hope less

I will be another year older at the end of the week. I realized today after my therapy session that I will more than likely be sitting here on my next birthday still without surgery. My therapist insists on waiting to write my evaluation for surgery until after the next block of hours are approved. In a nutshell: he took four months to submit request for more hours, his request was outright denied by the lunatic evaluator (six weeks), he wrote an appeal (six weeks), the uber evaluator is now down to questioning nomenclature, sends letter to my therapist (four weeks), Therapist writes letter to evaluator (today). 16+6+6+4=32 weeks. For 8 months my therapist has been bungling his way in a lame attempt at getting more hours.

8 fucking months! I think he is stalling so that I will give up on my health insurance and pay through the nose to have him write the paper. That is the point that I am at right now, I am almost ready to just take the hit and pay for it, just to get it over with. Waiting for my health insurance to make up their mind is killing me. The latest letter doesn’t question my transsexuality at all, in fact it doesn’t even recognize the fact that throughout my course of treatment including before and after surgery, I am required to be in therapy. It’s the law, actually. I feel like I am dealing with total incompetence. I know more about the law than the doctors who are supposed to administer according to it. That fact gives me so much hope. The letter also read that they were suggesting that I don’t need therapy at all, and fifteen minutes a month with my doctor would be sufficient. That actually would be sufficient. The only times I have become unstable in the recent past is when I have gone to visit him, and continually get bad news.

Both my therapist and psychiatrist said they would write the documents I need to apply for surgery. I just apparently have to piss away more of my life waiting for them to get it done. I made an appointment with my psychiatrist for the middle of July to get him moving again. That I have accepted I will have to pay for. I should probably just pay and get it finished. Then I will stop going to therapy altogether. I do get something out of the therapy, but what little I do get is not worth all the hassle. It’s all bullshit anyway. I have helped myself more than therapy ever has. Fuck it! I guess I will be poor for a couple of months.

The ongoing disappointments have really started to mess with my head. I was in the bathroom at Konstablewache sitting in the stall peeing thinking about how I could get things moving. The thought ran across my mind of injuring my genitals so they would have no choice but to perform the surgery. That thought scared me. I haven’t had thoughts like that in years. I think one could say that I am already mutilating myself and the surgery will be the last straw. I have taken hormones to mutate my body, and I do electrolysis to remove my hair.

I also fantasized about dropping out of society. Sell everything and go live in a squat somewhere. Maybe a’dam. I want so badly to break free from the chains that I bind myself with. I stick to a dead end job so that I have national health insurance that is more expensive than in the states, so I can visit a lame therapist who is supposed to approve me for surgery so that the insurance will pay for it. Paying for it myself is not a viable option because I don’t have that kind of money. I had that money back in 2004, but I bought a house instead of a neo vagina. If I was smarter, I would have saved all that money and just rented, because it was imminent that my ex would eventually leave me anyway. What’s done is done. Now I am poor, and still without my neo vagina. The surgery isn’t so important that I will finally have what I want; but more so it represents a new beginning to my life. I will be able to move on without having to worry so much about treatment. I could move to somewhere else in Europe or go back home and start over again with nothing. The point is I will be able to do that, whereas I am holding myself back to get through without going into debt.

Then I thought about being a non-op and just moving on anyway. That option would probably require castration if I am to continue living the female gender role. I can’t take the massive dose of hormones I am on forever. Eventually, somehow, the twins have to go away. I feel like the challenge is to swim through a cesspool to get the prize at the other end. I am wondering if all that shit is really worth the prize. My life won’t be any different after as it is now, depressing. I feel waves of sadness running through my body, and warm tears running down my cheek. It’s time for sleep.