My First Transgender Suicide Attempt, 1985

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 or harm myself in any way. Repeat: 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 some of what I've learned about myself from it.

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

I was 10 years old and I wanted to die.

I know that it may seem shocking, my young age, but that was the first time I realized I could end my life if I had the right resources. On that particular day, I happened to have the right resources. I had a bathtub full of water, a towel, a door with a lock, and a large block of dry ice we'd received with frozen steaks in the mail. I'd been warned of the dangers of the solid form of CO2 and exactly what not to do with it. I knew that as it melted the resultant gas was toxic and caused suffocation. So, with that knowledge, 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 an end.

A spoonful of poison...

But how did I get to this point? How did I at 10 years old even conceptualize this? Why was I desirous of taking my own life when I had existed for only 1 decade? What could possibly make a child want to die?

It was because I knew that death was an end to suffering. Death was an end to the constant pain of believing that I was never going to be okay. Death was the end of both feeling and being different. Death was a permanent release from the self-loathing, the anxiety, and the utter hopelessness of my different existence. 

And my existence was very different because I was a boy, stuck being a girl. I was transgender, and I didn't have a word for it. In 1985 there were adults who had sex changes, not yet called gender reassignment or gender affirmation surgery, and I had heard of 1 man who became a woman in 1951. But without female examples or an LGBTQ vocabulary, I was left in a figurative and a literal no-man's-land. Being transgender wasn't a thing yet, but I was. Consequently, I thought of myself as a thing, an "it" caught between a mind and a body that didn't or couldn't match. Death seemed like the only (good) answer at the time.

Leading up to that day I had fantasized about violent and scarring accidents and attempted self-harm by the time I'd entered Primary school. One summer when I was 7 or 8 I threatened to break my leg by jumping off a swing so I wouldn't have to return to camp. Why was I willing to do something that drastic just to get out of swimming in a lake with leaches and a snapping turtle? The shortest answer was my bathing suit. It was a one-piece with ruffles and it accentuated the fact that I was fat and developing anatomically female traits. I hated being anywhere that I was seen and identified as a girl. I would be perceived as female at camp, the lake, and everywhere else I went then. At home, as an only child in the 1970s, I dressed as I wanted, but out in the world, I had to be her. And if I was injured or dead, so was she. And being her was truly and literally a fate worse than death in my mind.

So, back in 1985, the white smoke-like fog was bubbling up and over the side of the bathtub, quietly falling onto me. There was no smell or taste, just a physical heaviness, and the emotional heaviness of the anticipation.

But, being 10 I was impulsive and impatient, and I sat up because the process was taking too long. And I was confused. And I was scared. And as a person of faith, I believe that G-d was just as present as the CO2 was. I felt within me that maybe this wasn't the right choice. So I moved the towel, unlocked and opened the door, and left the bathroom. I pretended as though nothing had happened. But I secretly wondered if/when someone would've come looking for me. But mostly, I was glad I'd escaped parental punishment because I wasn't caught breaking the rules.

Funny isn't it, I was more concerned with my father's verbal (over)reactions and the punishment than my actual death. Not until now have I thought about what my parents' response to their 4th grader attempting suicide would've been. Or what it would've been like had I actually died. I honestly can't imagine that scenario, their response, or the final outcome.

And that's one of the most important things I've learned from this event and the others that would follow it. I am unable, unwilling, or unmoved to imagine or care what will happen to those around me if I commit suicide. It is the most selfish act that I can do. I would be telling those around me that they are not enough, that their belief in me is wrong, and that worst of all my wants are greater than their needs. Even though the horrors of being me at that moment supersede all rational or logical thought, it doesn't change the outcome for those I'd leave behind. The deepest truth of suicide is that by choosing to leave and never returning, my concern for myself is larger than any amount of love from or for others. 

Eventually, I also learned that no matter how hard I try, I'm unable to be someone or something I'm not. Even a dead body was still going to be the wrong body. And that body has slowly changed into the one I have now. It still may not be the dream but it's a million times better than the old version. And it's infinitely better than not having it at all.

The man I am today.

And among other things, I see that who I am is a direct product of those horrible times and conflicts within myself. I am exactly the man I am today because of the female role I played, the suicide attempt(s) and the pain I lived with and enacted on others. I am a father, a husband, an uncle, a friend, and so much more because I chose to walk away from suicide then, and many times later on. I am here because of all that was, and what I choose to do with it now. I am here.

Thank you for being here in the darker parts of the journey with me so we can both see the light together.

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

-Ari

Legally Crazy; Medications and a Carrie Fisher Quote

Hello My Dear One,

Well, we've made it through the Chanukah and Christmas holidays, and it's almost a new year on the Western calendar. I never had a real meltdown, so that was nice, and I didn't curl up in the fetal position too many times, also nice. But I did suffer from the increased dosage of the medication I added in several months ago. Three months and three milligrams into it and I've successively gotten sleepier and more fatigued with each passing day. I've had a few "good" days here and there filled with energy and positive feelings, but mostly I've been flat. I haven't been depressed per se, or even remotely suicidal, just weighted down by the heaviness of medication.

Now, I don't want you to think that I've gone and changed things without consulting with my provider first, because I did consult with the appropriate people. I have chosen to switch when I take a medication from morning to night in an attempt to use the sleepiness to my advantage. You see, after about 10 to 12 hours of having taken the med I begin to feel happy, relaxed, and ready to get on with my day. Unfortunately, this is usually around 8:00 pm (20:00 hours) and that's not particularly conducive to my life. If I worked a late shift I suppose this would be okay, but since I don't it really doesn't help. And as an insulin dependent diabetic, sleeping all day and night doesn't really help my overall health either.

So, onto the experiment, and a hope for a little more energy during the day. I've skipped my AM dose today in order to try this, yes, it's the first day and I don't know what will happen, but I'll let you know in a week. But I wanted to share this more because I want to be proactive about what's going on in my life. I want to let you know that meds help, but they have side effects that can leave you wondering if the previous instability was better than the current stability. Which is exactly why people with Bipolar Disorder go off their meds. Either we feel better because of them and question why we need them in the first place or we feel rotten on them, read normal, and stop taking the chemical help we've been receiving. It's a perpetual loop of positive and negative feedback where it's almost impossible to know the truth. Sometimes it's best to look to family, friends, and other loved ones for perspective, and to trust them that they can see who we are even when we're not ourselves. So that they can see who I am even when I am not myself.

There is a marvelous quote from the late and amazing Carrie Fisher:
     ”One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. ... At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you’re living with this illness and functioning at all, it’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.” 

I miss her. I miss her because she was a voice for those of us with this fatal disease. Yes, Bipolar Disorder is fatal, but we can manage it for as long as possible with support from those around us and from those who are willing to speak out about it. 

We can live with it, medicate it, use therapy on it, use acupuncture, other healing options, and talk to it with our own voices even when it feels ridiculous to do so. We can live even as we are dying, and that takes a lot of courage and stamina. 

Thank you for bringing perspective on this journey.

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

Ari

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