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Wow, I've been following your story for a long time—Beachy Head's been particularly notable in my memory, I even mentioned it to a friend—and I never expected it to end so abruptly here. I guess that's the nature of this forum. Your story feels complete though, somehow. All dressed up and unafraid to face death, that's how I want to be one day. Sounds like you've managed to find some happiness in the last of your life, and will find peace after this. Have a good bus ride
Struggling to come to terms with you being gone. You seemed to hold so much potential for a happy life. You were vivacious and engaged. Up for new experiences. You wanted to live a good life. I wish you could have found your place either back in the USA or somewhere else. At least you aren't suffering any more.
Well, here we are. My very own goodbye thread. I wasn't sure this was gonna stick, but after my recent experience with Sectioning, I think I have genuinely reached my limits. This was sent with a delay, so by the time this is posted, I should be gone. Otherwise, I'd have stopped it, unless I...
sanctioned-suicide.net
Okay, I'm really sorry about all the glitched re-schedules and everything.
With my current plans, I'd like to ask the mods for: 3 hours.
Before strikethrough-ing my account.
I would further request to the Mods that if there's anything improper about this or the Goodbye thread, that, if possible, those parts be edited out rather than a full deletion.
This is all I am leaving behind, yes.
I worked hard to achieve a peaceful suicide.
I ultimately died here: a certain town near the sea, UK (if you've read my threads, you can guess where).
I feel at peace here...
To die quietly near the sea...
A town in which I will, little more than strange, depart devoid of name or fame.
Free, quiet, and far away, set loose from all life's blame and shame.
Anyhow. Hello!
I'm scheduling this as a final update, just in case I appear to follow through with a ctb soon.
Trying to face *this* life is still so ridiculously scary, even as deep as these recent near-completed ctb experiences had hit for me.
The irony is that ctb itself invokes a sense of safety and comfort, as much as survival instinct does have me fear the end (and honestly, at this point, it's come close to just SI alone keeping me alive).
It still would have been very interesting to see if I could recover from nothing, even if I feel that at this point, what I desire - a new life, a start over, basically - my odds of that are probably *higher* in death than survival.
For any scenario, I have decided to keep ctb as a a direct, prepared backup plan I can access at any time (multiple methods readied), whether I try to survive onwards or not, to help ease some of the fears while still alive.
I will be honest, in the end I have to say that I do love life.
I have always been curious, yearning to learn more, to see more.
From this one, I am just so detached, however. I hope I get a new life.
Or that I get to watch on without a fear in the world, from some safe vantage point above.
Ideally, I am sent back to an earlier point in my life, where I still have my Green Card!
If this message comes thru in my current plan, the following happened:
-I am going to sleep now, everybody.
I chose to hang myself. Partial or full-suspension, 20mm thick, 5m long rope on a door.
It felt peaceful... to me.
I almost hung myself by accident recently (was testing and kicked away the chair accidentally, luckily the knot wasn't tight enough yet and the rope not high up enough to do the trick).
Instead of feeling fearful for having almost lost my life - I wish it had happened instead.
That has been different from most other methods - there was no survival instinct, in a sense?
Perhaps hanging was the right method for me, then.
It was revealed to me in a dream before, that completing full suspension hanging will send me to my dream world.
My safe, colorful inner dream world, originating from my childhood, originating from my lock-up.
I have come to much prefer my real world - my out and proud life as a trans woman in the United States, during my adulthood.
But the dream world is good too.
It is peaceful! Yet exciting!
I will follow its calling now.
Sweet dreams!
Here are pictures of the set-up I ended up using.
As well as some pics of my final sights - I ended up in a cozy hotel with a surreal feel to it :o Very nice for the end!
The primary changes I made are that I used the suitcase as the anchor as opposed to a door handle, and the door itself purely to hold the hold the rope up high.
The t-rex tape at various points counteracts the rope's stretching and adds stability to the whole set-up.
Thankfully, the door's handle also would prevent the rope from ever possible slipping past the side.
Since I have to widen the slipknot a lot to get my head in, I can only tape the top parts in once I actually attempt, hence the tape is pre-prepped for me at the top.
By the way, I changed from a slipknot to a noose knot.
I attempted with slipknot, but it fell out.
I have more confidence this new type of knot will hold, it is sturdier.
This one is also far easier to adjust - since you have to widen the er, ring? first to get your head in, then tighten it around the neck.
If you see the picture with my hand on it, that left side you simply push up or down to tighten or widen the ring.
Unfortunately I could not secure benzos to help calm me for my method.
Being tired or right before sleep is my main alternative to that.
I also have access to codeine now, OTC in the UK.
Additionally, I had an idea during testing - to ease into it, rather than jump abruptly, I will use partial's/night-night method's painlessness and passing out.
I tried jumping off, but the rope was adjusted a tiny bit too long, allowing me to barely stand and undo everything.
By instead slowly leaning forward, I can put ever more pressure on the carotids, until I pass out.
Basically, falling asleep.
I have arranged the chair so its back faces to the side instead of the front.
Also made sure to move the hanging mirror to a different location so I don't fall headfirst into that.
Once I pass out, I should fall forwards off the chair, now dying painlessly without panic, as I am unconscious.
Either as partial, or as full-suspension hanging, this will take me away.
During testing I also realized the rope kept being too far down, so I will now wear my scarf below to make sure it pressures the carotids more directly.
Again, if it fails and I wake up on the floor or something, I took an antiemetic so I can grab one of the SN bottles off the floor to go that way.
Update: Doing full suspension has been too painful on my neck, so I will now take various medications I stumbled my way into (diphenhydramine, codeine, promethazine, dimenhydrinate), along with having eaten nothing in like 15 hours, to down SN while watching music videos.
Combine that with hands cuffed behind my back.
The keys to the hands' cuffs are on the magnetic base of the flashlight clipped to my skirt, with another pair on the floor - I do not worry about survival instinct, but if there is a failed attempt, I absolutely cannot get stuck like this.
I wanted to also cuff my ankles/legs together, however, the cuffs are too small, too tight for this.
It's far too painful.
I suppose I needed wider cuffs for that.
On the floor are 3 bottles of SN, and I'll take an antiemetic juice (couldn't get a proper antiemetic med) before my attempt.
If the set-up breaks or smth and I survive, all I have to do is unscrew a bottle and finish the deed that way.
