# TL;DR
## I've had a crazy life, and I'm planning on killing myself

I was born in 1990.

When I was in elementary school, it was apparent that I was different from other people. I wanted to be a girl *really* badly; and I gradually realized most other boys *liked* being a guy for some reason. I started compulsively wearing my mom's clothes in like third grade whenever I was left home alone. I started getting aroused toward the end of primary school, and I was drawn almost from the beginning toward being tied up and disciplined and shit.

These things grew and merged together. I kept compulsively wearing my mom's clothes when I had the chance, and became progressively more bold about it. I kept being aroused by bondage and discipline, and started tying myself up for fun in increasingly elaborate ways. I started tying myself up for fun while wearing my mom's clothes. I experienced my first orgasm in seventh grade while doing this, after pulling the vibrating motor out of a massage pillow and putting it in my underpants because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I knew there was something wrong with me, but I was too scared to talk about it.

I heard the word "crossdresser" somewhere, and I figured *that* must be what I was. After a few weeks of timidly learning about crossdressers on the internet, I began realizing I was actually *transsexual*. I joined a mailing list for transsexual youth, and might've been the youngest person there at the time. I was 13, and the year was 2003.

I was *over the moon* that I could take hormones someday and grow breasts. I'd wanted that ever since I learned what estrogen was from this puberty book my mom bought me, and I didn't even know if it was *possible*.

Over the next couple years, I thought more and more about taking meds when I was older. It started weighing on my mind that I could get meds to delay my puberty *now*, and I'd even chatted with another person on this mailing list who'd talked to her parents about it and was doing that.

My mother loved me *very* much. That's what she told me, *all the time*. I love you. I love you. I love you to the moon and back.

My mother was in and out of mental hospitals throughout my youth, and even at that age I perceived her as "emotionally unstable". I avoided telling her upsetting information from a young age. My parents divorced in middle school, and my mom remained my day-to-day caretaker.

Toward the end of my first semester of high school, I had plans to come out to my mom right after Christmas. But, I got cold feet. I think it was something she said, but I forget. It's been a while.

This secret was burning a hole inside me. I wanted to talk about it with a real person, I wanted antiandrogens... I knew coming out sometimes went badly, but... my friends and family love me, right? Are they really going to spit on me?

Instead of telling my mom, I came out to this casual acquaintance from school who I'd simultaneously started "dating" (it was the ninth grade). She told her mom, and her mom made me tell *my* mom. The relationship was filled with petty drama and went south after a few months.

My mother was ambivalent to the whole thing at first. She wouldn't let me get meds. She freaked out after she saw a trans woman at work and didn't want me to do it. She took me to see a therapist the next county over for like a year. She didn't make any effort to refer to me with a different name or female pronouns; granted, I was too sheepish to make a stink about it. I kept wearing mom's clothes in private; she neither made an effort to stop this, nor bought me clothes of my own to wear.

My girlfriend outed me to all my friends at school. We were still friends, and they had a lot of questions. I had a *really* hard time talking about it. I was well into college before I could talk about it without getting choked up and almost non-verbal like someone talking about Vietnam or something.

My girlfriend started bending the truth, and making up outright lies about me. My friends started treating me like a creep and giving me the cold shoulder, and in turn I got new friends.

I kept tying myself up with a vibrating massager while wearing women's clothing. Just using the massager was *nice*. But doing both was a *treat*.

With my mother quasi-supportive but not into getting me on meds, I decided to just order spironolactone from overseas. This was relatively easy, because I was both a latchkey child and had an after school / summer job.

When I was in 11th grade, I started wanting to look at quasi- or soft-core pornography. I initially gravitated toward women, which seems weird today because I think I'm probably more into dudes. I think part of me wanted to live vicariously through them, but honestly this was forever ago.

I printed out like a dozen pictures of teenage girls in bikinis and put them in a big envelope. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I'd look at them while tying myself up and... well, you get the idea.

My mom found this envelope under my bed not long after, and yelled at me for it. Right after this, she yelled at me about what I was doing with rope (really, more like thick string) in a box of her clothes. I had made self-tightening knots (nooses, basically), which I kept intact to speed up the ritual of, well... you know.

My mother was concerned that I was either suicidal or into breath play. We had an awkward talk when David Carradine died a year or two after this incident.

I denied doing both of those things (wearing the clothes and tying myself up) at the same time. This was obviously a lie. I thought I'd already *told her* the "important" part.

I didn't really get in trouble. It was obvious my mother was disturbed however, and this (along with some of my other difficult high school experiences, I suppose) made me seriously doubt my gender identity. I stopped taking my antiandrogens after getting distracted with school or some shit. I felt like I'd "yadda yadda'd over the sex part" when I came out to my mom, and like maybe that's actually kind of important. I questioned whether I might be an "autogynephile" or something instead of a "true transsexual". I felt like I'd been born *a pervert*, not a woman.

