, 20 May 2017

Accepting help also means accepting that one has a problem

The past days has seen the numbness and pain in the right side of my body virtually disappear again, as my body goes through the motions of its monthly cycle again. It's a nice week or so of respite from having to worry about me turning into a permanently crippled person. Because of this variation in the symptoms, I do not expect that the MRI scan in two weeks will show anything to be wrong with my brain or spinal column. Best to be safe, of course. Plus it's nice to have that tenth MRI scan achievement unlocked, I guess.

As the scope of the medical and psychological help which I'm receiving slowly expands, I now find myself with a psychotherapist for regular therapy for my PTSD and other traumas, another psychotherapist who acts as a medical coach to handle contact with clinics, doctors and so on. Getting proper communication out of this intersex clinic - my next target - is slow, frustrating and thus I'm glad that I now have someone who is doing all of that for me, after twelve years of me dealing with it directly.


All of this means a large number of appointments and both help, but also the constant confrontation with my problems. From PTSD, various traumas and other psychological issues which have build up over decades, to the twelve years of horrible frustration and maltreatment of my intersex condition which may now be causing these physical issues that are causing me chronic pain. Even without an active eviction case against me this would be a lot to deal with. Add that to the mixture, realise that a negative outcome in that case may push me to try my luck at suicide again, and the need for intensive therapy and other forms of support becomes very obvious.

Without the stabilising influence of my day job and my friends, I would most likely already have been put on suicide watch. As things stand, I'm already skirting pretty close to the point where my therapists would feel obligated to interfere.


Here again I am confronted with the stigma of mental illness: you cannot see it, so it cannot be there. Me feeling suicidal must therefore be a conscious choice, ergo I can just stop thinking that way. The reality of the matter of course being that I am not actually a person suffering from depression, but merely someone who has felt so threatened and has been repeatedly attacked by others for over a decade, that it has made the thought of continuing to live... unpleasant.

I just want people to leave me alone. I didn't do anything wrong. People should just do their job and act like decent human beings. The past twelve years have shown to me beyond a shade of doubt that most people are (unknowingly) evil or just don't care. This is not the world I'd want to live in. Thus I focus on the decent human beings in the world, but one can only ignore the former nightmare world for so long.


Maybe I just have terrible luck and have come across every single terrible excuse for a doctor, psychologist, landlord, 'friend' and what not. While going through therapy, I have to go back to parts of my life which I do not care to remember, as well as some parts which I would love to go back to.

I still don't know what happened when I was a young child that was traumatic enough that it completely changed my behaviour. All I know is that my traumas likely started back when I was almost too young to remember anything. Likely someone did something to me, just like with what happened to my cousin when her uncle and grandfather couldn't keep their filthy hands off her body and those of other young girls like her.

It may very well have been that I grew up basically from the age of five with the knowledge and expectation that people are horrible monsters, who will always seek to take advantage of you. It would explain why I have seemingly always felt so apprehensive of others since the age of six. Even though I have been consciously trying to change this since I found out about being intersex in 2005 - pushing myself to return to that extroverted personality that I had as a child - along the way I come across the same traumas which pushed me into becoming introverted in the first place.


All I can hope for at this point is that I can at least win the eviction case so that I do not have to deal with that any more. I feel my life is complicated enough already at this point without others making it more difficult simply because they're greedy and care not about their fellow humans.


Maya

Sunday, 14 May 2017

Who'll catch me when I fall?

Last Friday I noticed that after a meeting at work, my right arm had begun hurting quite a lot, along with numbness and strong discomfort in the entirety of my body's right side. Including the right side of my face. Even though I had been dealing with numbness and pain in my right leg and arm in some form for the past months (and years in a milder form), this was a disconcerting new development.

I didn't tell anyone about this issue, just went back to my place and took one, then another ibuprofen (800 mg total). After about half an hour the pain had decreased significantly and with an hour I was almost feeling normal again. Before the pain started decreasing, I feared that it might worsen to the point where I'd collapse and find myself in the ER again.


The numbness and pain in my body's right side just keeps increasing. The past months far quicker than before, progressing from just the numbness in the leg for a few hours and occasional pain in my right arm to a full week of an unusable leg and currently near-constant numbness and pain in the entire right side of my body.

On Tuesday I had a neurologist appointment for this issue, after my GP reserved an emergency slot for me. I now have an MRI scan scheduled of my head and neck region (tenth MRI scan, yay), to rule out any possible issues in that area. The neurologist does however think that something like endometriosis is more likely as cause, considering the cyclic nature of the symptoms. My hope now lies with this intersex clinic with which my psychotherapist and myself have been trying to get into contact with for the past months now, without much success.

Maybe the MRI scan will show something, but most likely not. Meanwhile I'm taking ibuprofen like candy as it's the only thing which actually seems to do anything about the symptoms. Exercise seems to make the symptoms worse, but sometimes lying in bed as well, which makes it hard to find an approach which always works. I have started again on the anti-conception pill in the hope that if it's indeed hormonal, it will reduce the symptoms. I should know soon whether this theory is correct.

Meanwhile it practically feels as if my body is splitting into two halves, with the right side slowly shutting itself down.


I have to wonder what the impact of excessive stress on this all is, as I'm still facing getting evicted out of this apartment despite not having done anything wrong. Except maybe not complain enough, apparently. The thought that there are people out there who quite literally would be fine with me dying on the spot (which would be cheaper than an eviction), and that there's no home for me out there is more than one can humanly bear.

What'll happen when everything goes wrong? I already know that if I am forced to find another apartment, or even pay a large sum of money, it'll destabilise me emotionally in ways which are more than just frightening. There'd be a real chance of me committing suicide. I know from experience that all it takes is to have access to an easy and acceptable method.

After months of excessive stress I don't really care that much about whether I survive or not. Between getting evicted, my body slowly failing and the intersex clinic between completely unhelpful so far, I don't have anything to live for. Not really.


I love my work and my hobbies, but it cannot stand against the incredible pain of being alive if all it means getting punished over and over again. Punished for being born intersex. Punished for following the rules. Punished for being an abject failure.

I expect to be evicted. I expect my body to fail me probably this year, rendering me a cripple or killing me. I don't expect there to be any help. I do not have the energy to fight to survive any more. I cannot deal with an eviction. I'd just give up. Live on the streets until I die. Because giving into fatalism is the only thing which I can do, along with punishing this horrible body of mine by hurting it for hurting me.

I need others to give me hope again. To make me see that life isn't only about suffering and death. That this body of mine is okay. That there's nothing wrong with me. That I do not have to fear landlords randomly kicking me out of rundown apartments for daring to complain about issues. That I do have a future.


I want to believe, but I cannot. All that I know, all that I understand, and all that I long for is this incredible sense of peace which I felt during those moments before I tried to commit suicide. I wish I hadn't failed. I so wish it all had ended already, six years ago. I regret failing at that more than anything. Next time I'll succeed at committing suicide. I promise.

So that I may finally find peace.


Maya