Death would be the nicest thing would happen to me now. No one deserves to be transgender, poor, have a black skin and live in this hell called as Brazil. And I also may have cancer. Life has no sense and I hate it.
Sometimes I feel the most alone person in the world. No friends and no one who cares about me. My mother is a fanatic religious who doesn’t accept me as a woman and keeps insisting on treating me a way a hate. She knows I hate it and that makes me feel even more sad, but she doesn’t care. She won’t chance because of her imaginary friend. I tried so hard to be well this year, to feel better, but I keep walking in circles, always ending where I began. Last week I felt that wish to cut myself again after one year and I’m thinking again about suicide. I always feel like my life won’t change no matter how I try. It’s like if I don’t fit this world. I would like to sleep and not wake up again because when I’m awake I feel like I’m living a nightmare.
Two years ago I began to face the worst of my depression and I had to deal with it by myself and with no support from anyone because everybody seemed to think a simple psychological treatment would be enough to all my problems. During these last two years I wished to die everyday because everything in my life went wrong and I can’t even get a job because no companies in Brazil want to hire a transgender person. I’m feeling better now, but I don’t know for how long.
Some of you should have seen news about political situation of Brazil. The candidate supported by the majority is a mix of Duterte and Hitler and is widely known by his hate speech against women, black people and LGBT people. Today another trans woman died by the hand of his followers. She is the fifth transgender person murdered since the first round of elections. More than 10 people died after declared their vote on the opposite candidate for the second round. A lot of others suffered physical violence for the same reason.
I wasn’t afraid to die before but now I am. I feel like the military dictatorship is happening again. During those years the army had an operation destined to arrest, kidnap, torture and murder LGBT people. Two weeks ago I saw a recording from TV news of that time where the reporter ask people on the street their opinion about LGBT people and most of them say disgusting things. Nowadays the same is happening. When I walk on the street I see people looking at me with bad intentions as if I shouldn’t have the right to exist. What is happening with these people? Why so much hate?
I feel like now I’m planning to have a future I won’t have the right to live it. I could ask for refuge somewhere transgender people have rights if the worst happens but I don’t even have money to leave the state where I live. As my fear grows I feel like sooner or later I’ll consider about suicide again.
Why is life so unfair?
I wish I could go back in time and change a small detail in my life that would change everything. It would be great to grow up and not feeling useless. Maybe I would lived a true childhood and be less cold blooded. Maybe my parents would give me more attention than fighting all the time. Maybe my father wouldn’t humiliated me. Maybe I would be a better person that would be able to be someone useful than only eating and sleeping. Maybe I would never think about to die. All I feel able to do is to cry because I know I’ll never have what I want the most, unless I die and be born again.
I wish I could have enough courage to die. I already wrote my suicide note and I look at it everyday asking myself when I can finally publish it and just rest to never wake up on this body again. I’m so tired that sometimes is really hard to think about anything clearly. I can’t read a book anymore because I always forget what I read. When I play games I get angry so easily because I can’t be concentrated enough on what is happening and I say the game is trash even if it’s not.
I’m unemployed for the last three years and I depend on others to live and I can’t but anything I want because I never have money. Getting a job wouldn’t be so difficult if I wasn’t transgender, if I wasn’t born with this curse. Worst than being transgender is being trans in the most transphobic country in the world, Brazil, where people think that I can only be a fucking prostitute. I could save some money to go to a civilized country where trans people are treated as human being, but I can’t even get a job to be able to do it. I hate being transgender. I hate this body.
I look at other people’s life, normal people, and I’m jealous. They always get what they want with minimum effort while no matter how hard I try I rarely get what I want.
Every night I wish to never wake up the next day. I have no reason to be alive. I have no friends, no job, my father humiliated me two years ago because of what I am, my mother disrespects me ask the time and she doesn’t accept I’m a woman. I see no future. Two years ago I had the chance to kill myself. I had courage that day, but I didn’t go on. I regret about it.