While I was deterred from transitioning, I was *not* deterred from looking at BDSM porn, which is quickly what I got into. I kept looking at BDSM porn of men topping women and imagining being the woman, while masturbating with a vibrating massager that was basically a Dr. Scholl's-brand Hitachi. I stopped wearing mom's clothes, or really *any* woman's clothes.

I went to college, and had no interest in women, save for still wishing I was one of them on some level; but I didn't think I could *be* a woman after my negative experiences with my mom and my high school girlfriend.

I was happy to start drinking and smoking weed in college; on some level thinking these things would make me a "normal guy" after the weird life I'd had up to that point.

At the age of 21, still with more of a crush on rope and chains than any man or woman I'd ever met, I ventured into the local BDSM community. I found myself with a female play partner 4 1/2 years my senior, but the relationship was never romantic or even all that sexual. This arrangement ended after I graduated college.

I occasionally played with folks after this, but I never really managed to find another play partner. Maybe I needed to try harder, or expand my radius. I'm not sure, honestly. My mating strategy was basically just being an idle subby boy at kink events, which failed to be all that effective after college.

In my mid-twenties, I found myself at my wits end. My boss was a madman, I was *way* burnt out from it, and I still wasn't getting any. I hatched a plan I kept *very* close to my chest, to basically try and create a web application that might help with my relatively unusual dating / finding a play partner situation. I wanted to solve the "needle in a haystack" problem of niche sexualities like submissive men, as opposed to the "fish in the sea" problem that every other dating app tries to solve. But, I ended up just transitioning instead.

I took a $30k/year paycut to run away a couple cities over and fix computers and do sysadmin shit. This was a combination of dealing with premature burnout, and wanting to conserve brainpower for outside-of-work side projects like that web application idea. I didn't really even start working on this thing, before abruptly pivoting toward transitioning instead about nine months into my new job.

It was the start of 2017. Trump had just been elected, I kept cringing at all the stuff about trans people I'd been inundated with after Caitlyn Jenner came out... I was cranky about how much things had changed since I was a kid. First of all, we weren't "transsexuals" anymore. We were just "transgender", and "transsexual" had become this sort of dog whistle for "transmedicalism", which was all truescummy and gatekeepy. I'm pretty sure nobody ever asked me my pronouns on that mailing list all those years ago; but now there are more than *two* pronouns, and conservatives are upset about it and accusing us of being anti-free speech. It felt like the transsexual community I learned about in middle and high school had been replaced by some weird Tumblr bullshit that was probably spearheaded by kids who were still in diapers back when I got *my* start in 2003.

I *briefly* considered bitching about this on the internet, but I chose not to. It seemed like a lot had happened since 2008, and maybe I needed to catch up. I sort of re-cracked during this time. By the end of high school, I felt like I had too much "weird sex stuff" going on with me to make it through the gatekeeping to get HRT and SRS and shit; unless I were to just *lie about my experiences* or something, like Ray Blanchard accuses autogynephiles of doing. I was just now learning that "informed consent" access to HRT was suddenly *mainstream*. I could just... *take hormones* if I wanted. I don't need to have my weird sex stuff picked apart, I don't need to order drugs from Vanuatu... I actually considered at least getting back on antiandrogens during my subby boy phase; but I didn't think any doctor would just *give me* those, and I didn't want to take DIY indefinitely.

This next phase happened *fast*. I cracked in January, weighed *all the possibilities* in this freeform journal now called "The Purple Book" in February, got over my cold feet and made my appointment in March, and started HRT on April 13th. By then, I'd started taking the spironolactone from high school again; the bottle had expired in 2010, but I figured it was still good.

Despite the informed consent model, my doctor *was* kinda pushy about me getting a therapist. It was also suggested that maybe I ought to try one of the local trans groups at the LGBT center or something. I did this, and gradually started making new friends over the next several months.

I was relieved to finally be on HRT at the age of 26. I kinda hate myself for waiting that long *now*, but I was really confused when I was younger. I came out at work, and they were supportive. I dragged my feet a little on social transition; going part-time at 12 months and full-time at 20. This was just my style; the physical changes and having my facial hair zapped off was a way bigger deal to me than my name or pronouns.

January 1st, 2019, and I was full-time. I legally changed my name and got my gender marker changed most everywhere a few months after that.

