Schizoaffective Desert Witch

i'd check into a hospital but i don't want to be saved. nothing anyone can do will reduce the suffering. no one can help. i was born totally broken and nothing in this universe can make me whole--make me real. nothing can give me a future, a real future where there's worthwhile, fulfilling experiences to have that outweigh or at least equal the pain of being a hideous freak, alone, unlovable, universally despised, incurably devoid of any sense of belonging, welcome nowhere. Empty and in perpetual, meaningless torment. i used to pray to be fixed so i never had to be the kind of wretched thing that lives this joke life. then i prayed to be saved from the unthinkable torture to which my being this wretched thing sentenced me for life, to allow me a place to belong, the possibility of being loved, the ability to blend in and look enough like would have looked if i were real that mirrors wouldn't crush me and being seen in my skin wouldn't humiliate me, all so i could live a real life and experience mostly just normal people's pain instead of the freakish horrors i'm subjected to daily. then i prayed, begged to die. because i can't be saved. the life i dreaded is my life, be it as boy or mannish shemale. it's not worth living. no one without this terrible curse would pick my life over a quick, clean, relatively painless death, especially one brought on by external forces. now i don't even pray. no one's listening. no one cares. there's nothing anyone who could do would do, and vice-versa. i don't blame them. not at all. LOOK at me! who is going to feel kinship with that? who is going to even see a person in that, let alone a girl in unspeakable suffering? i only want, now. i want the courage, willpower, and resolve to make myself a quick end before i spend decades more making a fool of myself by being this creature and trying to live. hope is long dead for me. the light at the end of the tunnel was an illusion, it was never there. just more putrid, crushing darkness. i always suspected it but i foolishly hoped i was wrong. it's little consolation that i'm not wrong.

why are people circulating years-old posts of mine from back when i used to care? i'm not going to enter into a discussion with anyone because it will accomplish nothing and will be incredibly draining at a time when i don't really have any kind of energy at all.

why did i have to be born an ugly shemale thing that will always be alone? and not just romantically. i will never have family, i will never belong anywhere only women can belong, nor will i ever be part of the wider world, the margins of which i "live" on. this isn't a life. i don't even have a body i can tolerate. doesn't something have to have been alive in order for it to be killed? it's not even suicide to do away with myself, it's just waste disposal.

what evil would i have done if i were a real girl that i deserve this cruel fucking mockery of a life? i never went to bed ONCE in the last 22 years without praying for my body to be fixed or to die in my sleep so i wouldn't have to face another day like this. praying is pointless. hope leads to nothing but pain, but without hope i'm totally empty. in turn, there's nothing realistic to hope for that will actually ease the unbearable suffering and humiliation of being this way. i have nothing left in life. all my modest wants (only to be a normal girl with a life worth living, or close to it) are categorically no longer possible. i have been mutilated and i will die still deformed no matter what i do. why am i supposed to stick around when i KNOW the pain will never let up and i will never have anything to look forward to. these aren't just bad possibilities i focus on in pessimism, they're facts. i will NEVER have a female body. i will NEVER live any part of my life remotely like that of any born woman who ever existed or will ever exist. i will never be more than half-female, if that. technology will not progress far enough in my lifetime to make me anything close to real. maybe a better imitation but fuck settling for that. trans health care is not a priority to anyone who isn't trans themselves. so why am i supposed to hold out? why am i supposed to suffer for decades more and strive only to cope with what was taken from me? i don't want to cope. i want to be free. i want this to stop. all of it. but i can't even succeed in killing myself, which is the mark of a total failure i suppose. two deliberate, potentially fatal overdoses failed to kill me, and a third actually killed me but i fucking CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD! what did i do? what horrible fucking unspeakable thing did i do to deserve this? i have to deserve it. it's too perfectly vicious and cruel to not be punishment or revenge. can't i at least learn what i did? i'll keep begging for death and killing myself slowly with drugs in the meantime. there's nothing else i can do. i'm powerless to end my own existence that i'm equally powerless to make fulfilling, or even just worthwhile. fucking take me already i've been ready for this to end since i was five fucking years old.

i'm sure being drug-free is great if you have a life that's worth living in any way. as for me, stuck living a joke of a life as a deformed nonperson with no place to belong in the world, poisoning my body is the only way to feel better. it numbs the physical pain and discomfort from the churning in my gut and makes everything matter less to me which means, considering that everything that matters to me is a terrible and hollow thing, that when i'm using i suffer a little less under the crushing, devastating, painful hopelessness that i was born to succumb to. and it has the added benefit of punishing the flesh that ruined everything in life for me before i was even born. there's nothing here for me, and one day i will intentionally take a lethal dose of this poison to speed up the only possible ending to this tragic, boring, pointless story. and that will be the day my favorite poison will have helped me the most, more than anything else in this beautiful, vast, amazing world that was never here for me to be a part of.

