I am sad.
I find it extremely difficult to say more than that. Over the last few months I've tried writing something, anything, to talk about what I'm going through. I'm cursed with ineloquence. I deleted at least 20 pages of writing before I finally posted this and I'm pretty sure it still sucks. But it's what I could manage to force out.
I've been putting a lot of thought lately into stopping my medication. Quit the anti-depressants and retreat back into the dark well of despair that I'm so familiar with. I am tired of trying to get better and failing. Of making just enough progress to rekindle hope, and then to come crashing down again and again. It is too painful. Go out to the garage and tie a noose to the rafters. It doesn't commit you to anything. Just tie it, see how it feels. You can decide later. The voice in my head is getting louder again, seductive, smug in the knowledge that it will win eventually. You know I've already won.
There seems to be very little to say. You need to die. I am sad. You've always been sad. It is a pure sadness, distilled emotion. The kind that permeates you, leaches into your bones. It's an agony of soft emptiness, like screaming in a soundproof room. But those descriptions are excessive and unnecessary. It is enough to say that I am sad.
I've been sad for a very long time. My current period of depression has lasted for five years so far. Should've killed yourself already. The one before that lasted for four. Should've killed yourself then too. Of the last 12 years, I've spent nine of them with depression. And for those who ask what a 10 year old can possibly be depressed about, I confront them with a 10 year old that came home from school almost every day yelling about killing himself. 'Fuck you' is what she means.
The voice occasionally backs me up.
I hate what I am. Always say 'what', not 'who'. You are a thing. My friends don't understand my self-hatred because they don't realize just how deeply ashamed I am. I hate myself for being transgender. I'm not sure how I managed to develop such loathing. I have an accepting (if not warm) family, live in an extremely liberal area, and have supportive friends. Yet I've deeply internalized transphobia that I direct against myself. I don't hate trans people other than myself. You envy them. They've had the strength to do what I cannot and they are beautiful because of it. By contrast, I am utterly convinced that I am a contemptible freak. Even ignoring my anxiety and depression, being transgendered seems like a good enough reason to kill myself on its own.
After three months on hormones, my body is finally starting to change in significant ways. And the changes terrify me. Shouldn't you be happy? I try confiding in my friends about my fears but even my closest friends mock me. “Welcome to womanhood,” one says, dismissing my fears out of hand. I should be happy about changing, not afraid. I worry that I'm not transgendered after all. Maybe this entire thing has been an enormous mistake. Almost half of all trans people attempt suicide—you'll be in good company.
I am sad.