I sort of hit it off with this other trans woman in September. She was married, but polyamory had been thoroughly normalized to me after being into BDSM since college. This only lasted about five months, and *a lot* happened. My girlfriend's wife figured out they were non-binary, and eventually just a straight up trans man. Our polycule expanded by two people, and the structure of it became increasingly amorphous. Having tried to get laid unsuccessfully since age 21, I think there was a *lot* of conscious and unconscious pressure to make this work. This was the perfect storm for a bad situation, and I don't think we were really compatible with each other in retrospect. A couple folks in my polycule had child sexual trauma, and I remembered something about my childhood that made *me* think I had similar trauma. I blamed my struggle to sexually function on this; but in retrospect I think I was blowing things out of proportion and looking for answers in all the wrong places. There's more about this in my massively long life story I've linked to at the bottom, but I'd rather not elaborate here.

I'd started thinking about my career again. I *knew* I was nuking my career by ditching the embedded development track I was on, and I didn't really care. I needed a reason to *be*. Having since found that, and having decided I was no entrepreneur, I thought about pivoting back toward software development somewhere; or at least, getting more certs and working my way up the IT ladder. I wound up landing a job as a software developer working with my childhood best friend, and started in November.

I got off to a good start, it seemed like. COVID hit like five months later; I've never been very productive working from home, so I wasn't crazy about it. I talked to my therapist about the whole childhood trauma thing I was trying to figure out in March or April. One thing led to another, and I found myself backed into a corner where I felt I *had* to tell my mother a few months later. She did *not* handle this well; she had a nasty fall and hit her head a few weeks later, in an incident I kinda suspect was related, but I can't really *prove* that. I went home to take care of her for a time; but after a month, I'd long since gotten the impression that she *really* just wanted an excuse to keep me at home after I talked to her about the whole sexual trauma bit. I just wanted her to know what was going *on* with me.

2021 finally arrived. I was *not* getting any work done at my job, and talked to my therapist and primary care doctor about getting tested for ADHD or otherwise maybe getting medicated for that. I was prescribed Concerta, and shit started to get *really* weird a few months later. I had also recently picked up my old cannabis habit just before the new year; I was already having trouble focusing at work, so the devil's lettuce at least wasn't my *primary* problem. I had significantly less desire to smoke while on Concerta; but I still *did it* after work usually. That may've been related.

Around early June, I felt like something *weird* was happening to me; like my mind was expanding or something, or like I was on the verge of some breakthrough. It was *weird*, and I wasn't thinking too hard about the new medication at first. I saw that UFO report come out toward the end of the month, and I was convinced *that* had something to do with what was happening to me. I started freaking the fuck out, and soon decided to stop the Concerta out of a concern that I might be experiencing stimulant psychosis. *UFOs* were involved, after all... I kept smoking pot, though.

I looked at all the weird UFO theories on Reddit, and found people talking about a "big shift" or something. I was immediately convinced *that's* what was going on with me. After struggling to talk to my therapist about it, I managed to stammer something about it at the end of one of our sessions in, like, July. At this point, I recalled *several* of my friends already *knowing* "the truth about UFOs"; none the least of which was my therapist. I remembered it coming up in conversation back in the spring. But... I've since concluded these are *all* false memories. I mean, *right*? The weird thing is, I *still* have these weird memories of a bunch of people in my life knowing about UFOs. It feels as real as anything. I feel like the narrator of Slaughterhouse-Five or something.

I got it out of me at the very end of the therapy session. We didn't really have time to talk about it, because our time was up as soon as it stumbled out of me.

The next session, my therapist seems to have lied to gain my trust. Although, I totally believed her at the time. I thought my shrink *literally* knew "the truth about UFOs".

> I'm so glad you know about the big shift!   
> I'm so glad you know about the 5D new Earth!   
> Have you heard about the Law of One?   

I figured it *must* be real. I mean, we *just* talked about this back in the spring after it came up in casual conversation. I was talking about how a bunch of my trans friends were apparently into "mysticism and magick" and knew "the truth about UFOs", and I *still* very clearly remember my therapist saying

> You know the truth about UFOs, right?   
> Reincarnation...   

And I was like

> Oh, yeah! I have this friend, Heather! Heather from, uh... Vega...   

Again; I *know* these are certainly false memories *now*. But I had them *then*; and frankly, I still have them *now*. I've simply accepted that I've lost my goddamn marbles somewhere along the way.

Frantically asking my therapist what to do, and remembering that she *already seemed to know about this stuff*, she referred me to her friend who was a shaman or something.

COVID was still going on, so I talked to Doris the shaman over Zoom. We talked for like an hour and a half, she did a bunch of voodoo shit remotely, and we ascertained that I was a reincarnated space alien from Arcturus or something. She told me to sage my house and burn sweet grass and palo santo, and she gave me these funny rocks called Apache's Tears to put at the four corners of my bedroom. Okay...

(I was a hardened atheist skeptic before all of this started happening, btw...)

I needed a friend to talk to about this weird shit. I had multiple trans friends who were into "mysticism and magick and the occult", and I enlisted the help of one of them, who I kind of low-key had a crush on at the time. Let's call her Stephanie.