What do you do when your life can't be anything you want it to be and all you want are the basic things people of the correct sex can experience? I want to know how to kill the desire to have the right body, to kill the longing for love, friendship, and belonging. How do you stop wanting to be wanted? And how do you live life without all those things? When all that's left are temporary distractions like music, food, and movies? When experiencing your own life means being empty, alone, and uncomfortable in your skin? How do you want to have only the tranny corner of the world to live in? How can you see the wider world every day, know you're not part of it and get only a tiny, dark room with the other rejects playing out a microcosm of the real world but without the wonders, the wide-open space, the breadth of things to experience, and the chance for interactions that matter? I want to learn to be content with the prison of a life that i've been given. Because the only way to stop hurting, to stop crawling in my own skin, and to stop feeling alone, worthless, ashamed, and trapped in a mockery of existence is to slit my own throat since no one will be able to revive me from that (i don't consider reviving me to be "saving my life" because this isn't a life, and i was beyond saving the moment i was born the most despised kind of monster in the world to share DNA with real human beings). Please, I need to know how to want this cruel joke i was born into, because if i can't learn to like this meaningless, pointless hell then the only way i'll be able to escape the pain will require me to kill myself again but very violently this time so i don't auto-resuscitate. or tell me i have to die i'm just sick of hearing there's so much to live for when no one has any specifics or even seems to remotely understand what my life is like. i don't care if you're not a trans woman or even if you hate ugly, phony-looking shemales. just please answer me how i'm supposed to deal with the one chance i get on this earth being so humiliatingly and irrevocably fucked that i don't even have someone to cry to about how every moment is pain, emptiness, and isolation and i can't even look at my reflection without wanting to mutilate the abomination i see there that has imprisoned me within it.

burning yourself with cigarettes because your body deserves it for stealing everything worth living for from you the moment you were born and leaving you with a painful, empty, meaningless nothing in place of life until the day you get lucky and die.

someone's gotta be out there who will pay money to me to let them kill me. specifically someone with a tranny snuff fetish. they have to exist. i can't afford to pay a more normal weirdo to jerk off to the act of killing me

His Imperial Sleepy Majesty, Brian I Gingertabby of the Pointy Ouchy Forest

i don’t want to breathe anymore. that’s a strange impulse, isn’t it? i’m imagining just stopping, no gagging or choking, and blowing away in the wind in billions of tiny pieces.

more unreality. even the fantasy worlds i have to live in to keep semi-functional in the real world are getting suicidal in nature.

it’s like when i was a teenager and i finally stopped praying to various gods to make me a real girl and started praying for them to kill me in my sleep, and then moved on to “kill me whenever, wherever, however; it doesn’t matter as long as i’m finally gone."

but like with everything else, even mercy for this wretched mistake i am falls on me to give to myself. i can’t stop or fix or control or escape any of the things that are gleefully tearing and clawing away at the little ragged strips of me that remain. the one power i *do* have, the one thing i can control in this unrelenting 27-year tailspin is the ability to make *all* of it stop at once–forever. It comes from outside me, it comes from inside me, all this misery and embarrassment, and the only reason i know what it is for something to feel "comforting” is because that’s how i feel about knowing i can, and one day will flick a switch so none of it can hurt me anymore. i won’t feel the ache of wanting a life and body that fits me. i won’t feel my heart sinking knowing that i’m a facsimile of a female, that i won’t ever belong among women or the subgroups of women i would have belonged to had i just been born the same way half the human population is born instead of being born a grotesque, twisted, freakish, hopeless, envious, empty fucking shell of a wannabe. i won’t ever again feel my chest tighten like i’m being physically crushed from the knowledge that what i am is impossible for someone who wants a woman to love or even desire, because what i am is not actually female and it never, ever will be no matter what i do.

