just_a_girl
Member
- Feb 13, 2026
- 19
On February 3rd I tried to end my life. It was pre finding this forum and my method was to OD on antidepressants. Obviously it didn't do shit, not even any lasting damage. I had accepted I was dying but it all ended in embarrassment and shame. All my friends tried to rally around but ultimately they've never been the same around me now. I get it. I don't hold a grudge, I mean I was supposed to go. I had said goodbye to them and then it's failed. I shut them out because I knew I was going to succeed the next time. I didn't want to say goodbye again or offer any false hope. From the outside looking into my life this past month post, it would look like I'm living life to the fullest. I dyed my hair the way I had wanted it for ages. I brought some new clothes and expensive boots. I went to London for a concert literally a couple of nights ago. I've even had a date in between working. Speaking of work, I was an escort. I had to be because there wasn't work for someone like me, not even in Brighton. I hated it for the most part because as a trans woman I had intense bottom dysophria and when you're financial stability comes from men who fetishise trans women for one thing and one thing only, it only makes escorting worse. I liked the independence and the money of course. I had never earned money like it. 2.5k per month on average and I was starting to feel like I was a someone. Except it doesn't count when you were a trans escort. You can't rent properties normally. You can't date properly, you don't get respect, you don't magically start passing as a woman even if a client swears he'd "never had known!" My life was shit basically and I'm ending it in a poetic place. I was telling my closest friend about how I was still going to ctb soon. He asked if there was anything that could change my plans. I said that maybe if moving to Manchester became a possibility within that next month. I said that in desperation and also because I knew, as did he, that it was impossible. But as the universe would have it I actually managed to find somewhere. Mind you I had to borrow 3k from a regular client to help me secure the room. (Yes room. It's an apartment hotel complex thingy. So it's like a stepping stone really but it's basically a studio apartment with all the facilities you'd need etc. for someone like me who's self employed that was a fucking win I don't care) so I made to Manchester today actually. Friday the 13th, that's fucking beautiful btw haha.
Upon arrival i quickly found there was no record of me moving in today even though I had emails to back this up and contracts etc. the ceo of whatever this shit company is called didn't care to do his job and actually tell them my move in date. So I'm stuck there in this fancy lobby of this hotel and the staff are all confused and are like "did he book you under a different name..?" For the record I was a clocky trans woman (my instagram was Wildlyyprecious if you wanna see) and obviously I was aware everyone could tell. However nothing really prepared me for what happened next. I had to call this ceo and ask what was going on. He called me "mate" multiple times on the phone but I was up north now and I think it's relatively a non gendered term here. (doesn't mean I didn't want to rip my throat off every time I heard it) but realisation seeped in very quickly when I then had him on speaker with the receptionist at the place. He referred to me as "this gentleman" and repeatedly "he/him" etc. it was fucking humiliating. He wasn't the first person to do this of course but hey, definitively the last. 3 years of hrt and the amount of time and effort, blood sweat and tears. To be referred to like that with the way I was presenting was ridiculous and even I can admit that and i was my worst critic I promise you. Thing is maybe you're thinking about my id docs right, like maybe this guy just saw my deadname or sex or something - no. Everything I had was updated. I showed my passport with female on it. I mean my name was Esme Rose ffs. The lady at reception was nice to me at least. I sat down in that lobby and broke down. I was so tired from the travel, I had nearly all of my belongings with me and I'm just there trying to stop sobbing loudly. She came up to me and said she "had words" with this dickhead and I felt seen at least, not in a way I'd want but she was the last person to show kindness and I thank you for that Emma. So yeah, I'm upstairs after finally getting my key to my room and I haven't unpacked anything, expect one thing and that's the SN I purchased days after my failed attempt in February. It came literally a day before I left which is so lucky. I moved needing it. Because although moving to Manchester was like this "one thing that would keep my living" it was also a last shot of things. I didn't think I'd get my answer within an hour of moving here but there you go, life proved its point to me. You can't have this nice thing.
A final word:
I didn't find much hope in anything until I found this site. People here DO understand it and they DO empathise in the purest possible sense. This is more for the pig that reads this btw. You will never understand what it feels like to be truly suicidal and you should be grateful for that fact. Just let people here gather and share and learn. Just because you don't understand it and "it's good" to save people from ctb, it's not. It's not heroic or wise. Seeing you don't understand it, how about you leave it the fuck alone.
I was trans, you don't like that because you don't understand it. So once again leave it the fuck alone. Wes Streeting has blood on his hands, JKR has blood on her hands, Maya Forester has blood on her hands, Helen Joyce has blood on her hands, oh and how could I forget the prime minister - the most blood on his hands of all.
I'll be updating this thread as I prepare the SN
Upon arrival i quickly found there was no record of me moving in today even though I had emails to back this up and contracts etc. the ceo of whatever this shit company is called didn't care to do his job and actually tell them my move in date. So I'm stuck there in this fancy lobby of this hotel and the staff are all confused and are like "did he book you under a different name..?" For the record I was a clocky trans woman (my instagram was Wildlyyprecious if you wanna see) and obviously I was aware everyone could tell. However nothing really prepared me for what happened next. I had to call this ceo and ask what was going on. He called me "mate" multiple times on the phone but I was up north now and I think it's relatively a non gendered term here. (doesn't mean I didn't want to rip my throat off every time I heard it) but realisation seeped in very quickly when I then had him on speaker with the receptionist at the place. He referred to me as "this gentleman" and repeatedly "he/him" etc. it was fucking humiliating. He wasn't the first person to do this of course but hey, definitively the last. 3 years of hrt and the amount of time and effort, blood sweat and tears. To be referred to like that with the way I was presenting was ridiculous and even I can admit that and i was my worst critic I promise you. Thing is maybe you're thinking about my id docs right, like maybe this guy just saw my deadname or sex or something - no. Everything I had was updated. I showed my passport with female on it. I mean my name was Esme Rose ffs. The lady at reception was nice to me at least. I sat down in that lobby and broke down. I was so tired from the travel, I had nearly all of my belongings with me and I'm just there trying to stop sobbing loudly. She came up to me and said she "had words" with this dickhead and I felt seen at least, not in a way I'd want but she was the last person to show kindness and I thank you for that Emma. So yeah, I'm upstairs after finally getting my key to my room and I haven't unpacked anything, expect one thing and that's the SN I purchased days after my failed attempt in February. It came literally a day before I left which is so lucky. I moved needing it. Because although moving to Manchester was like this "one thing that would keep my living" it was also a last shot of things. I didn't think I'd get my answer within an hour of moving here but there you go, life proved its point to me. You can't have this nice thing.
A final word:
I didn't find much hope in anything until I found this site. People here DO understand it and they DO empathise in the purest possible sense. This is more for the pig that reads this btw. You will never understand what it feels like to be truly suicidal and you should be grateful for that fact. Just let people here gather and share and learn. Just because you don't understand it and "it's good" to save people from ctb, it's not. It's not heroic or wise. Seeing you don't understand it, how about you leave it the fuck alone.
I was trans, you don't like that because you don't understand it. So once again leave it the fuck alone. Wes Streeting has blood on his hands, JKR has blood on her hands, Maya Forester has blood on her hands, Helen Joyce has blood on her hands, oh and how could I forget the prime minister - the most blood on his hands of all.
I'll be updating this thread as I prepare the SN