Stephanie started coming over on the weekends. We never really did anything sexual or romantic; this would probably be best described as a "queer-platonic partnership" in retrospect; although, that wasn't necessarily the intent going in. She didn't really know anything about the weird reincarnated space alien starseed stuff that was going on with me, but she was willing to lend an ear.

Weird things kept showing up in my head. I continued to refrain from taking methylphenidate just in case; though I can only say my cannabis usage did nothing but steadily increase over this period. I was under quite a bit of stress, trying to figure out what was *actually* going on with me and what I was supposed to *do*.

My therapist seemed to want me to seek out new age spirituality-type groups. But, I was thoroughly preoccupied with all the weird shit that was going on in my head. I grew convinced that Anthony Kiedis was a reincarnated space alien from the Pleiades because he's got that song; before eventually concluding that Doris the shaman got it wrong, and that *I* was actually from the Pleiades.

I started remembering more weird shit. My childhood preacher. The cool one, who I still kinda like even though I'm an atheist now. He pulled me aside several times throughout my life. In middle school, he told me I should explore Freemasonry when I was older, and gave me this URL on a slip of paper where I could read some introductory masonic text or something. While looking up elementary mysticism and magick, I stumbled across this public domain work called "The Kybalion", and realized *that* was the thing Tommy had me read in middle school. It describes, among other things, this principle called the "law of correspondence": as above, so below.

I pieced something together from this. You see, Tommy and I both happen to have been born in Warren, Ohio. And, despite not being related or anything, we found ourselves living in this small town in southeastern North Carolina. I was convinced *this* was a manifestation of the "law of correspondence": we're both "from the same place" on multiple planes of existence. Not only were we both from Warren, Ohio; we were also both from *the Pleiades*, or some shit.

In high school, he told me to pay extra close attention to this sermon that was going to be about me; but it was just about some chick in her 30s dealing with childhood trauma. A bunch of people surrounded me after the sermon, and said "We love you, Rachael". I was going by either Sarah or Morgan at the time, and was *very* private about it.

Then I remembered him pulling me aside in college, when I went back home for some church dinner. My mom was talking about this nightmare I had as a kid about the "sharks", and she wanted me to tell everyone at the table about it. "Oh, you mean the *shark people*?", I said. My mom didn't realize they were *people*. I proceeded to describe my "nightmare"; which involved waking up on a narrow metal table in a small round room, surrounded by three or so "shark people". After going on to describe them, and clarifying that they didn't exactly have big jaws or anything and were mostly just *gray*, my preacher practically *drags me out of the church activity building*, takes me way out into the parking lot where no one can hear, and has this long talk about how I'm *very* different. I needed to seek hidden truths, and apparently "the Freemasons" know these hidden truths. But, so do lots of *other* people. "If you walked into a masonic lodge and gave them your name, they'd know who you are", he said. He acted like it was *really* important or something. I think he might've even mentioned that it involved "UFOs" of all things.

Needless to say, I interpreted (or, re-interpreted, depending on how based on reality the memory is) this as some childhood alien abduction. I subsequently remembered waking up outside, often locked out of the house; with the last incident occurring in middle school.

Remembering the weird stuff with my childhood preacher and not knowing how else to get in touch with him, I decided to show up for Sunday service at his new church. He was really excited to see me, and we went straight to the parsonage after church where his wife made us lunch. I never got a moment alone with the guy, and the conversation went nowhere after I dropped hints about what might be going on with me. We at least managed to exchange numbers.

I thought the universe was talking to me. I thought I remembered all this weird shit from when my mom bought me and my friend tickets to a Red Hot Chili Peppers show in college; my mom was about to get us "regular" seats, but this fellow from church (who I also thought was a Freemason, but I was probably *wrong* about that part...) gave my mom extra money so that we'd have floor seats closer to the stage. I thought I remembered being surrounded by all these people, who were "in the know" about something. The show opened with the song "Right On Time" (which I was previously unfamiliar with); which contains the rather odd lyric "Joan of arc reincarnated". One of those "in the know" people giggled and said "I love that part!" I looked up the "I'm With You" tour on Wikipedia to see what song they opened with when they played PNC Arena, and it *was* "Right on Time", just as I remembered. Weird, right?

Remembering all this weird shit with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I decided out of curiosity to look up whether there was an upcoming tour. At this point, I thought I remembered my old friend-of-a-friend "Heather from Vega" telling me there would be a concert in the future; and that I wasn't ready *now*, but that I'd be cooler once I was older or something. I looked up their upcoming "Unlimited Love" tour, and it just so happened that they were playing in Charlotte *on my birthday*. I was utterly *convinced* this was a sign from the gods or something.