If I had managed to get my hands on a benzo, I would have taken that, too.
Definitely recommended, if nothing else, for a more cozy falling asleep...
There is a letter warning staff not to come in, and to call police immediately instead, also to NOT drink the water, taped onto the closet that blocks the view of my hanging body.
I've got to say. This is truly a calling - I was given a PERFECT hotel room for this!
Strong door, peaceful atmosphere, and even a whole closet in the way to protect the eyes of the innocent.
Bravo, life.
The plushies are Belle, Bunny, and Cinnamon.
Friends gifted to me by the greatest friend.
I asked if they'd agree to keep me company when I die, or if they'd prefer to stay in the suitcase.
They agreed... Thank you... I don't have to go through this alone.
It's based off my previously tested set-up, you can read about that and my findings regarding survival instinct in relation to full-suspension hanging here (effectively, it feels more like going to sleep peacefully to me, rather than something to invoke a panic):
Hiyo. So I got this rope, it's 20mm thick, 5 meters long, cotton. Figured out how to make a knot that I think will hold, from testing at least, it does. My issue is, I don't know where to use it from - the only place I can find is this door. (pictures are in spoiler) I think it won't come off...
meow. I had a curious discovery while setting up and testing full suspension hanging. While previously whenever I've tested partial hanging or night-night, my survival instinct set in very strongly (mostly worrying about brain damage), oddly enough, when testing out full-suspension, no SI set...
sanctioned-suicide.net
There are other horrors, that I forgot to mention in my original Goodbye thread.
Now that there is no reason left to filter, I'm letting it all out with this thread.
I want to be released from all this.
I want to be free from my pains as I leave the real world for the dream.
I want to give my helpless, weak child self, lost without the advocate or protector she needed (which I have now learned - had to have been myself. No one else can fill such a role for you.), the vindication that she deserved - things were wrong!
I do hate to put myself as a victim - my preference had long been to try and ignore this stuff and live in the moment.
Perhaps that was a mistake.
Keeping it festering inside forever - with that burden, I landed at this point, didn't I?
It colored my actions regardless, and without direct acknowledgment, there was no way to address this problem's cause.
I was long too afraid to speak openly about these pains - not least due the fact I feared it could throw doubt on the manner in which my immigration status came about.
There was nothing to fear... I met her through this experience, through this pain specifically.
And when we met, our chemistry was unmatched by any bond I'd ever had, even to this day... It was an unexpected miracle for things to fall together like this.
But my fear of ever having to return, now having found a reason to live within the trip, was too extreme.
It unduly burdened anything coming remotely in contact with my status.
Overshadowing any possible calm, rational, and fully thought out approaches that could have been taken to the matter.
I'm sorry to her... I was safe, didn't need to fear no more... Should have been better...
I tried everything I could think of to fix things after the big I-407 screw-up. I didn't just off myself immediately. I sought out solution!
I sacrificed almost all I owned. I ruined any potential chance of a different path in life.
I put myself at risk in ways that could leave life-lasting consequences, put everything on hold, followed directions I did not agree with.
I followed the guilt, deep, deep, down, as far as I could handle.
Before finally succumbing to a degree of hopelessness and suicidality that I was way past having the resources left to fight.
I was completely, utterly, suicidal and broken on the inside by the time I reached the border on August 31st 2023.
I didn't even have the strength or the breath left to try and ask for help then. I wanted to. But I saw no hope anymore.
Not in front of being yelled down about how "stupid" I was in easily one of my worst moments (not by 'her', but someone else).
Yeah, I made a mistake. What does it help anyone... You or me, to dwell on that forever, to not move forward, and to erase all the effort and sacrifice put in to try and make up for it? It made clear to me... I wasn't valued for my person, but merely for the end result a person, any person could have provided.
How could I ask for help, no longer having somewhere to be that I'd deem safe, and no longer believing in myself after the year long gauntlet of hell and sacrifice?
If there is to be no more space I can feel safe left, then death would be better, the only escape to safety left.
Those are the events... that brought me here.
That started this short, fleeting saga, and my brief revival at Beachy Head.
But that newfound confidence and hope was not enough.
Two visa refusals later, and full confirmations about not being able to leave for anywhere else, I'm right back to seeking permanent relief again.
I'm stopping short of the absolute final resort that is heading to Mexico, because I don't have enough money left to make it work in practice.
There is a difference between "possible" and physically absolutely improbable - without affording not just the flight, but also a safe hotel until I'd get a CBPOne appointment, plus safe enough travel method to the border itself, it cannot work in practice.
I'd never actually physically reach it.
Combine this with the fact my previous visa ended up CWOP'd, the STCA holding earlier in March this year (and the CBPOne app only became mandatory this May, too), I can tell all signs are telling me it is definitively over.
Acceptance and peace is all that remains.
1/4) "Something I won't say"
The "something I won't say" in the Original Goodbye thread - during that fateful psychiatrist appointment that ruined my life when I came out to doctors in pursuit of safe and lawful transition, 2 days after my 16th birthday.
What was it?
It took my entire life's courage to bring it all out in this moment, to come out openly.
I remember how shy I was, and this was one my first time wearing some girls clothes outside of hidden in my room.
What was her response?
She'd bluntly began asking me "whether I have sex with men", "whether I take it from behind" - whether it was a fetish, cross-dressing, etc.
How you may feel about this is up to you.
But in my mind. I was. 16?? A child??
I clearly presented myself in a shy and vulnerable manner.
I had never even kissed anyone before!
This had nothing to do with sex?
I just wanted to be a girl, that's what I expressed?
Why the overt sexualization, what the fuck? What are you on about?
Why are you looking at me like that?
Why are you objectifying me like that, with a wretched, sadistic smile on your face, during the most vulnerable moment in my entire life?
Like I'm some fucking disgusting filth in your mind. Something dirty.
Don't try to claim otherwise - I noticed exactly how you were thinking.
I felt fucking disgusted, shook to my core.
I could not comprehend how someone that in my mind, I thought was supposed to help me, and was meant to provide a safe space, not only did the opposite, but would invoke such fear in me.
[On this subject in particular - there were two other explicitly sexually inappropriate situations.
For these I was 18 (post hormones), so still a child.