i’m not going to drag myself through this empty desert for another fifty years. i can’t. i don’t have goals or dreams or ambitions anymore. i have impossible wishes and fantasies of a life that will never be mine in any way. i can only make the sorrow stop once and for all time, and i don’t care that it takes everything else away from me with the pain. i don’t have anything else worth keeping, certainly nothing worth suffering this meaningless cosmic torture porn anymore.

give me the strength to do the only thing left to me worth doing.

i have a kind of soft death date worked out. if and when i reach age 30 in 3 years and change, having still never been loved by even one person in my entire life, i will open my own throat on my 30th birthday with a well-sharpened knife to maximize bleeding and minimize pain. I've had enough pain. I'll also load up on heroin for that purpose. if i still have a penis and testicles, i'll hack them off first before i make the final cut, so i get to feel what it's like not to have the organs that flooded my body with testosterone and stole happiness, love, and belonging from me forever. just for a little while. 12 years ago i considered whether to try to live life as close to a woman as my disgusting body and stolen girlhood could make me, or to end my pointless, meaningless, unimportant misery and roll my dice with the next life, hoping it would give me better chances at being a real girl, a real person. i tried. it isn't good enough. it isn't even "okay." it's hell. a hell trying to be who i always wanted to be rather than hell of not even telling anyone who i was supposed to be and how it hurt seeing this sad male creature in her place, in my place. but still a hell. i should have saved some pain and shame and loneliness and taken a fuller needle to my arm back then. slipped off quietly, leaving this testosterone-mutilated joke of nature dead on its doorstep like a bag of burning dogshit. play your fucking pranks on someone else. someone strong enough to take it. someone you wouldn't be making into a walking stillbirth, always screaming inside because you made it conscious of how irreparably terrible, monstrous, and pathetic it was. i'm correcting nature's error for good. permanent solutions exist for permanent problems, and my only slight relief from feeling heartbroken and violated down to my very soul is knowing that this single, solitary way out exists and i can take it when i have the courage to take it.

day after day i spend as a hideous blight on all of creation and i really can't tolerate being a thing for much longer. i've spent years considering escaping for good, sometimes attempting it, and i never once lost my desire to escape. i'm not the girl i want to be, i never will be, and i can't continue to bear being this ridiculous, warped shadow of her for the rest of a lifetime. i'm not particularly tall or heavy, my frame is too bulky and angular, my shape is twisted and wrong with big hands and feet. the way i look probably frightens women, and if it doesn't then it certainly either disgusts or amuses them instead that i stuff this monstrous, lumbering, beastly thing into femme clothing. it disgusts me, and if it weren't my own skin (god do i wish it wasn't mine), i might find it funny, too. parts of life i desperately wanted to experience were lost to me forever in my past, and anything else is closed to me in the future. despite all the advice, despite it being the only life i get, the only hand i was dealt... i just can't make myself want any part of it. nothing of the life i wanted remains. nothing i'm remotely interested in lies in the junkyard of my future. i don't know what keeps others like me here, but in my case it's cowardice. i'm afraid it will hurt. i'm afraid it will be scary. so everything i am is battered and drowned under the crushing waves of this absurd parody of an existence i never wanted and i'm too much of a baby to give it up even though all it is is just a longer, crueler, more humiliating and lonelier death. this stupid fucking self-preservation instinct is keeping me in a reality that has abused me down to my own judas of a genetic code. not today, not tomorrow, but someday soon i'll find the resolve to rob the universe of one of its most disgusting jokes. i'll find the courage to dive into the nothingness and escape the only real hell there can possibly be. being nothing will be infinitely better than being this half-female mongrel sex. and maybe i'll be whole in an afterlife, or reincarnated as an actually female girl to live the life this incarnation could only bitterly dream about through tears. all the rules of all the white-person derivative versions of reincarnation suggest i have to slog this meaningless humiliation through to its worthless conclusion for that to happen but that's no more likely than not. almost any way this ends up, it will be better than this. it HAS to be.

idc who follows me but why a porn blog would even want to follow something like me is just mysterious.

i'm profoundly ugly and i'll never voluntarily let anyone see my malformed body nude and yet i am followed by dozens of porn blogs?

so how many years on hormones until i get to be a real girl and can start living an actual human life instead of spending day after day daydreaming ways i'd prefer to die.