I reached out to our mutual friend, in an attempt to get in touch with Heather. We hadn't spoken since 2016; when somebody played "Can't Stop" on Rockband, she snickered about "where she was from"; and I was slow to remember the whole "Vega" thing, which was ostensibly some kind of inside joke among these space alien people? I simply texted our mutual friend to "Ask Heather if she wants to go to a Red Hot Chili Peppers show. It's an inside joke, she'll get it." Spoiler alert; Heather did *not* get the joke.

Growing increasingly desperate to talk to someone who actually knew what the fuck was going on, I texted my old preacher that I wanted to have a talk about shark people and Warren, Ohio.

I continued on; eventually reaching out to a *different* friend, who (unlike Stephanie) I actually remembered being another one of these friends who ostensibly "knew the truth about UFOs". Let's call her Persephone. I proceeded to have a full-blown Discord conversation with this person about how I went through a spiritual awakening and figured out I was a reincarnated space alien, and she *seemed* to know exactly what I was talking about; even going so far as to inform me that "alien" is a slur against aliens, and they're actually called "others" or something. The whole transcript is in my write-up I've linked to below, if you want to know exactly what the fuck happened.

My conversation with Persephone emboldened me; I must be *kind of* on the right track, I thought. I figured it would only be a matter of time until we all sat down to hash this out or something.

Weird shit kept coming to me. I was having extremely vivid premonitions or "visions"; none of which managed to come true, if you'd believe it. I was convinced the Freemasons were going to come to my house and take me to an initiation ceremony or something. I thought they were able to remote view into my room, and see things through my eyes, and even put messages in my head. I envisioned a bunch of weird shit about Anthony Kiedis, and that I had some kind of a past and future with this guy or something. I thought there was going to be a Saturday Night Live where I'd meet him, and I was supposed to know *exactly* what to do based on these messages in my head. I thought my old preacher or someone was going to deliver a box with a plane ticket and a bunch of other stuff in it, and I was just supposed to *go* after having already packed my bags.

I kept seeing my therapist every week; though we started growing further and further apart. My therapist was asking me if I was still getting those "downloads" in my head. That's what I was calling them at first. I was several steps ahead of this "5D new Earth" stuff by now; and was slow to open up, because I was worried my therapist wouldn't believe me about all this weird Anthony Kiedis shit.

With Tommy seemingly playing hard to get, I eventually sent him a *very bold* text message blatently asking him if he's from the Pleiades. He never answered my question.

I sent a very strange letter to the Grand Lodge of Ancient, Free and Accepted Masons of North Carolina. I thought I was supposed to do that or something. They never wrote me back, unsurprisingly.

I talked to my mom to make sure my memory of Tommy being from Warren, Ohio was correct. She confirmed that he *was*, and reminded me that Dave Grohl was *also* from Warren.

Oh, right. The guy with that band called "Foo Fighters". I was absolutely *certain* this was no coincidence.

Messages kept showing up in my head. I was apparently supposed to write down *all* of this weird Anthony Kiedis shit that I thought was going to happen to me, make *two* copies of it, and send one to my mother and the other to my childhood best friend; who I was currently working on the same team with as a software developer. This happened at the end of April.

In May, all hell broke lose. Josh was freaked out about my letter, and wanted me to tell him more. He seemed to believe every word. The letter to my mom got lost in the mail and arrived late; things seemed normal, until she asked if she could take me to "get my meds checked". Our relationship was on shaky ground at this point; I had since grown convinced that she snooped around my house while I was in New York for a surgery consult. While I've been pretty out of my mind, I *still* think it's more than plausible that she actually *did* this; and she *did* have a spare key before I changed the locks.

So, naturally, I said I didn't "feel comfortable" with her showing up to my house to take me to get my meds checked. I told her that I understood I might be a little out in the weeds with the stuff I wrote in that letter, and told her I'd reevaluate what was going on with me and talk with my therapist. I also told her I stopped taking my ADHD medication, which she did *not* like. She was under the impression that you are *not* supposed to stop taking "psych meds"; which is often *true*, granted, but I had actually stopped taking them to make sure I wasn't experiencing stimulant psychosis or something. The only "meds" I was on was HRT.

On the eve of Friday the 13th, I started "remembering" all this weird shit from a past life about how I "caused" Friday the 13th as a Roman senator, and was then tortured in a subsequent lifetime because of it. You can read all about it in the long version of this I've linked to, but I'll spare you the details. I thought I caused Friday the 13th, and I was out of my goddamn mind.

A few days later, my mother just decided to *drive up without notice* to see what was going on. She wanted us to talk to my childhood preacher; which I was inclined to agree to. She stayed in a hotel because she was not welcome in my house at this point. I basically had to arrange this meeting between the three of us because she couldn't manage it on her own for some reason. I picked her up at her hotel, and the two of us drove to a coffee shop to meet my old preacher.