One with the very doctor eventually prescribing my hormones (forced me to expose myself, despite my refusals to - in face of the power dynamic - I NEEDED the medication - I felt forced to eventually do it), another with a nurse in an ER (physically pulled down my clothing to expose me without my consent, after constantly asking me whether I was a girl or a boy (I said girl, eventually trans girl to get it across and get him to stop. My chart had the necessary information, which he was directly looking at. It was in no way relevant to the medical issue at hand))
Twice more, both also post hormones and when I was 18, I landed again, confined in a mental hospital counter to my will.
The hormones, and presenting significantly more feminine outwardly, did not stop abuse.
I was never safe, no matter what I did.]
Back to what happened when I was 16 - this was my very first interaction with any mental health service provider ever.
Top it off, she said I'd "need to bring my family" for moving any further on the subject.
It's under that fearful state - believing I had nowhere safe to be!
And when I say safe, I mean, I thought my life was in danger!
I had expressed that I wanted to be a girl or not live at all - because from my previous experiences, I had cause to believe my life was in danger upon coming out (more on that below).
And this was directly related to the "family" she'd force me to involve.
Under that state, she handed the dazed, scared child me a slip I could use to "voluntarily" admit myself into a hospital.
That is not voluntary.
Coercion.
As well as, being fucking 16, a child - I should not even be allowed to make such a "decision".
I was NOT in a state or level of maturity to make a decision to "voluntarily" be imprisoned!
What the fuck!
The circumstances of this were not proper, damn it.
To explain why I thought my life was in danger - from my information and experiences at this point - this was what had happened with the family I lived with.
All happened while I was an even younger child, before the year I came out (2014):
A) I'd been yelled at and had things thrown across the room for "not being like the other boys" (I was shy and reserved, not 'macho', since, well, I was a girl damn it).
B) I was held out of a window in the top floor, forced to yell "I'm a man!" or I wouldn't be let down.
When I did say it, I was told I was "too quiet", and I wasn't let down until after some arbitrary point after shouting more and more, in fear for my life.
C) An ad for a trans woman's story comes up on TV. Direct response from family member? "people like that should be burned"
D) There were other smaller interactions over time.
Cumulatively, they sum up to inform a picture of "I cannot safely be who I am" to me.
I'd known this same person to exhibit outward aggression with very little restraint.
Shouting loudly at others for minor reasons, threatening violence, mocking scoffing or complaining openly about things I liked - like queer, girly, or diverse self expression.
(Even in the present day, the family member has talked about killing people "if had nothing left", and I've directly witnessed over the top shouting down of some Jehova's witness or smth sales person - someone that could have just as easily been dealt with by just firmly telling them to go away.)
Putting this knowledge together with the expressed disdain for the kind of stuff I liked (being girly, girl directed media - think stuff like Sailor Moon) I took any hints at possible direction of violence toward me very seriously.
(Like being aggressively questioned whether I was gay or something when I engaged with My Little Pony media)
Keep in mind the power dynamic - he was much stronger than me, and I'd already known him to yell, throw items, come close to hitting me (he threw me down angrily instead), or hold me out of a window.
I wish I had stronger examples.
My manner of handling this situation was to hide, hide my identity, or any minor glompses of it in fear - foolish.
I shouldn't have to have done that.
And if it had caused further escalations... Then I should have used that as a means to escape to live safely.
This lived experience is confirmed by my constant internalized fear and self-harm related to my gender or queer identity up until 2014 - for example, I'd at times verbally abuse the fuck out of myself for looking at anything related to queerness, then stop interacting for it for long periods, months, maybe years.
Or take stuff I own remotely related to it (for example, I did have a bunch of MLP merch I really liked), and destroy this stuff myself.
Maybe partially, I was scared they'd be found. But first and foremost, I internalized the hatred I absorbed from my environment - and intentionally hurt myself for being who I am.
Why would you do that?
It gives you a sense of control... If you fear being hurt, the uncertainty can drive you crazy... If you're hurt for sure, at least it is certain, clear and not hidden deep inside, to rot where no one sees it, with no way to address it.
After being admitted to the hospital I hid, I hid as long as possible that I landed there because I'm trans.
Only the doctors eventually outed me to said family, without me present in the conversation.
After that outing, the family in question came to me briefly, said they wanted nothing to do with me ever.
To be honest, I was VERY elated after this, err, disowning? Cut connection?
I wish it had stayed that way.
I won't go into too much detail from here, but the connection re-established, and I could never cope with the dissonance.
Somewhere, deep in my core, I desperately wanted acceptance from the few family I did have, but it was a harmful dynamic - stunting my development of independence, and not acknowledging, until literally this year, that I should NEVER seek acknowledgement, acceptance, or reconciliation from those who hurt me for who I was. Just stop. Move on.
There are people out in the world, that will outright accept you for who you are from the get go.
Focus on those.
2/4) "Universal horrors"
As much as I loved my life in the US - it was my real life, after all, in which I could live myself out freely, it was not easy, yeah?
I struggled to adjust to my new family life. I struggled to understand how to work, how to make money, how to contribute, etc.
The behaviors contributing to these issues are largely tied to my struggles with BPD.
Remember, these extreme behaviors originated from being thrown into the mental hospital.
Before then, I was a shy, reserved, calm, and patient little girl.
Key factors include an extreme fear of loss or abandonment, being overly distrusting, rocky and intense relationships, self harm, instable identity...
With a mindset dominated by fear, fear, fear, I always closely monitor each social interaction, looking for subtle hints as to what may happen next - specifically searching for clues of danger.
(being thrown away? cut off? will I be hurt? physically? emotionally? am I getting locked up again?)
I also experience strong, strong, strong emotions, amplified to the maximum.
I describe it like this:
Whenever there is any emotional input to me, it first goes through an amplifier before I receive it - think like music going through a loud speaker before it hits your ears.
Learning how to dim my reactions, when to keep over the top anger, joy, or even sadness inside, recognizing when a stimulus warrants a certain level of reaction, ...
This took a lot of time and practice.
Catching myself and stopping before reacting, even for just a few seconds, can make all the difference.
On top of all that my confidence was absolute zero - I believed I was not capable of anything. The result of being categorically and consistently excluded, belittled, and outcast during my childhood years.
It took me two years to begin to meaningfully shake the mental scars of my childhood years on this front - that is when I began being able to work consistently.
But before then, and even after, there were pockets of homelessness.
I went out of my own volition each time, to not burden the family due to my lack of ability to contribute.
