I'm not even really sure where to start, so I guess a bit of background will help. I've felt suicidal most of my adult life. My problems really started when I reached puberty, and I began to panic as my body began to change. I didn't realise it at the time, as this was in the days before the internet, and it wasn't really talked about then, but my confusion was due to me being transsexual. At the same time, I also started hearing voices, at first it was just my grandmothers voice. She had recently died, and I was consumed with grief, because she was the only adult that I really loved and trusted. My parents were quite abusive, especially my stepfather, who used to beat me regularly. So I didn't ever dare talk to them about my problems, and instead turned to drugs. Needless to say, this made everything worse, which culminated in me packing my bags and leaving home at sixteen. For the next seven or eight years, I lived a very chaotic life, with periods of homelessness, and trying to shut everything out with drugs. It was only when I reached my mid twenties, and learned about transsexuality, that I began to understand and face up to myself. I was still hearing voices, not all the time, but quite often. Depression was (and still is) a constant for me, akin to a sort of background noise, that I just learned to live with. But at least something was beginning to make sense to me. So the next four years or so were spent working towards my goal of transitioning. Fortunately, I hadn't sought any medical help for any of my problems at this point. If I had, then I probably wouldn't have got through the required assessments for hormone treatment and reassignment surgery. By this time though, I had met other transsexuals, and with some mutual coaching, knew how to approach the pdocs, what to say, what not to say, etc. and on the day of my thirtieth birthday, I went under the knife, and began the next chapter of my life. I then spent the next few years trying desperately to fit into my new role. The problem was though, although plenty of people seemed to find me attractive, I've never been viewed as female, instead I was always seen more as a hybrid, and the sexual partners that I've had, were I'm pretty sure, mostly curiosity fucks. After a few years of this, I gave up even trying to pass in public as female, as it was just too stressful, and it all culminated in a serious psychotic episode. It's one thing to suffer paranoia and hear voices that tell you you're a worthless freak and you'd be better off dead, but it's quite another thing when those voices are echoed by people in the street. There then followed a procession of psychiatrists, therapists and various mental health workers, none of which have seemed able to offer me a firm diagnosis, although schizoaffective disorder has been mentioned. In the meantime I've been prescribed a wide range of pills, some of which made me decidely worse. I'm now on Olanzapine, which seems to work quite well for me. It's not perfect though. I still suffer with periods of crushing depression and occasional wierdness, like phantom smells, and the side effects leave me feeling weary most of the time. But at least I feel as though I'm on a more even keel. During this time, in an effort to minimize abuse and feel safer leaving the house, I began dressing only in very neutral unisex clothes, jeans, hoodies and trainers, etc. But it seems even that isn't enough, as my face and figure mark me out as different. Every time I go out, I'm faced with running the gauntlet of sneering youths, verbal abuse, I've even been spat at and had stones thrown at me. It's gotten so bad now that I only leave the house when I really have too. It probably doesn't help that I live in a very rough neighborhood, but I'm stuck here, as I'm unemployed and so can't afford to move. And so here I sit. I'm nearly fifty, no family or friends. I hardly ever leave the house any more. The only conversations that have nowadays are with doctors and online friends. I really feel that my life, as eventful as it's been, has pretty much run it's course. I have nothing of value to offer anyone, other than to serve as a cautionary tale, and I'm just left now, feeling as though I'm treading water, sedated and sedentary, and quite frankly just weary with it all. Over the years, I've attempted suicide a few times, one or two attempts with hindsight seem quite funny to me now. But I have a plan in place now, one that I'm confident will work, and shouldn't be too traumatic. It's just a case of timing. I don't feel paticularly stressed or anxious about it, I just feel a kind of hollow sadness. I suppose it's because I spent my life wading through shit, only to end up absolutely up my neck in it, and with the knowledge that what has passed was probably about as good as it was ever going to get.