I was absolutely *brimming* with both excitement and frustration at this point; and it was starting to be more the latter than the former. I *point-blank* asked Tommy if he was from the Pleiades, and he *still* wouldn't answer me. It's a yes or no question, dude! Just say "no, I'm not from the Pleiades" and I'll leave you alone! He wouldn't *do it*! I was sure *something* was going on, because he was now avoiding my *very* direct questions about it.

I dropped my mother back off at her hotel, and went back home. I figured this would *have* to sort itself out before too much longer.

A day or two later, I pulled off my big headphones just after lunchtime to a loud pounding at my front door.

> DURHAM POLICE DEPARTMENT!

*Goddammit.* I thought about what to do with my weed, before ultimately going downstairs to talk to the cops. I didn't know how long they'd been knocking, because I couldn't hear a thing over the music. I was worried they were announcing they had a search warrant or something, and were about to kick my door in.

> We're here to take you to get your meds checked...

*Goddammit.*

I had no choice but to take a ride in the back of a cop car to Duke Regional. The cops were nice about it, at least.

They got me in a hospital gown in a safe little room with my few possessions taken away from me, before the doctor carefully stands in front of the door and asks

> So... what's this about you thinking you're an *alien*?

I took a deep breath, and told them to contact the Grand Lodge of North Carolina. You can look them up online. I know this sounds *weird*... but just give them my name, tell them I sent you, and they'll clear this all up. I realize I'm not *actually* a space alien. It isn't like that.

I was obviously taking a leap of faith; but I didn't know what else to *do*. Send her to Doris the shaman?

They had me pee in a cup and took my blood. They gave me a potassium supplement because it was ostensibly low. I'm *sure* my THC was through the roof at this point...

They let me go eight hours later without explanation, after bringing in a cordless phone with my therapist on the other end of the line.

I managed to find my way back home late at night, and I was utterly *pissed off* at my mother. She was dead to me, as far as I was concerned.

My therapist wanted to talk to me the next day. We decided it would be best if I signed a release for her to talk to my childhood preacher *directly* to sort out this whole little misunderstanding. I eagerly agreed.

My boss changed his Zoom avatar to a picture of him with a gray alien mannequin *once*, while I was waiting for my therapist to talk to Tommy. This has never happened before or since. I didn't know what it meant, except that he was in on it *too*, somehow.

It took a few weeks for the meeting to transpire. After everything that had happened, I was *thoroughly* prepared to learn that he wasn't *really* from the Pleiades; and maybe not even a *Freemason*. I was *not* prepared for what she *actually* said at the start of our session.

> Tommy *isn't* from Warren, Ohio. He was born in *Cary*...   
> He isn't from the Pleiades, he isn't a Freemason, and he doesn't know anything *about* Freemasonry.

I... was *not* ready for this. I knew for a *fact* he was from Warren, Ohio. We talked about it when I went to his church, and my mother confirmed it just a few weeks prior.

My therapist of five years told me I needed DBT and substance abuse counselling, before dropping me as a client.

I didn't believe a *word* of this. Between my mother and my friend Persephone who was recently diagnosed with BPD, we'd actually talked *a lot* about cluster B personality traits and shit. I'd say stuff like "I don't want *any* of that cluster B bullshit like my mom and Persephone has, and if you tell me I need DBT I'll go *without question*!" and, my therapist regularly quipped that I needed "the exact *opposite* of DBT"; my feelings were all bottled up and it was really hard to get me to open up about *anything*. DBT is for people with severe trauma who need help regulating their emotional responses. And for that matter, she *knew* I smoked pot. Quitting it had never been a talking point in therapy *before*...

Between the DBT suggestion and the blatant lie about where Tommy was from, I just... *didn't* believe her *at all*. This only *confirmed* my suspicions that a conspiracy really *was* afoot; and these people can't talk to me about it yet for some reason. If the circumstances were *any* different, I'd have, well... signed up for DBT.

This hastened my withdrawal from public life; I didn't feel like I could tell anyone my therapist *lied* to me. They'd never *believe* me! Yet, I *knew* it to be true! Tommy is from Warren, Ohio, and me needing "the opposite of DBT" was basically our in-joke. And now she never wants to see me again?

I was *convinced* the Freemasons wouldn't talk to me because I caused Friday the 13th or something.

If my downward spiral hadn't started already, I was solidly there *now*. I started having visions that I was actually supposed to *get* a flying saucer. That I was supposed to be getting alien doctor's appointments or something, that the ships could travel through space and time, that my future self had some future with Anthony Kiedis and Dave Grohl... I've never even had a *thing* for Anthony Kiedis, and I haven't really even listened to them regularly since maybe college. I've kept early Foo Fighters in rotation though, granted...