The first time, around 3 months, was miserable - I had pretty much near zero dollars the whole time, I almost froze to death once, I rough slept very often.
During this time, one night on the way back to the shelter, I came across someone literally injecting heroin under a bridge.
Now, at this stage of my life I had difficulty with generalized chronic pain all around my body.
It was not until much later that I understood this came from decades of malnutrition.
However, one time during childhood, a doctor prescribed a prescription-only, strong pain med to me.
I though it was Ibuprofen or something. The fact it was only 10 pills would later be a giveaway, after I'd learned more.
It was unlike anything I'd ever known - I felt so calm, so peaceful, taking those pills.
After I was out, I asked for more, but was oddly refused.
Nothing I ever had after gave me anything like it.
During my time in the US - I learned about the opioid epidemic. Researching more and more about those meds, it seemed to match what I must've received.
My curiosity peaked, and, feeling as hopeless as I did, I approached the man directly to ask the "medication".
He was extremely hesitant, thinking I was with the cops or something (lol).
Even after I convinced them I wasn't with any police, the people I interacted with surrounding this were very, very reluctant to let me have any - in fear that I would overdose and die.
To be honest, this always was striking to me. I was a tiny, vulnerable woman out at night on the street.
Yet nobody ever thought to hurt me, mh? To take advantage of me? Which, hell, that's something people in the Europe era had zero qualms doing...
In the US, people even accounted for my safety, during my most vulnerable time.
That is how much safer I felt in the US - throughout the entire 3 years and 11 months I had been there, housed or not, nobody ever hurt me.
Eventually I did get my hands on this stuff twice... through some hijinks on a streetcar, as well as erh.... offering to sell myself.
As serious as this subject is, the latter situation produced an absolute moment of irony - while I'm in the car with the guy, a police car rolls over.
I freak the hell out, thinking I'll get in major trouble.
Instead? The cop just talks to the guy, goes something along the lines of "just wanna make sure you stay safe", and I hear him tell the guy, verbatim "don't knock her up, okay?", then proceeds to drive away. (I'm a trans woman, remember?)
Anyhow. Once I had it, well, the "medication" produced the old, familiar calm-ness I sought, whilst soothing my body aches.
To avoid a rush or euphoria (as is what is commonly sought after by injecting opioids intravenously), I used my "medical expertise" from hormones to turn it into an intramuscular shot instead.
This way, only the pain medication effect was present.
Now I will say, this was a pivotal moment. You see, I thought, because I used it rarely, and in a different manner, that I wouldn't have to worry about addiction.
But that is not how this stuff works. It alters your brain chemistry, you see.
Suddenly, and without really properly noticing myself, this "medication" consumed my thought processes. I became obsessed, struggling to think about or focus on anything else. Sometimes, it became a crutch.
And I want to emphasize, this time period of usage was VERY short. Just a few weeks or so.
This eventually culminated in the dumbest thing - I accidently drew up way too much without noticing (I think like, double?), and ended up overdosing.
Not a fentanyl-level overdose, I'd be a goner. There was no fent in it, yeah.
But still, an overdose. This turned into a... like, 12 hour? An absurdly long battle. I felt so goddamn sick.
Thank god that at the time, I was indoors, and with a good friend.
Any slight movements would cause me to throw up. Whilst this wasn't ingested orally or anything, our bodies are strong at filtering out poisons - so this did eject some of the "medication", to save me.
I forced myself to stay awake - if I fell asleep, I'd been a goner.
There was this brief moment I lost consciousness... I saw a white light. I'm not kidding.
I saw a white light, emanating from a door. If I hadn't caught myself immediately, I would have died right then and there.
After this, I had to come to a reckoning with myself. It's either this, or nothing. I have to stop, or I will die, or do nothing else, but live for this "medication".
I watched videos of people struggling with this stuff, I counted my chickens. It was INCREDIBLY difficult, I remember.
Your chemically altered brain will use any and all mental gymnastics to steer you to the med.
Ultimately, I was able to choose my friends over this "medication".
Without the support and connections I had at the time, that would have been the descent into death and devastation.
Through their assistance, we discarded what I have left together.
I never, ever used again after that.
This would not have been possible, were it not for the strong social bonds I had.
THAT, social connection, is a way to win over even life-threatening addiction.
Not punishment.
Back to homelessness. I get back into the house after gaining the confidence to work.
But my fears, my discomforts linger. I think I was not used to stability. I didn't understand.
I end up returning to Germany to pick up a court order... and then COVID happens.
My thoughts turn to the family I lived with. All of them are at risk groups for COVID. And the main breadwinner's business would be shuttered.
Despite a cancelled flight, I managed to catch one back to the US.
Not to reheat our once again strained relations, I don't even tell them what I'm doing.
I sold a bunch of stuff to afford the lawyer to keep my status going.
I worked while sleeping in shelters, so I could simultaneously send them money each month, too. It wasn't much. It wasn't game-changing. But it felt damn good.
This second rush of homelessness, about 9 months total, was much better - being employed, you see, helps a lot.
You can always buy food. You have maneuvrability, control, the money lets you solve problems you may encounter.
Of course, this was in the midst of the pandemic. And then on top of that, the protests began.
I had to move to a different state once, feeling unsafe with the broken glass everywhere, and the downtown shelter becoming spotty with opening on time.
Moved back after a few months, things had cooled down. But now I had much less income.
Having a hard time finding a new job after coming back, I become somewhat sunked, depressed.
My physical health issues begin during this time, too, more on that in 3/4).
One of my worst memories is stepping through inches deep snow, in the freezing cold, having my entire leg soaked wet from it as I wait for the bus to pick me up.
It was *very* painful... but thankfully, didn't leave any damage or anything.
Having food to eat becomes harder, I start rationing the small amounts of money I have available. (still, I never failed to send the family my monthly money)
By this point, our iced relations began to thaw. They had to well, outright beg me to return to the house.
I kept refusing, feeling guilty for having been problematic in the past.
Eventually, we reconcile, and it happens. No longer homeless!
And man, this begins the actual peak era of my life.
I find work without issue, I earn a lot, I continue my payments, I account for myself... I even made some achievements in one of my favorite games since childhood, Pokemon!
Until my physical health issues, until I let them dominate and tear apart my life...
I sparkled greater than at any other time on this planet.
3/4) "Why Did You Get Rid of the Green Card?"
