So much for that!
It... went worse than I was hoping. I was meant to be there for dinner and I'm home now at 4pm, so that should probably speak for how it went. Basically, they're intent on making moving hard for me, and they're not even thinking about my being transgender yet. That at least went as I was expecting; they think it's just another one of my phases, and I can neither show them otherwise nor convince them that most of the reason those identity crises happen is that I've been forced to clamp down on my personality for years.
So I want to be fair here. There's a remote chance that one day the world will look at this blog and try to understand what I went through and what it was like for me. I could spend this time talking about old wounds and how my family have made me feel over the course of my adult life, but I don't want to sway you to my side because I made a flowery argument. I'm going to present what happened in a factual manner, and then you decide what really happened. Afterwards, I'll post my thoughts. If you think they'll turn you against my parents, I'd advise you not to read them.
First, I want to be upfront about myself. I have Borderline Personality Disorder and it's serious. This is a stigmatised illness, and many people reading this may already have their minds made up about me simply because of that one fact. If you don't, let me spell it out for you.
A person with BPD is like an emotional Lamborghini with bicycle brakes. We feel in excess; rage instead of frustration, grief instead of sadness, euphoria instead of happiness, and it's nearly impossible for us to control our feelings. This is what the world is like for a person with BPD, where everything that happens is felt double-strength to what the average person goes through.
Because of this, we often try to speak about our woes. Some people feel that by doing so, we're trying to garner sympathy or attention. We even have a reputation for being manipulative because we're constantly trying to talk about how horrible or amazing it feels to be where we are, and I suppose people associate that with attention seekers or people trying to cheat somebody. We're basically thought of as being "bad" people by a large chunk of the population, usually because they've met somebody with BPD and it didn't go so well.
But think about it this way; if a person was the victim of a serious burn or some other condition that caused excruciating pain, but the painkillers were withheld, what do you think that person would say? Would they hold it in and try to act normal, or do you think they'd be ranting and raving about their pain and trying to draw attention to the fact that they were suffering? I don't want you to lean towards my side because of that, though; there's every chance that I'm blowing this out of proportion.
So that's me. I also have a couple of other illnesses but at this stage, I think BPD is my major one (aside from maybe PTSD). There's also the fact that people with BPD are sometimes barred from giving witness testimonies because in the past there have been questions raised about whether or not we're able to remember events factually, although I've never personally seen any recent studies that suggest we can't and it seems to be purely stigma.
So, with that out of the way, let's talk about what happened.
Events as they took place, as neutral as I can manage:
Mum picked me up. We spoke on the way to hers, but it became pretty obvious that she wasn't interested in speaking about my gender issues. I think the words she used were "neither here nor there," and she said that only time would tell if I was serious about this. Basically, it didn't get discussed. Instead, they decided to focus on me moving.
I made lunch when I got there (brought it with me!) and then we sat down for a discussion. My father was particularly heated and seemed to think that I was besmirching them by packing up and leaving. What they said was more or less that they have done a lot to make sure I got settled into Mackay and that I am throwing all that back in their face by choosing to leave.
I tried explaining that I was suicidal, and although they accepted that this was not good (and I showed them my war wounds), they seemed to think that I should stay despite. They were concerned that I was making a rushed decision and that my problems would follow me. I explained to them that living in Mackay made me feel like my life's road had reached a Cul-De-Sac and that there were no sufficient mental health facilities in town for me to get the treatment I need. I tried to explain to them that I wanted to study and maybe work one day and that the University in Mackay only offers Industry and Agriculture. I also explained that there was really nobody in town who was on my wavelength and that the only friends I'd made up here had been religious friends whose friendships had ended with my tenure in their particular faiths.
The points that they made were that they didn't want to rescue me if it all fell apart. Let's be frank; both the times I've moved to Mackay have been because my life fell apart in Sydney. The first time was because I was 18 and living in a guesthouse whose rent was my whole paycheck less a packet of cigarettes, and when my job fell through I had nowhere to go. The second time was because my relationship with my ex fell apart and I had nowhere to live. She offered to let me stay in our old apartment until I found another place, but... that's a story for another time. It wasn't possible.
So yes. They've rescued me before, and at least twice by paying for me to move to Mackay. They put me up in their house for four years until I could get a place through public housing. They said that they're getting old and they can't keep doing it, and I respect that.
All in all, I think I fenced them pretty well. They tried to assert that I had not thought about this, and I was able to show in detail how much I had thought about it. I have plans and I've done research, and they admitted that I had done my research well. They seemed to think that there was some extra assistance that I could get for my electricity bill, which simply doesn't exist and I'm stuck with the full sum and the likelihood that I'll lose power at some point.