I expected someone to scoop me up and take me to this serendipitous RHCP concert that was on my birthday, but... of course, nothing happened. No longer able to perform my duties at work, I quit my job without notice. The cops came to my house for another wellness check, but... I didn't answer the door this time. They started calling my phone, and I was able to explain that I was just "going through some life changes right now".

A voice in my head told me I was on the hook for *murder*. My future self traveled back in time, was Anthony Kiedis' secret wife, got in a bunch of legal trouble that involved my underage future reincarnation, one thing led to another, and I became a cop killer. This already *happened* in the 90s, so I was basically on the hook for crimes I hadn't committed yet. My future self was *literally* Dani California. Dani basically turned into some crazy sovereign citizen with a spacetime machine, and her renunciation of US citizenship meant I was slated to be sent to Gitmo. Which it turns out, kinda *radicalized* me, or Dani, or whoever, I guess we're really the same person in this psychotic break.

I spent basically the entirety of 2023 out of my goddamn *mind*. Kept getting crazy visions, learned I was *actually* a witch and that people with spacetime machines were the basis for old legends of witches and magic... That summer, I decided I had no where else to go but *back* to Persephone. She's the only person I've managed to have a half-reasonable conversation about this stuff with, after all...

I wrote down what I *thought* was going on in a three-page handwritten note. I invited myself over to her apartment, gave her the note, and she *appeared* to take it *very* seriously at first. We went to Duke Gardens, and I *thought* we were trying to ascertain whether government agents were actually following me. Though in retrospect, maybe she just wanted me to get some fresh air. I don't know. One thing's for certain; Persephone's a goddamn fruit loop, but so was I.

The next day, Persephone sent me a message saying we couldn't be friends anymore. I figured I was on my own from this point on.

I was avoiding the doctor, but I eventually *had* to go in for my annual physical or else they weren't phoning in any more refills for my HRT; which I could tell wasn't working well anyway. She wanted to see how I did with 100 mg/day of spironolactone instead of 200 at our last appointment, and... I was not doing well on that dose at all. I actually started taking extra estradiol up to 8mg/day to compensate for it, and it still wasn't cutting the mustard. Instead of putting me back on my old dose, my doctor pulled me off of spironolactone and progesterone *entirely* for dubious reasons, and lowered my dose of estradiol to 1mg twice a day. I was also, by this point, experiencing *very obviously non-pattern* hair loss; I was missing random patches all over my head. 

I was convinced the government was fucking with my food and medicine. I thought humans enslaved the first witch. I started throwing things at my walls in fits of rage spurred by these revelations. I started having gastrointestinal problems; which I thought were being caused by the government agents at the time, but *now* I'm pretty sure it was related to my hiatal hernia that got *really* jacked up from lack of exercise and terrible posture. My back was *all* fucked up, and my hips were tilted *way* wrong. I've since started doing daily stretches, which seems to have alleviated the problem.

I went *back* to my doctor *one more time* in hopes of getting a sane, adult dose of hormones; and was unsuccessful. I ultimately ordered DIY from overseas like back in high school. I'm *still* DIY, because I don't know how to get back on the choo choo train with my hormones except to get a new doctor. And, I kinda have *bigger* problems. By the end of the year, I was convinced the *real* problem was that the Freemasons had "blackballed" me, and I needed to get un-blackballed.

During my last doctor's visit, she said I had deficiencies in vitamins D and B12. I started taking supplements; my hair and sanity both started to return gradually over the next several weeks.

Shortly after the start of 2024, I had my last and final "premonition": there are *way* too many trans people. I had this feeling back in 2017 right before I started transitioning; but I ultimately chose to ignore it and give this new transgender community a chance. I since found myself once again a transmedicalist; there are obviously some folks who are like me, but most of them *aren't*. I still think folks should be able to follow their dreams and do whatever, especially if they're adults, but... I really *do* still think there are *way* too many of us. Plus, *very few* of them had a childhood that looked like mine. A lot of these folks figured it out later in life, after sudden epiphanies. Again; I think they have a right to exist and even pursue medical transition, just like I think people ought to be able to buy weed and drop acid. But, these folks *weren't* crossdressing every chance they got starting in the third grade. So, I don't know *what* I think anymore. I guess it's not *just* that they didn't have my childhood; they also kinda led me off a cliff and let me play space alien until my life fell apart.

I honestly feel *terribly* lost. Basically my entire friend group was other trans people by the time COVID hit, and... I guess I wasn't paying attention. I can only think of a couple people who had childhood gender problems like I had, and we aren't even close friends. I have very little in common with these people, save for the fact that we're taking hormones and shit.

After seemingly regaining most of my sanity by early spring, I decided I needed to reach out for help with *whatever* happened to me. I arranged a meeting with my old preacher who this all kinda started with, and... I frankly *still* came away feeling like he was hiding something and knew more than he let on, but... there's no sense fretting over it *now*. It's probably just residual paranoia.

