Disclaimer: *This post contains themes of a sensetive nature and content around depression and suicidal thoughts. I've tried to be honest and open as possible without going into to much detail and as always there are resources at the bottom.*
As you may have noticed, or not, things have been a little quiet on here for a while. You see I needed to take a little hiatus from the world, I deactivated my social media and have been living unplugged, well as unplugged as you can be, being a millennial.
You see 2018 has been a formidable year, to say the least, I was beginning to become overwelled with all the changes that were happening in my life, as a consequence my mental health began to deteriorate rapidly, my mental health has always been something of a contention, in fact, it's monopolised my entire life with gender dysphoria, depression, anxiety and substance misuse. This time away has allowed me to reflect on my life, my wants, desires, my unhealthy relationships and has been a way for me to grow and move on.
Taking time for yourself can be such a powerful thing, it doesn't make you a bad person nor does it mean you're selfish. C'mon the great prophet Ru Paul has said (countless times) " That if you can't love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?" I was never sure I believed in that till I could no longer feel my love for people around me, so by withdrawing from everything I was able to really try and get to the roots of my feelings without any outside influences.
During my self-appointed exile, I began writing, however, the one thing I struggled writing about was these feelings and although I knew I needed to write about it, I wasn't sure how to. It wasn't until taking part in an interview for Vice written by the amazing Juno Roche (which will be published soon) where I said something along the lines as "I know who I am, I'm no longer searching." I finally knew what to say because these words wouldn't stop haunting me. Even though they were true, and I do know who I am, that doesn't mean I should've stopped searching for what that meant, where I belong and what I want to do to with myself. The truth is I have not been satisfied with my own existence for a long time, not because I'm transgender or that I hate who I am but due to the fact I've not been living.
I settled for a life with no fulfilment, replaced a passion for life by going out and getting fucked or I just sat and watched while everyone else lives progressed. I thought I was just moving slowly when in reality I'd just stopped altogether.
I'm still unsure if I had just let the fear stop me from even trying in the first place, but I did know I'd given up. I was allowing my anxiety and the naysayers to win by default.
Which brings me to why this was so difficult for me to write. I remember before I came out as transgender, I felt like I only had two options, die or transition. I chose the latter, I decided to live and here I was 7 years later contemplating taking my life again because I was no longer living.
Suicide is very real, especially within the queer community, It's something that began to follow me around like a dark cloud, no matter where I was or what I was doing I couldn't get rid of these feelings, I could hear it like a clock ticking in quiet room, it had infected my dreams and made everything feel so impossible. These feelings were only exacerbated when I was asked to leave my home off the last 3 years, deep down I understood why, I was no longer functioning like a person, however, it didn't make it any easier. It established that old theory within my mind that nobody no matter how close you were, could be trusted.
That night I cried as I packed and left the next day with no real plan.
My friend had picked me up and took me to her house, she looked at me worryingly my once pristine appearance wasn't there, I hadn't brushed my hair in so long it had begun to matte to my scalp and my smooth skin was covered in specs of stubble which I'd normally expertly shave and laser off. I got a shower and as the water splashed off my body I imagined what it would be like to drown to regain consciousness, I pressed the razor against my thigh.
When I'd arranged a place to go to I thought I might feel better but everything still seemed so uncertain. The next few days felt like a daze, I sat in silence hoping nobody was able to read my thoughts. One night my mind was so chaotic I called the Samaritans It felt weird speaking to a stranger and at first I was uncomfortable telling them my problems but I can honestly say that phone call may have saved my life.
The weeks since that phone call have still been tough and these feelings didn't just evaporate. I'm aware this is going to be a working process but I've done the hardest part. I've reached out and have asked for the help that I need, I've thought calmly and clearly about how I can progress forward and that's what I'm intending to do I'm feeling stronger and I've made sure I've got things in place for when things began to get difficult again.
I'm grateful for services like the Samaritans, they are invaluable services that never get enough recognition. I'm also thankful to the people that stood by me, the ones that helped and tried to build me back up especially when I couldn't give them any love in return.
I've not shared this for sympathy or for attention, nor do I want people to feel sorry for me. I just wanted to share this story as I feel I owe my readers an explanation for the lack of content and If being open and honest about everything helps just one other person that may be going through a similar experience that's all I can hope for. Mental illness, self-harm, thoughts of suicide or even attempts are not anything to be ashamed of (nor are they the same thing) together we can help to the end the stigma and help people reach out in times of difficulty whether that be a friend, a family member, professional, or a hotline.
Love Chrissie x
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