First posted thoughts.

From here…….

Going back in time and looking at notes and journal entries I made…looking for the start….This wasn’t it, but it was the fulcrum that pushed me over.

On October 9th a friend of my mother’s called to say she was in the hospital and didn’t want me to know. I sighed as that was how mom was…later on I knew she’d hold it over me and complain that I wasn’t there. So I drove down to visit. She seemed fine other than a yellow cast to her skin. They were running tests on her but no one would say anything.

On October 13th a doctor came in and chatted with her and then turned to leave. He stopped and turned back to say “By the way you have Bile Duct Cancer” and then left. Nice bedside manner. She was being stoic about it all. I went home that night and started the research. The disease was rare…one in 100,000. There were about 70-100 reported cases at any one time. Why so low? Because it was almost always terminal and by the time it was discovered the patient had about 3 months to live.

I did more research, but came to the same conclusions each time. I went back to the hospital and sat down next to her and explained what would happen. By the end of the month my wife and I moved her into a hospice. Her health dropped off in steps..a burst then stable followed by another burst.

My wife and kids helped pack up her house..which mostly came down to throwing stuff away, donating it or packing it into boxes. She was never coming home and we knew it. I became depressed watching her die and packing up her life.

Your life in the end comes down to a few boxes that someone puts under the bed or in the attic.

She’d been a bitter woman for almost 30 years. Life hadn’t been bad to her, but it wasn’t what she wanted, and she’s never done anything about it other than complain about those who were around her. I didn’t want that…..

And something was eating at my soul….I tried to push it all away, distance myself from it. It didn’t work…I cried driving to work and to home. I fought my deamons. I contemplated suicide….more than once.

She died on January 11th, the day after her birthday at 3 am. I’d seen her the night before and knew it wasn’t going to be long. The call came at 4 am to tell us. I went back to bed, told my wife when she asked, then lay there in the dark staring at the ceiling.

What had she left behind? A few odds and ends. Kids who’d been messed up one way or another. A lot of anger and resentment that life hadn’t gone her way. And anger and resentment of her family at how she’d treated them and the world.

The depression deepened as we closed in on the memorial. In times of stress I find ways to cope…. ways that work for me and help me. I restarted crossdressing. Minor things, but by the memorial I was wearing panties all the time. My wife had dealt with this before with me.

The memorial came and went…and I sunk deeper. I decided to find a therapist…partially at my wife’s urging..I was being abusive…not physically, but I was venting all the pain I was feeling on her and she didn’t know why. She didn’t deserve it. Between the memorial and two weeks into therapy I had 3 accidents and 2 speeding tickets. None in the previous 3 years, and no accidents for about 10. They thought I was suicidal and placed me under a contract. One, that wasn’t going to stop anyone if they wanted to do it, and two, I really didn’t give a shit about myself at that point. I wasn’t suicidal, I just didn’t f&*^ing care about taking care of myself.

The therapist was…well…ok. But I started looking inward rather than outward for answers, so I am sur she wasn’t all bad. 3 sessions in I stopped her and said…I’ve always thought I was a woman. Oh….Hrm, not a lot of help. She didn’t know GID, the SoC, Henry Benjamin, WPATH, etc. I know more from my research than she did! So changed therapists to one who did.

Upstart? Told wife and family. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. I’d admitted it to myself, then my therapist and then my family..and I cared. I suddenly had a reason to live….I could be who I was…… just had to give up everything I held dear. Wife, kids, home, possibly job, friends. Any sense of security was gone. And I hate to say it, but if I was in the same position I would do it again. What, you think I liked it? Hell no…I was admitting that I was something I had fought 45 years not to be! I was risking it all on what? A possible chance? The probability that I’d be a target for every punk? That the ‘community’ of Gays and Lesbians would shun me?

So why do it?

After talking with other trans people it comes down to one statement. You do this when the only other alternative is killing yourself to stop it.

I chose to live.

…..to there.