Given my history, this is the biggest question mark, no?
Why would I do this?
I always considered losing my status in the US equivalent to death.
I lived in such fear of this, that even after receiving my Green Card, my inner instability continued onward - a continual belief that I would not live to see the next week.
This existential panic severely disrupted my ability to imagine long-term efforts, particularly the concept of them working out in the positive whatsoever.
I couldn't even believe I'd actually be granted the Green Card.
I was absolutely taken by surprise on this front!
So why lose it, on purpose?
The one thing that miraculously managed to stave off my death for years?
What stores my very identity - what allowed me to live freely and transition?
On one end, subconsciously, an over-exposure to fear likely built up over those years.
I would constantly check what I'm allowed, not allowed to do. ("inadmissibility" can render you deportable, ranging from many things such as theft or other broad criminal convictions to having a physical or mental health condition that could pose a danger to yourself or others.)
Make absolutely sure I understand and do not break any laws of wherever I go - using my phone to look up laws all the time.
From this, I came into contact with the absolute horror stories that exist out there for immigrants.
Issues that continue to become worse and worse ever since IIRAIRA (1996) and the post 9/11 laws.
The issue is, I was very unlikely to have any of these problems myself.
I've never had a record, still have not (no fines, arrests, charges, trials, etc.).
I'm a 5'5", 120 lbs small woman that still feels guilty for stepping on an ant as a child.
What trouble am I getting in.
I was needlessly absorbing others' pain, because the sheer concept of exile seemed abhorrent to me, especially given the lack of control or ability to defend yourself that you'd have over the situation (immigration-related defendants have FAR less rights than criminal, because it is technically a "civil" proceeding rather than criminal)
Here's the kicker - when you over-expose yourself to a fear, you are more inclined to make exactly what you fear happen, possibly even without fully realizing you're drifting towards it.
This is a way for your mind to get control over the situation - the horror happens, but there is no more of the constant uncertainty of whether it might happen.
Not a mindset suited for living in the way society is built... Ultimately, absolutely nothing is 100 % guaranteed and safe in this world.
In short, all this nonsense very much pre-disposed me to losing my status, softening the issue up over time.
Psychological tangent aside, let's move to the meat, the practical situation, the what the fuck happened.
Long story short, a combination of physical health issues, overstaying abroad past 6 months on my Residency (fearing detention/court proceedings upon return after that point), social isolation, and being stuck in the suffocating environment of my worst childhood traumas (childhood town in Germany) brought me to to choose release via suicide - relinquishing the Green Card in a way that I could never, ever return home. (Form I-407)
In moments of uncontainable pain and desperation, I envisioned the same train tracks I imagined to use to die as a child, succumbing to my then-born belief that I must, or will die - that I cannot be who I want to be (a girl).
There is a train station right in this town, where it all happened, and back as a child that would have been one of my only methods available.
If I didn't manage to complete suicide sooner, this permanent loss of any way to return home should eventually force me to ctb out of sheer desperation.
So I did just that, I sent the form in, alongside my Green Card, pretending on the outside to everybody that I am entirely fine.
I wrote in the reasons Section, where you're normally just supposed to say something like "I don't live in America", a whole letter designed explicitly to make future immigration impossible.
Mentioning my health issues, on top of writing that I don't ever want to make the US my permanent home again, and that I am "happy" in Germany, wishing to spend "the rest of my life" there.
... Yeah. It was written in a suicide note style format, as I finish it out with "this is goodbye", alongside thanking for all the memories and experiences I got to have in the US.
Here's a bit more detail on what caused this to happen - it is a situation that ramped up bit by bit, spiralling out of control.
So in late 2021, I had MAJOR physical health issues.
These were so debilitating, I became afraid to eat or drink.
I could barely move at times.
Anything I tried didn't help, doctors were clueless, and referrals to specialists stalled for months on end.
The scope of my health problem was unknown to me.
All I knew was that it kept getting worse.
I've known someone with Crohn's, I feared, maybe it's an inflammatory condition of that kind or something.
Seeking care was difficult, and access was sparse.
I did not have health insurance and feared incurring massive medical costs.
In combination with my immigration status making me ineligible for low-income Medicaid, I also had (unjustified...) fears regarding the "public charge" inadmissibility.
I also feared the "health" inadmissibility, but that came from a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means (it doesn't just mean "poor health", like I said, it's primarily the danger to self or others mentioned above).
I feared I had become broken and useless, that my life was over, and I could never do anything again.
Asking the very household I loved to pay for stuff also ran counter to me.
Seeking help or assistance from any programs I had already always been afraid of, or often straight up unable to due to my status.
I was deathly afraid of losing my status!
I thought taking the risk I ended up doing was in fact safer!
(You know what's painfully ironic?
It turns out, just 5 months after I left, Medicaid in my state allowed immigrants of all statuses to access it... ugh.
And I've since learned that once admitted, the public charge inadmissibility isn't even tested at all anymore - all the way until citizenship, even!!
UGH!)
This whole situation eventually led me to a horrible decision - I decided to try and seek medical care in Germany.
Something called "abandonment" of Permanent Residency also exists, so I would have to be careful - the primary test for this is returning within less than 6 months (though even then a shorter trip abroad can cause it anyway, depending on your actions).
The insurance makes seeking most healthcare largely free as a German citizen, it was still quick to see a doctor or specialist, so I thought this could work out somehow.
If I at least found a diagnosis/course of treatment for whatever it was that I had, I could then pursue that back in the US.
A family member offered I could stay at their place while I seek this medical care.
I thought this was the most convenient option for everyone involved (barring myself...)
This plan was absolutely fucking horrible!
I ended up landing in the country I associate with horrific childhood trauma, in an extremely sick, weakened state.
Very early on, the family member pressured me to throw away my suitcases.
Pushed me to leave their place and get an apartment after just 1 month of being in the country.
I had little strength to resist - I felt there was no way I could handle being homeless in that state.
This move-in made me lose most of my money.
My search for a diagnosis or course of treatment was repeatedly inconclusive and prolonged beyond expectation.
The crucial 6-month mark was coming along.
Well. The only test result I had so far that yielded any idea, was a positive result for a somewhat strong Lactose intolerance.
Same doctor recommended Fructose testing, too.
This Fructose test was 2 months out from the 6 month mark, so a little close.
I went for it anyhow.
