Giving Thanks to the Lord...Despite Terrible Circumstances
So, this has been something on my mind, a lot, lately. Giving thanks to the Lord...always. In fact, this is actually a command from the Bible, 1 Thessalonians 5:18. So, what does this look like? Well, simply, giving thanks to God in all circumstances, including the bad ones. Believe me, that's hard to do, I know. Let me give you some background. I was born screwed up. I was born with an esophagus that connected to my lungs and a windpipe that didn't but instead dead-ended. The doctors told my dad that I would be lucky to live to be six months. Obviously, I've lived slightly longer than that. So, that's a praise, right? Yes, but it came with side-effects. As a child, I could not stop coughing because of the surgery that I had due to that defect when I was less than a day old. Today, I don't have that problem as much, but I do have a bit of a coughing problem and can make myself cough with no effort. In addition, my stomach acid reflex is very strong, including completely blocking off my throat at times and I was always in the hospital for a few years between ages 5-6. In addition, I have a "v" on my back where they cut into me that has grown with me and looks quite ugly today (at least, that's what I've been told, I can't see it myself obviously). It is very hard for me to hold my breath for more than 15 seconds, give or take a few because of it. So, yeah, fun.
Not only that, I've got ALL the bad genes in the family. I've got the knee, ankle, back, sickness, low blood sugar, allergies, eye, early balding, and heart problems from both sides of the family. If it's a problem on either side of the family, I have it, and it does not matter if it was previously a problem for only those born female, I have it. So, yeah, more fun.
So, we've established my physical problems, of which there are many and would take too much time to truly go in-depth. What about my mental problems? Well, if you've been reading my blog for a bit, I think you know I've got quite a few. It all goes back to when I was a baby. My parents had the idea to force me to wait until established meal times to eat because they wanted to teach me impulse control, AS A BABY. Now, I don't know how much you know about developmental psychology, or raising a child, but I've spent many, many hours studying developmental psychology, and yeah, it's VERY important to feed a baby when they're hungry, or tend to any of their needs immediately. The reason for this is that the baby needs to feel safe and comfortable. They need to learn that they can trust their caretakers. If you don't tend to them in a reasonable amount of time, they will learn that the world is a dark, dangerous place without love or care and they cannot trust anyone, including their parents. So, guess what I ended up learning? I can remember as a very small child fearing and hating my parents. Now, I did believe that they loved me, why? Because they said they did, and I just went with it, mainly because I needed to be loved. Sadly, my parents never learned to actually love me. Whenever I got physically hurt, I was told to "rub dirt in it" or "get over it." If I was sad or having a bad day, once again told to "get over it" or "it's not that bad." I would try to go to my parents with my problems, but they were always "too busy" (they rarely were as they were usually just looking at Myspace or some other social site). Sometimes they would tell me "can we talk later?" By the time we eventually did talk (usually 3-5 hours later) I was more upset about my parents not being there for me than I was about the thing I was initially upset about. Not only this, but my parents were always putting me down, telling me that I was going to grow up to be a failure, (now that I am older, I am told that I am in fact, a failure) why I couldn't do something, always reminded of my failures, and told that I should be more like my sisters, and as I got older, about 9 or so, told that I should have been born a girl (of course, they dropped that attack the moment they found out that I am in fact trans. Apparently they didn't me to be their daughter as much as they thought). If I did something good, amazing or something that normally would have resulted in praise, there was none to be found, but you better believe that if I screwed up they were there to let me know how badly I screwed up. So, yeah, I never was able to develop an identity, the skill of self-coping, self-esteem, or other things necessary for a healthy life. That's why I now have Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then, finally, obviously I have gender dysphoria (for cisgenders reading this, here's a really good list that will give you an idea of what it's like). Boy is that fun. Knowing even as a kid that you're different, and that you have to keep your thoughts and feelings hidden. You don't know why, you just know you have to, because you just know somehow that those born male aren't supposed to want to be girls. You know that your desire to wear dresses, using your G.I. Joes to play "house" instead of war isn't normal. Wanting to play with Barbies and baby dolls instead of G.I. Joes isn't normal. You get crushed and cry because you learn that since you were born male that you can't be a mother when you grow up. Then, you hit puberty and reality really sets in. Man I prayed so hard in those days to turn into a girl or at least for the changes to not change me too much, especially not to have a prominent Adam's apple (which thankfully, mine is not prominent). Why I focused so much on that I don't know, but I truly was terrified of it. That's when the dysphoria really set in. When I feel those phantom breasts, I want to die. It's a painful reminder of what I don't have. When I go clothes shopping I can just look over at the women's section and all I can think is "that's what I should be looking at." Clothes shopping at Walmart is the worst, as to get to the fitting rooms from the men's section you have to walk right through the bra section, and boy, does that kick my dysphoria into full-gear. There's times when the dysphoria has gotten so bad that it's driven me to attempt suicide. Which leads me to the final point: For five years now I have been suicidal. Right now, I truly idealize death, that's all I want, is to die.