Things did not calm down, though. They returned to their points often and would not accept my explanations of why these either weren't issues, or they were worth the risk. I kept trying to explain that I needed access to health facilities and education that weren't available in Mackay. They did not accept my answers, and when the conversation began to heat up I asked to be taken home.
On the way home, Mum and I had a further discussion. We do not agree but I think she's slightly warmer to the idea than she was to begin with, and we parted on good terms. Dad and I aren't talking, but they've at least accepted that they can't sway me.
There is one further matter, however. There is an account which we opened together in their name because I need a way to save and with my BPD I'm not so good at doing it. If the money is there, chances are I'll spend it. So I asked them to open an account that I could deposit into. I've deposited about $160 towards my move and I was going to put another $200 in on Tuesday, and that was supposed to cover my ticket.
They would not give me a straight answer on whether or not they would allow me access to the money that I have put in there. There's more money in there ($300 in total) but the rest is money they have put in there in the interests of helping me out financially. In their words, they do not want to help me make a mistake, and so they may not give me access to my money. My father's logic was that they have helped me out a lot over the years and that the money should, therefore, be considered theirs, although I did manage to get them to promise me to return the money that I have deposited and that it should happen soon. I also told them that I intend to buy my ticket on Tuesday come hell or high water, even if I have to starve to do it.
My thoughts:
From here on in, you're free to reject what I say. These are my thoughts and feelings and are therefore subjective. They apply only to me and may not be as based in reality as I seem to think they are. Don't use them to judge my parents, just use them to understand how I feel.
Well, here goes.
The situation with the account is by far the worst bit. I have no legal right to that money because the account is in their name, but the idea that they would keep it from me in the interests of keeping me from harm is fucked up. I'm going whether they want me to or not, and the misguided notion that making me poorer when I arrive in the interests of protecting me is ludicrous.
It's yet another example of a time when my family thought that the best thing to do was discourage, shame, or otherwise, hinder me. Nevermind that I'm an adult and should be able to make my own life choices; if there's a way that they can get between me and what they deem to be bad for me, they will often do it.
I don't want them to rescue me anymore, and I've grown to resent the way that I, still at 30, rely on them for assistance from time to time. I'm resentful of the fact that this assistance comes in place of fulfilling relationships with the family and the respect that is handed out to my brother and sister. I'm resentful of the fact that what they do for me makes up for what they do to me.
I have never been a full member of my family. I have always been the black sheep, and instead of allowing me to be an individual in an otherwise homogenous unit, they often draw attention to the fact that I am not the same as my brother and sister and that it causes problems. When I was 18 I was arrested because my sister stole $5 and blamed it -- preemptively -- on me. I knew straight away what was going on, and I was infuriated by the way the four of them gathered to bring me down for something that I'd never done. I wound up breaking a gate assaulting my father; it's not the proudest moment of my life but that happened. Granted, he was trying to bullrush me, but I was the one that went to court and even though they were beside me, it never made up for the fact that I'd become their scapegoat yet again.
Most of all, I'm resentful of the fact that I need them. It's my personal failing, and the fact that they can still do me damage is my own fault. Sure, I'm in this position because of chronic mental illness and a Government that doesn't believe people should receive the pension under 35, regardless of how ill they are, but it's my weakness that caused this. I am a whole thing, indivisible from the parts of me that I would remove if I had the chance.
After she picked me up, my mother told me why she wasn't speaking to me while she was out of Mackay. It was because my father and sister had "banned" her from doing so because I had upset her. I don't want to upset my mother, but they knew that I was self-harming and that I'd gone into a very dark place. This is a constant theme in the family; my problems are only considered problems for those around me. The way they affect me is rarely considered, but the way I affect them is universally accepted and spoken about often. It would be better in their eyes for me to suffer, self-harm, and be all-round miserable on my own accord, without ever making them aware of it.
I don't know if I care to remain in contact with them after this. At the very least I think I need to send a clear message that the way they act towards me is wrong and I won't stand for it. As the years have passed, there have been many occasions where I have almost cut ties and I think this may become the straw that breaks the camel's back. They are completely, wholly unable to grasp the fact that I have suffered at their hands in the past, and continue to support a narrative where anything that goes wrong where I'm involved is my fault. There are four of them, and one of me, and they've been united against me since I was sixteen.
I am the family devil. The crops fail and the milk sours because of me, and anything I say must surely be a lie.
I don't think I want to continue in this family anymore. I know they have a right to think that this is all a phase, which makes this even harder, but it leaves me feeling... infuriated, frustrated, isolated, and so many other things. They're almost incapable of acting empathetically towards me, and I think I've given them enough chances to change that. I was expected to change for the family, but now the family needs to change for me and they're unwilling.
I don't know what to do.
