The many ways in which I'll die this year

Once you lose hope, it's all over, they say. Having hope is a good thing.

It's all relative, I guess. If there's still an inkling of a possibility that things will improve, it's fine to have hope. But for example for someone who is terminally ill, with mere weeks left to live, what's the point in holding hope? There won't suddenly appear a miracle cure that will fix everything. You can only make peace with the fact that you'll be dying soon.

In some ways I wish that I was suffering from some terminal illness. It would make things so much easier to explain. As well as give some definite shape to my life.

Recently the psychotherapist who is also acting as my medical coach informed me that she doesn't see any point in scheduling new appointments as all of the medical contacts through she tried to find medical help for my intersex condition either turned up nothing, or she didn't receive a response at all. She will contact me again if she has something to report.

What should I expect there? Nothing. No hope. No expectations. Just nothing. It's nearing thirteen years now since I started searching for this mythical medical help and neither I nor others have managed to find a single doctor or related who could or wanted to do anything for me, with only a few minor exceptions. In the end I'll just have to accept a body which I do not understand, which hurts more and more each month, with previous methods to reduce the abdominal pains and numbness in my leg failing to offer much relief any more.

It seems that those thirteen years were basically wasted. Or maybe not wasted. I did learn a lot about myself. Including that I'm not human. Not this body of mine, nor myself. It's all too alien to be human. I see lots of humans every day, and they are nothing like myself.

Especially now that my body is seemingly reverting to a younger physical age, with previously dormant ovaries suddenly beginning to function, old and newer scars suddenly hurting and vanishing, including the two big scars on my lower abdomen from the 2011 orchiectomy. Nothing about this is normal. Nothing about it something that should happen. Yet it is happening, and it's up to me to deal with it somehow, because nobody is going to give me answers about what is happening, or why.


During the past summer I was able to briefly forget about some of my worries. The contraceptive pill successfully held off the worst of the monthly pains, and mostly prevented the numbness and pain in my right leg. The whole eviction business had been pushed back to the end of the year, which seemed a small eternity away.

Yet the latter starts again by the end of next month, with the inspection at the apartment. I'm wearing headphones or earplugs almost full-time again while at the apartment because of the noise from the heating system and other noise sources. Along with the rapidly dropping temperatures this makes it hard to put thoughts of this upcoming event out of my mind. Just being at the apartment is enough.

Last month I found out that the contraceptive pill isn't helping nearly as much as it used to either, so that's a lot more physical pain I have to deal with as well. To some extent the pain and numbness can be dealt with, but even when maxing out the ibuprofen, so much of the pain and discomfort remains. Worse than the pain and numbness is not knowing why any of this is happening, or what it'll lead to. It makes it easy to despair.

And what will the eviction case result in? The acknowledgement that my assessment of the defects was correct, hopefully. This would give me all the time I need to find something better, maybe even buy a house, without the pressure of being forced to leave. At this point I'm absolutely not capable of doing anything there. The last attempts there (last year, and early this year) resulted in me struggling through a severe suicidal depression for a weekend.


That's one of those points where I'd wish that I just had something visible, like cancer or such. Something that people understand. 'I don't have the energy for it', or 'it causes me emotional agony', or 'it kicks me into a suicidal depression' are things which the average person does not understand and consequently does not accept.

Even for myself it's hard to understand this level of emotional distress and trauma. Or even what will trigger these suicidal depressions, or why. The most basic explanation is probably that I can deal with intellectual, purely rational topics just fine, but not with anything involving emotions or feelings. Dealing with an irrational system such as what humans have put up for the process of procuring or renting property is beyond merely stressful for me, even before taking into account that all of those people you deal with are looking to screw you over.


What I do hope for is to reach a point where I can have my own house, away from other people, and as few negative interactions with people as possible. I think I have had my fill of humanity. From the abuse I suffered as a young child, to being constantly bullied and harassed, by fellow students, doctors, psychologists, and many others over the years. Society's systems which have failed me over and over again. The constant feeling of not belonging in this world. Of being unwanted.

I carry no love for humanity as it continues to seek the end of my existence. Even as my thoughts are occupied with thoughts of escaping my situation through suicide or just passively giving in through an action such as just getting up, walking away and continuing to walk until I'll either die or something happens. Or just letting it all happen to me, such as when they advise women to not resist when they're being raped, because doing so will 'make things faster and easier'.

I wish for happiness. I hope I will find it. My current reality is of the same old war being fought for my very survival.

There's no room for hope or dreams in the midst of a war. Just strategy and continuing to fight long past your body's and mind's endurance.


Maya