Three weeks since I wrote anything here. I’ve been in a less than happy shiny place, and although I have crawled slowly from the level of despair I was at in my last post, I have in no way reached a good place.

The best I can I say is that I now feel in a state of Limbo.

The first part of this post was written three weeks ago, six weeks in total to start and to continue with a post. Things have not really got any better with the passing of time, but neither have they got any worse, so I suppose that’s an improvement of sorts.

I don’t remember what I wrote in my last entry and I really don’t want to re-visit it, so, I apologise in advance if I have repeat myself.

Lets start with my elevated white cell count, after x-rays, scans and more blood tests still no apparent cause, so more blood tests and a spinal bone marrow test to look forward to. Yippee!! Mildly stressing but what can I do about it? Oh yeah, I can smoke more, gone from 2-3 packs a day to 3-4 packs a day.

My wife would start to bring up the subject of my Transgenederishness condition, but would still make me feel very uncomfortable if I brought it up.

I did however, get her to agree to come with me to Sparkle event for one of the days. (More on that later)

My Psychiatrist has changed, and from the previous one telling me that if I had not heard from the Gender Clinic by my next appointment, they could chase them up. I now have a Shrink that seems to develop a stutter with the word Transgender and tells me that he can’t do anything about the clinic. He did, however advise me not to drink alcohol with my medication (Despite me telling him I drink very infrequently and then very little), so it appears that he doesn’t listen as well as not being any use as a medical practitioner.

Speaking of medical practitioners, my doctor also appears to have lost interest in my case, and is offering no help or support. (“You’ve been referred, what more do you want” – Pass the towel)

My smoking has now hit a pretty much constant 4 packs a day, with some hand rolled ones for good measure. (Purely tobacco. My drug days are well and truly behind me. It’s hard enough to function as it is)

So, the train from Trans-Central Station has stopped in Limbo due to apathy on the tracks.

So a series of mildly irritating happenings build up and the melt down starts. (I presume, refer to last entry)

The big event. I rang the Gender Clinic the prescribed six weeks after my first call and in theory four to six weeks before I should have been getting my first appointment, only to be told that I am unlikely to be seen before January 2015 and more probably February. Pass me the nice jacket that fastens at the back and take me to the room with the lovely duvet covered walls.

I don’t want to talk I don’t want to write and I don’t want to read. Basically I don’t want to do F**k all, and dying has become the prospect of a rather pleasant alternative.

The day out to Sparkle was a really pleasant day out, and the first time I’ve wanted to venture out in a very long time. But that too ended in a big f**king disaster with my Wife losing the plot completely and throwing all kinds of abuse at me. (I didn’t even go out dressed as I’m still not feeling that brave or confident). She also sent cryptic texts to people telling them to call me and ask what I had to tell them.

This has now been followed by two weeks of civility, but absolutely no mention of the “T” word.

One of the results of this last little tete a tete (Imagine that I have used the accents in the correct place. English keyboards are so inconvenient) is that I no longer wish to have any communication with my family at all now. Never the best of relationships, the prospect of coming out to them and receiving similar reactions to that of my wife. I’d rather just cut myself off now, which I know is selfish and completely unfair to them.

“So here I am once more, in the playground of the broken dreams” etc with an added “How does it feel? How does it feel? To be on your own? With no direction home?” – Thanks Bob

Then today, I got a friend request on Facebook, from no one I have had any contact with, followed or other wise been aware of. The message that came with the request had the most amazing effect. Somebody who knew exactly what I am going through, a message written with no platitudes, no sarcasm and no clichés. “Just the facts Ma’am, Only the facts”

It made me realise that I am not alone, that I am not unique and despite what the media would have us believe, not all people are bad.

The light has come back on again, very faintly I grant you, but it’s on and I can see it.

Guess I just have to stop feeling sorry for myself again and get off my arse and do something.