Legally Crazy; My First Transgender Suicide Attempt

Hello My Dear One,

Important Preface: I am in no way currently suicidal. I have no suicidal ideation, no plans, no causes, no reasons for wanting to kill myself. And therefore, I don't want to kill myself. I am under the care and supervision of medical professionals and am 100% safe. Trust me, you can hold me to this one.

All that said, I want to share what my first suicide attempt was like and what I've learned about myself from it.

It was 1985 and I was on the floor of my parents' bathroom in the house I grew up in. I was 10 years old.

I know that seems shocking, that I was so young, but that was the first time I realized that anyone could end their life if they had the right resources. I happened to have the right resources.
I had a bathtub full of water, a towel, a door with a lock, and a giant block of dry ice. I had been allowed to experiment with the dry ice, we had received a shipment of frozen steaks in the mail, and was warned that the the CO2 (carbon dioxide) from the melting compound could be deadly. Dry ice is made of CO2 and as it evaporates the gas sinks to the floor and will cause suffocation if breathed in exclusively. So, I filled the tub, locked the door, rolled up the towel to block the crack under the door, and laid down. I was waiting for the suffocation.

But how did I get to this point?

There are numerous reasons that someone decides that suicide is a valid option for them. At 10 I know I didn't understand the true finality of the act, but I did understand that it was an end to suffering. It was an end to feeling different. It was an end to the constant pain of my Beast of Mental Illness telling me that I was never going to be okay, and I knowing that much was enough at that point.

I was different. I was a boy stuck being a girl. I was transgender, and I didn't even have a word for it. In 1985 there were people who had sex changes, I had only heard of 1 man who became a woman, and I knew plenty of people who were gay. Since I didn't know of trans people I figured I had to be gay, despite knowing I was male, something I'd determined when I was three years old. But without vocabulary I was left in a no-man's-land both figuratively and literally. Gender dysphoria wasn't a thing yet, but I was, and that was exactly how I thought of myself. I was a thing, an it, caught between a mind and a body that wouldn't match. Death seemed like a good answer at the time.

Thankfully, after awhile I sat up, because the process was taking too long for my liking. I moved the towel. I opened the door. I left the bathroom. I pretended as though nothing had happened. And it would be a few more years before I would cognitively realize my Beast yelling out again for an end to the pain.

I would still attempt self-harm during those years, fantasize about fatal or at least violent and scarring accidents, and wonder what death would feel like. It was a time when I see that I was more than distracted by the darkness, I was living in the hell of mental illness, of Bipolar Disorder 1, as well as trying to be male in a female body.

I have to admit that writing these things down has been more difficult than I imagined it would be. I wrongly assumed that recalling the factual details of an event in my early life would be a straightforward task. But it turned out that it has been emotionally draining in unexpected ways. The greatest one is that of being a parent now with children in their tween/early teen years and how much my heart breaks when I think of them feeling something half as badly as what I've lived through. I truly can't make myself feel that pain. It stops me in my tracks every time.

So, what did I learn about myself way back then? How did I change after that moment? And what have I learned since?

For one, 1985 was the year I changed my name in my mind. Even though the rest of the world knew me by my given name, Arin became the name I called myself. Yes, when I write to you it is as Ari [are-ee] and not Arin, but I have other deeper reasons for that.

A spoonful of poison...

Secondly, I learned that no matter how hard I tried to be something/someone else I couldn't do it. Even a dead body was the wrong body.

And among other things, I now see that who I am is a product of those horrible conflicts within myself. I am exactly the man I am today because of the female role I had to play back then. I am a father, a husband, an uncle, a friend, and so much more for having chosen to walk away from suicide that time, and many more as the years went on.

Thank you for living alongside me on this journey.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari

Legally Crazy; Transgender in the Psych Ward, Disclosure

Hello My Dearest,

Five years ago I was in an inpatient psychiatric facility. Those are still not easy words to write. It means that my mental illness, my Beast of mental illness, was so far out of control that I was no longer safe with myself or others and had to be placed in a facility where I could be monitored. In fact, it meant that my room door was open and nurses walked by and checked in regularly. Unlike a regular hospital room though, there was no curtain to give an illusion of privacy, and the bed wasn't adjustable. Plus, the furniture was bolted to the walls, and there were bars on the windows.

But what was it like to be trans in the psych ward? It was definitely a mixed bag, especially because I was having a complete Bipolar 1 breakdown. I was suicidal. I was manic. I was delusional. In one way I was not myself, but in another I was completely myself.

I have dual diagnoses of Bipolar Disorder 1 and Gender Dysphoria, along with 4 or more other psychiatric disorders, and insulin dependent diabetes. The DSM 5 psychiatric diagnosis of Gender Dysphoria, despite all of the work I've done, and had done, indicates that my body and my mind don't entirely match up. I suppose being bipolar probably doesn't really help that in the end.

Being transgender and having Bipolar 1 Disorder possesses an intrinsic sameness for me.

It means simultaneous existences in 2 disparate worlds.

It means that even when I'm here, I'm there too.

That first night I probably wasn't thinking too much about the trans part of my life. I suspect I was more focussed on the sheer insanity of detox. Then again, I wanted to appear as fully male as possible. I didn't want anyone to know I was transgender. Even though every staff member knew my gender identity. Sanity wasn't on my side to start with, so thinking clearly wasn't there either.

Being transgender in a psych ward was terrifying for me in a way that was completely separate from the Bipolar 1. I was afraid for my own safety at the hands of the other patients. I was afraid that if the men there knew, they would physically or sexually assault me. Consequently, I never told them.

Looking back now, I think this put a huge damper on my recovery. I believed that I could be well even if my whole self wasn't present. I thought that I could heal the wounds without exposing the deeper cuts. I held myself back. In so doing, I delayed my progress and stayed stuck. I kept myself from moving forward in meaningful ways.

The anxiety of disclosure is still with me of course, even though I share my story easily and readily. I bring my whole self whenever possible, but there are times when I check 30 years of life treatment as a female at the door. I leave behind the person I was and pretend that I've always been the male who's standing there.

Perhaps this is an act of self-preservation. Maybe it is the physical fear of attack, but I believe it is an emotional, psychological, and spiritual fear of degradation and loss of dignity. Exposing oneself to other people's ignorance, bias, fear, distrust, and hate is risky. And yes, I am fully aware that I have a choice, my white skin color is a privilege, and I don't have to disclose my gender identity if I don't want to.

But sometimes I want to disclose for the sake of others. For my trans brothers and sisters who did disclose themselves and lost it all. For trans youth who are terrified of coming out to the safe people in their lives. For nontrans folk who have family members who are trans. And for the bigots who believe I am not who I say I am, who devalue my existence through denial and hate. For all of them to help normalize and accept that we are real live people who choose to be ourselves.

And back in the psych ward, I wish I'd done just that those first few days. I wish I'd had the courage to be that man. But maybe just being a man at that moment was enough. Maybe standing there in my Bipolar meltdown as the man I am was exactly what I needed to do, because a few days later I would have the opportunity to open up when the time was right.

Thank you for being on my journey of disclosure.

Be well, love your neighbor as you love yourself, and remember to actually love yourself.

-Ari