See the world through a window. A world that I spend a good time imaginating myself there, being one of its inhabitants, pretending how things could be better, not necessarily perfect, just a place where I could be happy, but it’s a world that I don’t belong, distant, impossible to be reached, and just because a damnful detail that prohibits me to belong to it. I’m just part of the scum, a mistake, an anomaly that is always iluded trying to be equal but knows that never will be, no matter how many times I try. Sometimes I get an acceptance, a false acceptance, just one more illusion on a life without a purpose, where felicity is a myth and the pain is sovereign and endless. What left now is the wish to pass through this window, even on dreams, inside a deep sleepness where no one could wake me up, and although I know that nothing of that would be real, I wouldn’t care, I just want to stay there and never come back.
She was a woman that was exhausted of everything. Her pain had consumed her inside and was killing her day after day. What was supportable, at some point wasn’t anymore. What gave her strength, at some point didn’t give anymore. There was a moment that she realized that no matter how she tryed to run away from her problem, run away from herself, she couldn’t deny the fact that she hated so much, because the memories from her past were tormenting her, and no matter how she wanted to forget all of that, more the memories were showing up in her mind, as if she still was living that. It was unbearable and she only could think about a way to put an end to that pain, that was put an end on herself, the life that she hated very much. From then on, when wasn’t the conflict of pain and strength, was the conflict of life and death that was consuming her thoughts. She didn’t want to die, she wanted to have the opportunity to be herself, but life was so cruel that she never could have what she wanted the most, unless she dies and be born again, and think about it made her believe that nothing could make her fully happy in this life.
When the exhausting conflict between life and death ended, the rejection of herself won. No matter how she was angry at nature that made her that way, lost the faith in gods, deep in her core something good still was keeping her alive, the faith that there should be a reason for her to be that way, but think about why made her believe that it was a kind of punition for something terrible that she did in another life. What would it be?
She was determined to put an end on this, but didn’t have courage enough. Something was keeping her alive. Day after day she was living in automatic being distant from reality. At some moment, she obtained a substance that could take her away from this life without causing her pain. Even with that thing in her hands the doubt remained. She didn’t really die, but there wasn’t cure for her pain. She still was in conflict, but until when she could bear it she didn’t know. Even being in limit, there always seemed to have more. Someday, a friend invited her to something that maybe could cheer her, something that maybe if could make her connect better with nature would make her understand that she wasn’t so abnormal as she felt. Apprehensive she accepted the invitation, but took with her the substance, but a way that no one could know.
In a distant place, after hours traveling, in a florest, the cult to the sacred feminine was exclusive to women. No matter how everyone know about her differences, they treated her as equal, but she didn’t see herself as equal, something was missing, something that she never could know what what it would feel. No matter how they told her that she didn’t need an uterus to be the woman she was, that kept destroying her inside. Each one of the presents had the freedom to be as free as possible to connect to the nature around, was it the clothes, or their ausence, and the way they express through art and the music with songs in honor of godess. At the same time she felt good, she was also feeling bad, but she really tryed to put the differences aside and see herself as equal, but deep in her core the conflict between mind and body was consuming her. When the first night arrived, she joined the circle of songs around the fire pit. The endless conflict seemed finally have an end and she could feel good there, until the moment she felt the wound hurt again.
She went away from the circle and decided to sleep to try calm down the mind and not feel the pain. It wasn’t enough. It was unbearable. It was late at night when she decided to call the friend for a talk. No matter how the dialogue was to find a way to heal that pain, it ended to make it hurt more, a point that it was totally unbearable to deal the fact that she never would be a woman biologically. She wished the pain had stopped. She was desperate. At the end she decided to use the substance. The only thing that she asked the friend was to not feel guilty, because this guilty was only hers, that wasn’t strong enough to deal with all of that. The friend felt bad but respected her decision.
After the legal proceedings about her death, her funeral was different. They put her body in a special kind of fabric and tied it in a form of a drop. After the burial a tree of acerola was planted upon her place of final rest. In life her body wasn’t able to generate other life, but in death her body was able to generate something that could feed the life of others.
I had this dream the week I first tried to die.
I hate who I am
I hate my black skin
I hate my curly hair
I hate being tall
I hate what I have between my legs
I hate being transgender
I hate not being normal
I hate not being able to be good enough to have friends
I hate the town where I live
I hate being brazilian
I hate my life
But I would love…
To be dead