Brielle’s Story — Thinking as a Woman

During high school I had my first boyfriend. I could not believe a male actually thought I was attractive enough to date. He rewarded me anytime I expressed a little femininity. I was adored by him, he called me beautiful and cute. While I was in a relationship with him, it allowed me to push myself and strive to be truer. Imagine my relief after working on my hair, makeup, nails, and putting together an outfit and not have to worry about being judged. This was the first time I began to physically show my transgender identity.

Revealing who I was on the inside did not go unnoticed by any means. My parents absolutely did not believe I was a homosexual and thought this a phase trying to fit in. School bullies began to torment me, verbally abusing me, flashing their genitalia, and sexually assaulting me in the hallways. I slipped into a major depression after feeling rejected by everyone.

I have lived with major depression disorder since the age of twelve. My self-esteem was so incredibly low that I had never felt like a real person. There was nothing but pain, suffering, and self-hatred. The immeasurable amount of sadness was a powerful feeling. I showed many outward symptoms of depression, trouble sleeping, eating, isolation, and excessive crying. My parents worried about how bad I was doing and took me to see a therapist. I confessed to self-injuring myself by wrist laceration. I learned it was the rush of endorphins that eased the pain I felt inside. Self-injuring became an addiction. The more I did it the less relief I got out of it. While being bullied at high school and grieving for the loss of my boyfriend, [Mention that you lost him earlier and how it happened.] I attempted suicide at the age of fifteen. I tried to hang myself by the basement rafters. After passing out from lack of oxygen, I woke up on the floor. I felt so much shame and embarrassment that I told no one for years.

Finishing high school, I had no dreams, aspirations, or goals. I registered at the local community college, but my heart was not into it. The only thing I wanted was be the exact opposite of what I was. Puberty left me a body I disliked infinitely. The muscles from playing sports were hard, the facial hair I had was rough and thick, and the amount of body hair was enough to get lost in. The service clerk job I was working was a position only a male employee held. It consisted of collected shopping carts, taking out the trash, and cleaning bathrooms. Every second there was agonizing, and I begged and pushed my manager to reconsider my job. My requests were denied many times over and eventually I stopped asking. At the age of nineteen I dropped out of school following a second attempt of ending my life. On the highway I pulled my vehicle over and tried to step in front of traffic. Fortunately for me the driver was paying attention and swerved around me. Terrified at what I had done, I drove myself home and truthfully told my mother what happened.

I was brought to a mental hospital where I would stay three weeks. The medications I was given every day were an antidepressant and benzodiazepine. After one week of drug therapy, I had a care for nothing except the medications. They took away everything I felt, and years of self-hatred disappeared. I did not know in that moment how dangerous the drugs I had taken were. Not only did I become mentally dependent on them, but physical as well. I trusted the doctors and took what they prescribed for me. As each day passed the less the medication worked and the higher the doses became. I did not recognize that when I left the hospital, I became a drug addict. My tolerance for the benzodiazepines rose very high and I started to abuse them. Months passed by where my memory failed to create a single event. During the same year of my second attempted suicide, I overdosed on benzodiazepines.

Tags: featured, Identity, Transgender, Transition

Category: Transgender Body & Soul