This post carries on from The “Fresh Start”
Ok, I had got through the worst, but I couldn’t stay around where I was, too many memories, too much rubbish. Being in the flat on my own after everything that had happened, while it was a relief, it wasn’t pleasant. My cars engine had gone kaboom, so I couldn’t really go far, but I had to. In the end I forked out for a new engine and moved over to a village on the edge of Coventry.
That might sound fairly random, but it isn’t, honest! My best friend was already living there so it made quite a bit of sense. The commute to work was a nightmare though, 40 miles each way through some of the worst traffic the midlands can throw at you! As expected with a commute like that, I didn’t stay working there for that much longer, instead I got a job in the local pub and moved in above it. Perfect! Essentially my lounge had its own bar, pool table, massive screen and endless seating!
Life wasn’t that rosy though, inside I was still hurting, quite badly. I was learning to bottle things up inside, not show my emotions, get on with life. Occasionally it’d all break down and become too much, but the next day I just start filling up the bottle again. I wasn’t cutting at this time, it was too public, too many people around who could notice, I didn’t want to have to deal with all the questions. I had to do something though, kind of release the pain I was feeling. I started to starve myself, to be honest, I did a terrible job of it, I love food too much. I’d give in and eat, then throw up, then starve, then give in, throw up.. etc… I don’t think I had an eating disorder, I think it was more to do with my state of mind at the time. I don’t know, maybe it was an eating disorder, meh, its just another label to add to another of lifes problems I guess.
I went to see a doctor, I knew I was just plain wrong, he put me back on anti depressants and sent me away. He must have been worried though, one night at the pub two random men walk in, asking if I’m here. Obviously, two men work into somewhere looking for you, you are worried what it could be, so I didn’t twig on that it was me until I worked out who they were, as it turns out they were from the NHS. The doctor had sent them over to do an assessment on me… nice of them to give me advance warning there! Could have been embarrassing if the pub wasn’t empty.
There starts the endless cycle of telling my life story to numerous specialists (something which I still seem to be doing). They did the whole nodding and smiling thing, didn’t really offer any help, but I guess they weren’t there to directly help. Out of that I get a referral to see the psychiatrist at the local hospital, who instantly writes a letter to refer me to the Gender Identity Clinic in London (I didn’t know at the time how long it would take, I know now.. ages!).
In the mean time, life had to go on, so it seemed. Well, the first bombshell came when I found out the next day (while I was still really excited about my referral to London) that I’d be losing my job. The second bombshell comes hand in hand with that, no job, no place to live. Suddenly everything was too much, I wanted to find the way out again. It was another one of those moments where there seemed to be no solution other than to end it all, so I tried. Well, I started taking an overdose, but half way though sense hit me, completely hit me. I realised I was making a big mistake and called an ambulance myself. The guilt of that kills me, knowing I’m wasting an ambulance and doctors time for something I’d done to myself, I’m sorry.
I was kept in overnight and discharged in the morning, obviously in their eyes I was fine, that or I’m good at hiding it. I spent a couple of weeks sleeping on a friends sofa until the council had found me a flat to live in around Rugby. I was still feeling terrible though, despite seeing sense on that night, I still felt at times regret for seeing sense, if that makes sense. Life was tough, very difficult to handle. Now that I was out of the public eye so to speak, I’d resorted to cutting again, in reality out of all the options open to me it was probably the safer one. It was only ever minor, I never managed to go to the extremes I used to go to, eventually it kind of “wore off”, it seemed like I was growing out of it, so to speak. The release that the act of cutting used to give me, just wasn’t there any more. I didn’t feel any better though, I just learnt to hide it and deal with it.
Anyway, other things were starting to happen, my first proper time out as Jenny happened on my birthday that year, night out at the pub, not the usual place a T girl goes for her first time out! But hey, it was a great night
. Eventually the date of my first appointment at the London clinic was sent to me, still 8 months away.. that is a hard feeling to grasp, still, I tried to stay positive about it, at least I *had* an appointment. My times out were slowly becoming more frequent until I officially became Jennifer in September last year.. its amazing that a feeling a piece of paper can give you!
My time living in Rugby was coming to an end, the finances of it all were becoming too much (if anyone tells you that you are better off when the government increases your benefits, they are lying, the council just pay less towards your rent, leaving you worse off). I moved back to Bromsgrove again, with my Mom.
It’s now been a year since I made that move, and near enough nothing has happened, I’ve had my two appointments down in London, but I have made no further progress. Finances dictate the amount which I can go out, which isn’t much. It is just an uneventful life at the moment, and extremely dull! I haven’t self harmed or taken any overdoses in that time, which can only be a good thing. Life still hurts, but I’m slowly starting to deal with it in better ways.
So there it is, the final post of my story! Well, when I say final, you know what I mean… you are up to date now! Hopefully the story will continue, but it just hasn’t happened yet!