My reaction to the testing solution, basically water with a lot of fructose in it, happened to be very strong - my entire body rejected it!
Heated up. Tingling. Sweating. Vomiting.
Perhaps this was it??
Lactose test was positive too - Fructose is extremely common, considering the US' use of high fructose corn syrup, as well as the fact that common table sugar is 50 % fructose.
We could not re-do this test until a month later.
Cutting it super close.
I obliged, because it seemed important.
Same event - my body rejects the solution immediately.
Next appointment is around 10 months from my arrival in Germany.
No amount of begging gets me anything sooner.
Worse fucking yet. I didn't have an extension letter of my Residency past June 20th - the 6 month absence mark from my arrival in Germany was July 20th.
The second Fructose test appointment was right before the June 20th point - I thought by then I'd receive another letter automatically, as I had before, but I did not.
This second appointment, alongside the first tbh, ended up a god damn trap.
I felt stuck and confused what to do.
Severe Depression and hopelessness set in.
My mental health had deteriorated immensely over this time.
I was isolated, hopeless, perpetually sick.
Stuck in a space I didn't want to be in, with relief limited to occasional remote calls and chats.
And into 7 months of being away, my health still not improved, and seeming like it never will, I fucking snap.
It finally repeated itself - I self-harm and abuse mentally in relation to my identity in the same way I had done during my childhood.
At this point I am actually yelling insults and profanities at myself.
Combined with fear and desperation.
I'm trapped! I can't go home!
My health isn't getting better!
If I fly back now, after the 6-month mark, I might be detained or land in court proceedings!
While extremely sick!
The clock on my US citizenship is now ruined! (a 6-month absence breaks the 5 year eligibility timer)
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
I'm alone! I'll be stuck here forever!
No, I *deserve* to be stuck here forever!
I've become worthless, to everybody!
I can never work again!
"Just get rid of your Green Card so you can go kill yourself you worthless fucking piece of shit" - a statement very much like this accompanied the very moment I went to leave the apartment to send the I-407 form with my Green Card in it.
I remember that vividly.
I yelled at myself to fucking die, picturing the train tracks.
In the end, all the worst factors accumulated over my lifetime coalesced, culminating in a decisive moment of peak insanity.
I will declare until the day I die that I was not of sound mind when I did this, when I filed that I-407.
The idea of "violently" losing my status irreversibly was already pre-baked in my head.
I had filled out the form in the most harmful way possible, laying it out on the table for some days.
All that was necessary from there was one final snap to finish the job - sort of like a prepped ctb method!
My self-hatred born from the disapproval of my trans identity I had absorbed from my environment during childhood informed exactly how I could hurt myself the most - repression, exclusion, vulnerability, fear.
This act was far more devastating than any physical self-harm I could have ever done - it destroyed me at my core, my heart, my identity, leaving an empty shell of me to rot and struggle until it inevitably collapses into this loss and dies off.
That was the point - the reason why it forces me to commit suicide eventually.
If there are any regrets, it's that I refused to engage in physical self-harm instead of all this.
I considered cutting to release my frustrations instead.
Something revocable, something amendable... ah.
The fact that I further was completely blind in those moments to the efforts, the shared history with those I loved in the US, the potential pain THEY might suffer as a result of this act perplexes me still.
Well, in my defense, I thought they were aware of the situation... I only realized far later that they did not understand my status very well, seemingly thinking I had citizenship, or not knowing what my specific status meant, or the level of pressure on me regarding long absences (6 months or more), inadmissibility.
I ended up stuck on this guilt, making everything only worse and worse from there on out, through a cycle of further and further irrevocable acts of self-harm.
It's... too late to regret. And it helps no one.
I guess I'm just...
Already dead.
Some positives:
My physical health improved one month after I had done this (UGH!), as I finally figured out how to handle my diet/feeding myself.
It did not relapse since.
I came to finally shake the false belief that my body was disgusting, that it needed surgeries, "fixing", so that I could be accepted and "allowed" into society.
This emerged from my experiences as a trans woman in Germany.
In the US, I never had these problems.
People accepted me the way I was, even found me attractive.
I caught onto this difference too late, too stuck in my own head, counting hairs, imperfections, parts that "need" surgery.
I now love my body, the way it is (one minor exception, but that part is mendable)
I'm really happy with how I turned out, and I would not choose to be any other way.
I have learned more about myself and the world than I could have ever imagined.
It is a damn shame... That this will never see the light of day. It'll only be useful for me - I'll take it with me to my dream world.
At least... even in leaving this world, I won't be in abject physical pain, I finally found release from the internalized transphobia that haunted me for over 24 years of my life, and I have the strongest sense of my identity I have ever had.
4/4) "Finding myself, again"
This is about what I said at the end of 3/4).
Originally, I came here in my most desperate hour.
I was curious to speak in a space where suicidal ideation is not demonized (the very first time I got to find th, as well as to discover methods if I feel there is no way out of my situation.
If you read 3/4), I believe an IMMENSE amount of regret will come through in my writing.
I can't hide it.
That is how I felt about the entire time, now since 22 months ago, that I have been back in Germany.
At first, I was filled with dread.
I realized not just how difficult suicide is, but also just how badly I fucking wish I hadn't forced myself into it, at the point of my joining, one year ago.
I was happy to finally find release and understanding for my suicidal thoughts.
I believe this is a crucial support that could have kept me from falling into crises, if my life wasn't ruined.
Say I'd been back home instead, and had this outlet.
My suicidal thoughts, and my childhood traumas, always had to be hidden, stashed away, as I found no understanding for them anywhere.
Mental health providers did not prove helpful.
I could have used this space as the outlet for those feelings, to discover new ways to cope (as I have during my time here!), and keep them out of and away from affecting my private life.
Major actions take place shortly after my joining, as I just can't take it anymore.
I flew to Canada around ~ Aug 31st, met my folks I loved for the first time in forever...
But I was awful!
I couldn't keep my dread, my fear of disappearing inside.
I lashed out (not physically), was disrespectful, untempered, short fused...
It felt like my soul was trying to violently escape my body, and I couldn't keep those feelings inside AT ALL.
I'm sorry.
They put in effort to meet me, speak to a lawyer, and create a chance of re-admission to the US.
Which did not work.
It was so stressful, for them, for me, and I wanted to die so badly after it didn't work...
