I have been aware of wanting to be a girl most of my life. And most of my life I believed wanting to be a girl was a bad thing. So for most of my life I have wanted Poppa to take me home. I have asked Him and pleaded with Him that if it was not His will and His plan to cure me, to take away this need to be a girl, couldn’t He please, Please, PLEASE?!? take me home? I didn’t want to deal with the shame. I didn’t want the ones I love to deal with my perverted, unclean needs. I wanted to go Home! Now!
I was never actively suicidal. I wanted Poppa to call me home.
I was subtly suicidal, though. Like many people who have suffered chronic pain, particularly emotional pain, I found a way to numb myself. But my self-medicating was slowly killing me emotionally and spiritually. And I didn’t hate what I was doing enough to stop. I was dying by my own hands. I would tell myself I only had to live as long as my mom did [She died at 63] or I only had to make it to 70 [Because Jesus said that it was good for man to live 3 score and ten years.] And those dates could not come soon enough.
A year ago, I came to a lonely and terrible place where I had to tell those I love [And I do still love them all … dearly!] that I had to live a different life; I could not continue to live trying to be someone I was not.
It has been, and still is and always will be, a process, a journey to try to live a life true to who I am. And in this last year, I have still asked Poppa to take me home. But it is not constant and is happening less and less frequently. What I have found is I no longer think of how long must I wait to be “three score and ten.” I no longer count the years to the age my mom died at.
For the first time in my life, I am not in a hurry to die.