Hopeless

Let me start from the beginning. (I’m now revising this and this definitely did not go in the order I thought it would)
I don’t want to reveal my identity too much so i’ll play this safe and call myself Kai.
I’m seventeen years old, eighteen in March. I’m a transgender boy (born female) and i’m gay. My mom’s side of the family is one of the biggest group of unsupportive close minded people you will ever meet. Ever since I was young, I knew i felt different than my siblings and cousins. My family tries to look like your average apple pie and a glass of ice tea American family. Though I obviously do stick out like a sore thumb in that, I behave and listen to everything i’m told. Wether it hurts me or not. Wether I want to or not. I do whatever my mom says. She’s the family dictator you could say. Day in and day out, I get yelled at her on the phone or in the car about how i’m not like the normal girls at my high school and, duh, i’m not. I don’t even live with her anymore (I live with my step dad) yet she still finds her own little special way to control my life. I don’t know who my biological dad is or what he even looks like. Sad, right? My step dad is pretty supportive but I find it slightly hard to trust him since he used to hit me and my brothers. Sure he’s fixed himself and gotten help but it still scares me when I lay my head down at night. In seventh grade, my mom found out I had a girlfriend. She called my girlfriend and told her to never speak to me again. That girlfriend was my best friend since I was four and I lost her. A few days after, I began cutting myself after looking at suicide message boards. I did it almost daily and one day at the park, my dad noticed the word “Fuck” carved into my arm under my jacket. The next day at school, I was taken out of class my the school officer and driven to the nearest crisis center where I stayed for three days. I was prescribed Xanax while I was there. It helped for the most part until my mom stole my refills for her own recreational use. I haven’t been on medication or seen a professional since and she refuses to get me either. I haven’t stopped cutting myself since seventh grade. My suicidal thoughts started occasionally but now it’s almost like every other week i’m trying to kill myself in various ways. Last night I was pushed over the edge and since my dad wasn’t home, I downed half a bottle of Advil PM and wrote my goodbyes in a notebook to my friends for whoever found me. After falling asleep for some time, I woke up to a rising pain in my stomach. I began crying and screaming out and regret what I did. I puked and puked until my throw up had blood in it and even after that. After all that and the hour or so of shock, I went to bed. I woke up at around 5:30 this morning and burst into tears. I couldn’t fucking believe I just did that. Not the suicide part. The backing out of the suicide part. I was so so close this time. I don’t want to face my family and friends today out of shame and disgust in myself. All my friends and counselors recommend I get help but I’ve tried and nothing positive has come out of it. I used to hope I get better and be normal but now all I want is just to die. Maybe someday something will push me so far that I won’t think twice about downing pills and alcohol or cutting myself wide open. Someday. I hope it’s soon. I really do. Maybe I could make a friend before all that though. If anyone wishes to contact me, my email is boohmygod@gmail.com