Growing up trapped in a man's body

This was not such a promising thing for me at the time, though; my genitals were already healed after a couple of weeks, and in many ways, I felt they were never going to go away.  At this point, I decided it was best just to end it all. I assumed I was never going to be the person I wanted to be, so I would rather die than live the lie any further. I tried a variety of suicide attempts: shooting myself, slitting my wrists, strangling myself with a cord, swallowing pills, swallowing chemicals such as Draino, and finally carbon monoxide poisoning. It was on my final attempt — the second try with carbon monoxide — that I eventually gave up and called EMS. I cannot really explain why I did this, but after having tried so many times to kill myself and failing, I was beginning to wonder if I was not just cursed to live forever. I was, at this point, beaten beyond the thought of suicide; there was nothing left — not even the drive to end it. I ended up in a mental hospital shortly thereafter.

I do not really like talking much about what occurred in that hospital, but I can tell you it was not pleasant. A place that is supposed to be built on care and support somehow turned into the most apathetic and unreceptive places I have ever been. Never in my life have I felt so abandoned, so extraordinarily distraught. In many ways, it was my own fault; I still would NOT tell them — my family, the counselors, and certainly not the psychiatrist — what was really bothering me. I would have rather they thought I was insane than transgender, so I lied — fabricating all kinds of stories. They responded by putting me on certain pills depending on the certain ailment I told them I had that day. Depression, anger, psychosis, and all the rest — I got pills for them all. I was swallowing so many pills, pills certainly not meant for me, that my mind began to warp a bit — or a lot. 

After all the embarrassment of being watched in showers, added with hunger from very poor quality food, mixed with the sights of so many depraved souls — young ones at that — and all the badgering and nagging of the counselors, I eventually broke down and told the whole story. Now, you could say it was like the Boy Who Cried Wolf — or at least Girl Who Cried Wolf — but after believing I was depressed and psychotic, the psychiatrist did not believe that I was transgender. Of course, I did not realize he did not believe me until years later, which caused a great communication rift between my parents and me — something for which I will NEVER forgive that doctor. Personally, I believe the psychiatrist had no real clue about transgenderism, and he certainly did not have a pill that he thought could cure it; so, I suppose for the sake of ease, it was just better to diagnose me as depressed like he did everyone else under his care.

I remember an episode of “Friends” in which Ross is over at his old wife’s apartment — the wife that turned out to be a lesbian. He made the comment to his ex-wife’s partner that they had a lot of books on lesbianism, to which she replied, “Well, you have to take a course … otherwise they don’t let you do it.” Now, this sarcastic comment seemed funny in this context, but, in the life of a transgender person, this is not necessarily fiction. For whatever reason, unlike being gay or I suppose depressed, you first have to find someone to believe you are actually transgender. Counselors and doctors do not have much training in this, so finding one who would help me was very difficult — especially in South Carolina. So, years passed — I had come out when I was 16 — and nothing occurred, and I sadly watched as my body began to become more and more masculine.

Technically, at age 18, a transgender person should be able to start hormone replacement therapy. Most doctors will not even consider it before, but the catch is, even after it is difficult to find. I did not have access to hormones under a doctor’s care until I was 20. Many people do not seem to REALLY grasp the impatience of a transgender person, but what they have to realize is, especially in regards to a male-to-female individual, it is very much a race against the clock. The difference a few years makes in regard to hormones is extraordinary, and it can be so very frustrating and disheartening to be told again and again either to wait or simply “no.”

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