Content warning: this post discusses a suicide attempt. If you are feeling suicidal, please talk to someone about it. If you have no one else to talk to, there are telephone hotlines you can call to talk to a trained volunteer who can help you through this. In the USA and Canada you can call

• USA Trans Lifeline – For transgender people – 1-877-565-8860
• Canadian Trans Lifeline – For transgender people 1-877-330-6366
• The Trevor Project – For LGBTQ youth – 1-866-488-7386
• Suicide hotline in USA and Canada – For everyone – 988

Suicide is a difficult topic for many people to talk about, especially those who are facing it themselves, and for those whose loved ones have gone through with it, but it is something that we really need to be willing to talk about. People comtemplating suicide usually feel completely alone in their feelings and think that no one else could understand what they are going through, and this leads them to try and bear their pain silently and without help. That can lead to thinking that no one even cares, that no one will miss you if you die, or even that no one will notice at all that you are gone. But that’s not true! There are people who care, and if nothing else I am one of those people, so today and the next few days I will be writing about my own suicide attempts to help show that there really are people who have been there, who have felt the pain you may be feeling yourself, and who have nonetheless survived to live another day and even to find happiness.

The background to this story, and given the rest of this blog it should be obvious, is my transgender identity. At 9 I was making fake long fingernails out of Elmer’s Glue, and dressing up in my sister’s old cheerleader uniform. At 10 I was wondering why I had to change clothes with the boys instead of the girls for physical education class, and at 11 I finally realized that I really should have been a girl. And at 12 or 13 I decided that since there was no possible way for me to actually be a girl, then being a boy just wasn’t something I wanted to live with. I decided that I should die.

This was in 1982. There was no such thing as gender affirming care for youth at the time. There were no trans TV stars or fashion models. There was no Internet to get on to talk to other trans people. I barely even knew the word “transsexual”. To me transsexuals were just the “freaks” that got trotted out on daytime talk shows for the audience to laugh at and make fun of. They were sad, pathetic, mentally ill people who were probably drug addicts and hookers. To say I had no role models to look up to was an understatement. And because of this I felt completely isolated. I felt ilke I was the only person in the world who was genuinely a girl born into a boy’s body, and that no one would ever understand me or love me or accept me for who I knew myself to be. And so I decided to end my life so that I wouldn’t suffer anymore.

One night, I waited until well after midnight when I knew my parents and sister would be asleep. I then got dressed in a nightgown and robe of my mother’s that I had stolen from a closet of unused things, and I picked up a rope that I had found in the garage and stashed in my bedroom. I quietly walked through the house, nervously glancing at my parents’ open bedroom door as I passed through the living room, and I went into the breakfast nook. I picked up a chair from the dining table as quietly as I could, and went the the front door. Then I opened the door gingerly, and carried my chair and rope out into the night.

It was dark, of course, but I risked turning on the porch light so I could see. And there were the trees waiting for me on the short path to the driveway. I set up the chair beneath a horizontal limb and paused, looking at it. I was going to tie the rope to the limb, tie a noose in the other end (I did not actually know how to tie a noose, but I figured just a loop at the end of the rope would be good enough), climb up on the chair, put the loop around my neck, and then kick the chair away. I had also prepared a note that was pinned to my clothes explaining that I was really supposed to be a girl, that I didn’t know why I wasn’t born one, that I was sorry for hurting everyone, but that I just couldn’t live with the pain any more and needed to go away.

But instead of getting started I just stood there looking up at the tree. I wondered if the rope would stretch too much, or the limb, which wasn’t all that high, would bend and I would end up with my feet on the ground and stand there like a complete failure, unable even to kill myself. I wondered if I would make too much noise and my parents would wake up and come out to find me and take me down. I wondered if it just wouldn’t be enough to kill me and I would just wake up in a hospital the next day and have to confront my family and explain everything to them face to face. And I wondered if I would actually succeed and then my parents would be devastated and blame themselves. And I felt scared. And then I started crying.

After a few minutes of crying I decided I couldn’t do it. I carried the chair back inside to the table, went back into my bedroom, put away the rope, took off the robe, crumpled up the note and threw it away, climbed into bed, and cried myself to sleep. The next day was just another day; another day of misery and hating myself for being a boy and for being a coward who wasn’t able to face death.

Life after that was dull and grey, but it didn’t last. Not too long after that incident my mother found my hidden stash of women’s clothing and sent me off to a psychiatrist, but I never told anyone the details about wanting to kill myself, not until many years later. The only people I ever discussed it with were other trans people, because I felt like they, at least, would understand why I did what I did, both the wanting to die, and the not being able to go through with it. This is the first time I’ve put the story into writing in detail, though I have mentioned it before on this blog in How I Knew I Was Trans, Part 2.

I hope that anyone reading this comes away with an appreciation for how difficult it can be for a trans child who has no support or information to help them deal with being different, but I also hope that people can see that the act of suicide is something that does not come easily to people. It is not “the easy way out” as so many people like to claim. It’s an incredibly difficult decision and someone has to overcome a lot of fear and self doubt to be able to go through with it. I am not saying this to praise the “courage” of people who kill themselves, but rather to point out that calling suicidal people “cowards” is a really insulting and belittling thing to do to someone who is dealing with problems you most likely will never understand. Please don’t respond like that when you hear about someone wanting to commit or actually going through with suicide. Instead, just listen to them. Let them tell you what they are feeling and don’t question it! Don’t offer platitudes, don’t offer advice, don’t say you “understand” unless you’ve actually experienced similar things yourself. Just listen and be there for them. Offer your sympathy, your empathy, your support, and most of all your unconditional love. Let them know that whatever they may be feeling they are not alone!

And if you, yourself, are feeling like you want to die, then take from this the knowledge that you really aren’t alone! There are people out there who have been in the same or similar situations to you, who know what it is like to feel worthless and hopeless, and who have overcome those feelings and are ready to give you as much support and comfort as they can. Reach out to us!

If anyone out there is feeling suicidal and needs someone to talk to, you can reach out to me. You can find me on Mastodon at https://chaosfem.tw/@moriel or you can leave a comment below and I will get back to you as soon as I see it! And don’t forget the resources I listed above if you need to speak to someone right this very moment.

You do not have to be alone!