I did hold some frustrations deep inside - I had made many warnings about trying something different previously, what I thought had the highest chance to work to the best of my knowledge, but I was pushed by them to do other things instead. That are less complicated, less effort, less costly... From my end, my life was on the line. I don't think they saw it that way, and I wasted far too much time trying to explain why it is the case.
It just did not come across.
As I'd become dependent on their assistance (crucially, I was moving independently at the start of the year toward a solution - I stopped and reverted to dependent obedient mode after a botched conversation with one of them left me feeling horribly guilty)
Ugh. Just a whole mess.
Well, the only remaining solace was the fact I still had this forum.
I continued seeking ctb methods, but was still frightened to hell about dying.
I couldn't manage putting ctb plans together, the fear was so strong.
My independent, impotent mindset still lingered.
Then I went to the UK.
The whole Beachy Head saga ensued.
I believed the only way to beat survival instinct would be to jump - one quick, irreversible, completely surefire moment.
And since I still had a good amount of money - I could use seeing this method right in front of me as a guidance on what to do.
There was still a massive risk I could have taken to return to the US.
I spoke extensively about my adventures at Beachy Head in the following threads:
Well guess who's not the brightest bulb. I got myself sectioned. 136. You see, I'm terrible at lying, because it feels inherently wrong to me. With police specifically I worry it can be a crime. And tbh I'm really lonely atm so I'm all vulnerable to the comforting speak. I really want to...
Heyo. I uh, exploded in my other thread. I'm overall a little calmer now. Terrified on a rational level, but trying my best to try to brainstorm the situation for an escape, and take moments here and there to self-care a little to re-balance emotions. I got Section 136, then a mental health...
Holy jesus. I have been released?? I want to post about my experience as it relates to Sectioning and Beachy Head, so it may contain useful information for folks having to deal with those things in the UK. Here's the other threads...
sanctioned-suicide.net
To sum it up - very unexpected things came to pass.
I got Sectioned on the way to Beachy Head, which was fucking terrifying.
I thought I was about to relive my childhood trauma, and subsequently be deported (I was going to be sent to a psych ward, and they spoke of "repatriating". they kept asking about my family.)
Detained in the A&E, I feared, feared, feared.
At first, I had completely broken down, crying my soul out.
Once surveillance lightened up, I tried to use the stuff I'd brought with me for backup methods like night-night, because I'd rather die than re-live involuntary confinement.
It didn't work.
Part of me fought though...
I fought for release here and there, using the rest from benzos, extended sleep time, and 3 big meals a day as fuel to recover my abilities.
On SaSu, I asked for help regarding UK Mental Health Act Sectioning, independent advocacy, etc.
The situation was this - police did a Section 136.
Lasts 24 hours, they take me to a "place of safety"
There, the hospital did an assessment and called for a Section 2.
That can hold me in a ward for up to 28 days.
However, no ward spots were available.
Because of this, I was in legal limbo for 7 days.
They could not legally hold me, but did so anyway.
I was not taken seriously as it came to getting an independent mental health advocate, any re-asssessment (the Section 2 assessment happened based off of incorrect information! They said I had a one-way ticket, and that I explicitly said to the police I wanted to commit suicide. Not true!)
Initially, I pleaded and begged for release. That never worked, no matter my honesty, no matter my actual sharing of my past trauma.
I complained as much as possible throughout my stay there.
As physically, I recovered a lot, thanks admittably to being fed well, my efforts to read up on laws, reach out for assistance (helplines and such), and overall understand my situation better, improved.
After exactly 1 week of being there in total - I finally had the guts.
They could not legally hold me, but threatened to call the police if I left.
I called their bluff, and left.
On the way, they physically blocked me (technically not allowed to), until I picked up the phone to call a helpline.
I made it to one bus, but not onto the train for the airport, before being spotted by police.
They claimed to have been searching me all over the place, and to have notified transit/airport not to board me if I did get there.
At this point, if I did not comply, I would be put under a new Section 136 - this was explicitly told to me, as I tried to reason with them.
I managed to elicit one concession - I'd come back willingly, if they got me another assessment and review.
Tell the truth, I was absolutely not hopeful.
I felt completely at my limit the next day - I was unable to ctb in the A&E, and thought I was for sure landing in the ward.
Still called a solicitor, who, if I had gotten into Section 2, would at that point be able to help me out for free.
Something miraculous happened.
A new doctor came in, and they wanted to move me to a different area (not the ward, still, but a general hospital bed).
I DID have a chance to speak to a new doctor and social worker!
And before this, you know, in spite of thinking I won't get a chance, I actually thought out what to say, all the points to hit, etc., if this conversation did happen.
It worked!
I was candid, open, direct, transparent. And it led to my release.
None of this I did at all speaking to the Beachy Head chaplains, the police, or the hospital staff previously, you see.
What I was used to, culturally I guess you'd say - never tell the police anything. "Anything you say can and will be used against you" - famous in the US.
But that lack of trust exactly backfired here.
You have to think about incentives.
In the US, the police gain more from screwing you over than not. (completed arrests, fines, etc.)
In this scenario - the police and staff have a "duty of care".
This means if I end up dying, they could be held liable.
So have far more to "gain" (rather, not lose) from erring on the side of caution when it comes to believing whether I would hurt myself or not - seeing opaquity as a hiding suicidal intentions.
No matter how cold, damaging or traumatizing that treatment can be to someone.
This situation shook me. I was... able to protect myself.
Chaotic and messy, but the result is all that matters, yeah?
Unlike the vulnerable child I was when this sort of thing first happened, I had the strength and guts, to save myself from the abusive, horrifying environment of institutionalization.
For years, I had always sought for some form of "savior", someone to protect me, like I wasn't as a child.
But unbeknownst to me, a mirage of a protective adult had begun to form, within MYSELF, based on my years in America.
I took my newfound confidence to see Beachy Head the next day, in full defiance of being denied this opportunity previously.
I spoke about my ethereal experience on this cliff in the third thread - a 16 hour stay, day and night.
The stars, the universe... I felt so close to it, wondering, am I joining nature now? Will I jump?
It was extremely cold. My hands turned blue. I felt scared at times.
Some moments, I even wished someone would come to me. I had to hide from view of the cars and lights - make sure no Chaplains or police find me to Section me again.