So, yeah, I've had a really bad life. There doesn't seem to be much to thank God for. Yet, somehow I find things to thank God for. Sometimes the only thing I can muster thanking God for is electricity. But, I force myself to thank God for the bad things as well, such as being transgender, despite the fact that I really, really wish I could have been born a cisgender female. I thank God for the abuse that I've gone through. Not because I'm truly thankful that I've been through that abuse, but because I know that God allowed it for a reason. What is that reason? I don't know. Now, I didn't get that mindset right away about the abuse I received, that came after many months of forcing myself to thank God for it, and yeah, I still often have to force myself to thank God for it, but, you know what, it works. Somehow I find myself being drawn closer to God when I do thank him for the bad parts of my life. I can't explain it, but it's true. Praising God when I'm suicidal, does it make me any less suicidal? Rarely, but do I feel closer to God once I stop wanting to kill myself? Yes. Do I find myself trusting in Him and relying on Him more? Yes. So, this is my challenge, try thanking God next time something goes wrong. It will be hard, you won't want to do it, but as you do it more often, you will find yourself being more thankful and drawn closer to Him.
Not only that, I've got ALL the bad genes in the family. I've got the knee, ankle, back, sickness, low blood sugar, allergies, eye, early balding, and heart problems from both sides of the family. If it's a problem on either side of the family, I have it, and it does not matter if it was previously a problem for only those born female, I have it. So, yeah, more fun.
So, we've established my physical problems, of which there are many and would take too much time to truly go in-depth. What about my mental problems? Well, if you've been reading my blog for a bit, I think you know I've got quite a few. It all goes back to when I was a baby. My parents had the idea to force me to wait until established meal times to eat because they wanted to teach me impulse control, AS A BABY. Now, I don't know how much you know about developmental psychology, or raising a child, but I've spent many, many hours studying developmental psychology, and yeah, it's VERY important to feed a baby when they're hungry, or tend to any of their needs immediately. The reason for this is that the baby needs to feel safe and comfortable. They need to learn that they can trust their caretakers. If you don't tend to them in a reasonable amount of time, they will learn that the world is a dark, dangerous place without love or care and they cannot trust anyone, including their parents. So, guess what I ended up learning? I can remember as a very small child fearing and hating my parents. Now, I did believe that they loved me, why? Because they said they did, and I just went with it, mainly because I needed to be loved. Sadly, my parents never learned to actually love me. Whenever I got physically hurt, I was told to "rub dirt in it" or "get over it." If I was sad or having a bad day, once again told to "get over it" or "it's not that bad." I would try to go to my parents with my problems, but they were always "too busy" (they rarely were as they were usually just looking at Myspace or some other social site). Sometimes they would tell me "can we talk later?" By the time we eventually did talk (usually 3-5 hours later) I was more upset about my parents not being there for me than I was about the thing I was initially upset about. Not only this, but my parents were always putting me down, telling me that I was going to grow up to be a failure, (now that I am older, I am told that I am in fact, a failure) why I couldn't do something, always reminded of my failures, and told that I should be more like my sisters, and as I got older, about 9 or so, told that I should have been born a girl (of course, they dropped that attack the moment they found out that I am in fact trans. Apparently they didn't me to be their daughter as much as they thought). If I did something good, amazing or something that normally would have resulted in praise, there was none to be found, but you better believe that if I screwed up they were there to let me know how badly I screwed up. So, yeah, I never was able to develop an identity, the skill of self-coping, self-esteem, or other things necessary for a healthy life. That's why I now have Borderline Personality Disorder.
Then, finally, obviously I have gender dysphoria (for cisgenders reading this, here's a really good list that will give you an idea of what it's like). Boy is that fun. Knowing even as a kid that you're different, and that you have to keep your thoughts and feelings hidden. You don't know why, you just know you have to, because you just know somehow that those born male aren't supposed to want to be girls. You know that your desire to wear dresses, using your G.I. Joes to play "house" instead of war isn't normal. Wanting to play with Barbies and baby dolls instead of G.I. Joes isn't normal. You get crushed and cry because you learn that since you were born male that you can't be a mother when you grow up. Then, you hit puberty and reality really sets in. Man I prayed so hard in those days to turn into a girl or at least for the changes to not change me too much, especially not to have a prominent Adam's apple (which thankfully, mine is not prominent). Why I focused so much on that I don't know, but I truly was terrified of it. That's when the dysphoria really set in. When I feel those phantom breasts, I want to die. It's a painful reminder of what I don't have. When I go clothes shopping I can just look over at the women's section and all I can think is "that's what I should be looking at." Clothes shopping at Walmart is the worst, as to get to the fitting rooms from the men's section you have to walk right through the bra section, and boy, does that kick my dysphoria into full-gear. There's times when the dysphoria has gotten so bad that it's driven me to attempt suicide. Which leads me to the final point: For five years now I have been suicidal. Right now, I truly idealize death, that's all I want, is to die.
So, yeah, I've had a really bad life. There doesn't seem to be much to thank God for. Yet, somehow I find things to thank God for. Sometimes the only thing I can muster thanking God for is electricity. But, I force myself to thank God for the bad things as well, such as being transgender, despite the fact that I really, really wish I could have been born a cisgender female. I thank God for the abuse that I've gone through. Not because I'm truly thankful that I've been through that abuse, but because I know that God allowed it for a reason. What is that reason? I don't know. Now, I didn't get that mindset right away about the abuse I received, that came after many months of forcing myself to thank God for it, and yeah, I still often have to force myself to thank God for it, but, you know what, it works. Somehow I find myself being drawn closer to God when I do thank him for the bad parts of my life. I can't explain it, but it's true. Praising God when I'm suicidal, does it make me any less suicidal? Rarely, but do I feel closer to God once I stop wanting to kill myself? Yes. Do I find myself trusting in Him and relying on Him more? Yes. So, this is my challenge, try thanking God next time something goes wrong. It will be hard, you won't want to do it, but as you do it more often, you will find yourself being more thankful and drawn closer to Him.
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