No one ever came. I was all alone. I categorically refused to talk to ANYONE, because I feared survival instinct could put me at risk of getting someone sent my way.
Time kept ticking. I had minimal water, snacks, and a beautiful phone with me.
In spite of how horrible rough sleeping for the first time in four years felt... I chose to suffer, to continue on. Just a little longer.
As morning arrived, I left the cliff, returning to town.
I made a compromise with myself after this.
I felt that life was beautiful, and after this hard fought release + cathartic, defiant stay in nature... I felt less afraid, knowing I can protect myself.
I wanted to test, to check, just a little bit more, to exhaust the options I did still have left to me.
Within reason - I was reluctant to try anything that denies me the ability to ctb.
After this comes a gauntlet of existential dread, coping, trying to figure out where to go, what to do.
This is all well documented in my posts on this site.
Of course, unfortunately... if you're reading this, my efforts did not come to fruition. Too little, too late...
But the positive takeaway is, that within this, I feel I truly found myself.
I developed fully thought out ctb methods and plans, no longer captivated by fear.
I tried near everything I reasonably still could to reach a vantage point from which Recovery is possible.
I learned more and more about myself, my life, the world itself - coming to terms, finding a real sense of peace, rather than nothing but dread in my passing.
Eventually, I even found a method that does not invoke panic, that does not invoke survival instinct in me - full suspension hanging.
Every other method was different. But this one... the rope's firm embrace around my neck is soothing.
Death is guaranteed, and hardly painful.
And this method comes with a guarantee - my dreams vividly expressed to me that I would be leaving to my dream world - the world I had used as a child to cope with the horrors of my traumas - if I pass using this method.
I would much prefer to re-join the real world, but this is okay. It is... something I can accept.
And that about sums up the story of how SaSu helped me find myself again.
I have experienced a lot of horrors within my lifetime, but somehow, since landing in the US, I always managed to "make up for them" in a way that I no longer regretted - that the line of events I was living in was acceptable, and didn't have to be any other way.
This sense of "it was okay" was never present during this stay in Germany.
Thanks to all of this... I can no longer imagine a different chain of events, once more.
Dear do I wish I could carry on this newfound knowledge, insight, ability, etc. etc., into my real world...
It saddens me to not be able to share it, to live up to what I could do now.
But taking it with me to the dream world is a valid compromise, at least for myself.
Thank you, SaSu. I love you all. I wish I could spend more time with you.
I wish I could go back home. I wish I could stick around in this Sanctuary, in Recovery, from home, as I rebuild my life with all my strength.
But instead, I must now bid you goodbye, and thank you, from the bottom of my still-beating heart, for a humane, compassionate hospice - complete.
In any case, I'd request the original thread to stay up, and to consider this the, I guess the proper posting of it, idk.
My original message still stands.
Thank you all. I have gained deeper insights into life, and a level of understanding of seeking death, here than anywhere else ever before.
I want you all to know, as I am setting up this final bus ride (hehe, ironic - I've always LOVED transportation! Buses! Cars! Trains! Planes!), close to the end... I feel peaceful.
I am not doubting.
This feels right.
It is my time.
This is good.
Tiny tidbits of survival instinct activate, but I am categorically beating all of them.
There is nowhere left to go.
I realized my mistake, but it does not matter.
I can't come home.
If I could have returned to the US, I would have survived.
Funny how, once I finally feel ready to fully buckle up, get a proper education, achieve profession, higher level employment instead of odd jobs, like I was supposed to, there is no receptacle left for me.
Society wants nothing to do with me anymore, no matter what I do now.
There is no more argument that can win, SI.
Once the rope ensnares my little neck, I will pass out shortly.
There will be little pain, little resistance, little fear.
I am safe.
I will never, ever be locked up again.
My biggest trauma, beaten forever.
I will never feel the anxiety again that experiencing this as a child has brought me to this day, fucking, 9 years later.
What made it all worse was the utter, permanent isolation that came with it.
It didn't stop upon release.
It never stopped.
Nobody ever really understood.
It was only happening to me.
A shy, peaceful, and quiet woman I once was, became utterly panicked, unable to be alone, unable to handle being in any space I can not voluntarily leave.
Thrown into absolute fear at any possible signs of confinement happening again - rightfully so, as it did twice more 2 years later, once without even any fucking warning, in response to presenting with merely *physical* health issues.
Never safe, no matter what I do.
The nightmares never stopped.
It happened, over, and over, and over again, just to me.
Zero sympathy, zero acknowledgment, zero attempts at "making up" for it.
No crime.
Just wanting to be a girl.
Just being trans.
An entire life ruined, for the most innocent, harmless wish.
I am tired of living with that.
And damn, just how tired am I now.
But content.
I had a lot of nutritious food today, listened to lots of songs I liked recently (Racing into the Night, My War, Ruru's Suicide Stream, Money Game Part 2, Confrontation ~ Presto 2011, Logic Chess Opening & Endgame), had a good Full English this morning, I watched one final John Oliver, about Rocks, I drank a warm, comfy hot choccy (Cadbury! very nice!), and I will pop one last Progesterone pill before I go.
Unfortunately, I can't wear my California hat in act, as it interferes around the neck.
I suppose putting it to the side is like taking off your hat after a long working day, finally coming home.
Since I can still wear my sweet angel necklace... maybe I get to be a little Fallen Angel, hehe... God I loved that song too - heaven, take me into your skies~!
I will get to wear my hairbow, too :3
This was my final, full outfit, the cumulative acquisition of my whole life.
I'm so happy with how it turned out!
If there is one area I never lost the struggle in at the end now, it's that, despite EVERYTHING, I became happy with my appearance, my body.
Not perfect, but happy. Content.
This is me. I'm happy being a trans woman.
Fuck you, Germany, for rejecting me as such.
My "revenge" to all that is that I will die exactly as I wish to be - I will forever be this happy, this content with my self, my body, my expression, my gender.
After I escaped to the United States, I became a cute, queer girl, like I always wanted to be, and there is damn NOTHING you can ever do about that.
Mental illness my ass. Fuck you! :)
Taken: November 8th 2023
The hairbow picture in the original goodbye thread was taken April 12th 2023
Thank you all so much for participating in my journey. I love this community.
The final resting place for empathy and humanity.
No death in sterile prison walls, no tubes, no artifice. Free will prevails.
I wish you all the best, and that you may find the peace or release you seek yourselves.
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