I tried making a video for my friends, but... it was *way* too long. So much crazy stuff happened to me. Even this tl;dr is pretty lengthy, but I'm actually proud of myself for only being at like 7.5k words as of right here.

I ultimately decided I should just *type it all out* instead; and started making a big markdown file that turned into like a dozen markdown files and probably 150k words or more. I basically wrote a non-fiction book about my crazy life and what led me here, though I certainly didn't mean to be so verbose. I guess it's just *really* complicated; though maybe I'm becoming more concise as I regain my sanity.

If I somehow manage to survive this and decide this whole little transmedicalism thing was just residual psychosis, I'll certainly *tell y'all*. But a whole year later, and... Look; these people are my *friends*, alright? They're actually really cool people. But, they're really cool people who had sudden epiphanies in their late 20s and 30s, and *I've* been dealing with this shit since before the 3rd grade. How could we *possibly* have the same thing going on with us? I think grownups should be able to take whatever drugs they want as long as they aren't hurting anybody, but... shit's just been *weird* for the last decade. And, I can't un-see it.

After spending the months of June, July, August, and a good chunk of September writing and polishing my write-up, I sent it to my childhood best friend who I worked on the same team with before I went all Pepe Silvia. And that's when I learned... our company doesn't *exist* anymore. Well... it got acquired, my friend *just* got laid off, and the team doesn't exist anymore. Fuck.

Dude. Last I knew the tech industry was *booming*, and... It's all over the news *now*. Tech workers laid off *everywhere*. No one can find work. My friend was like "Do you want to keep your house? Apply everywhere! Apply to Food Lion!" And... that's *not* what I wanted to hear after I got led off a cliff in some three-year-long psychotic blur. I've since spiraled into an utter pit of despair, and have been circling the drain on killing myself since late last year.

I feel like I've lost *everything*. I have no friends except for a bunch of whackadoodle transtrenders. It sounds like I'll never be able to get a job in the only industry I've ever known *ever again*... I haven't paid my mortgage since November, and my credit is tanking. I have less than $100 in my bank account, and I *already* liquidated my meager and belated 401k. I. Am. *Fucked*. I reached out to Tommy again, I reached out to who I *used* to consider my best friends in the trans community... Brittany and Samantha (let's call them) moved to New Jersey and are sympathetic, but... there doesn't seem to be much *hope* for me, or much "boots on the ground" help. Like, I kinda need the "fuzzy blankets and hot cocoa" treatment after the crazy 3-4 years I've had. Samantha at least found some resources in Durham for folks who need help paying their mortgage and utilities and stuff... I was *about* to do *that*, or at least talk to my mortgage lender, but... Then I started spiraling again after the election. I woke up the evening after inauguration to find Elon doing the Hitler salute and some bullshit where I *already* can't get a normal passport anymore. And, shit's just kinda gone downhill from there. I briefly considered committing suicide by self-immolation outside the North Carolina Republican headquarters as an act of political protest, before deciding things weren't *quite* that bad yet and talking myself back down to simple inert gas asphyxiation like I was planning.

Anyway... I'm *never* going to financially recover from this; not to mention, I'm pretty spooked out that the administration is moving the chess pieces to lock people like me up in mental institutions. I wrote more about that in my long write-up I'm linking to, and I'll try to keep this on-topic about the fact that I'm simply out of hope and *that's* why I'm planning to end my life within the next few days. It feels like the whole world is crashing down around me. My career, my industry, my finances, the government... it seems I scarcely have anything to look forward to, and I *still* don't have a full head of hair ever since it started falling out in patches back in 2023. (It *has* started filling back in though, and I think B12 is the one I *really* need in particular. It's starting to cover my ears again, at least!)

Anyway... that was my life. My name was Rachael Ann Brown (let's just say), I'm probably days away from death; and days away from not being able to buy food or gas anymore. Foreclosure is imminent, not even software developers who have their *shit together* can get a job, and... I've kinda just lost the will to live. I mostly just want the internet to know who I was, so that they might learn something from my life.

CONTENT WARNINGS! (Fuck, lots of things...)

* Suicide - Obviously. I don't really start spiraling until after I talk to Josh in late 2024, but there's lots of suicidal ideation and planning after that point.
* Child sexual assault - It's complicated, but I thought I *did* uncover some shit in late 2019. So, you might want to skip (or be careful around) the part where I was in a polycule. Because, *that's* where it came up. I mostly talk about it as just abstract "childhood trauma" after that point.
* There's lots of profanity and I talk about alternative lifestyles like BDSM, but I doubt those would really constitute "triggers".
* Also not really a trigger, but I *do* share a lot of hot takes about politics at the end, and I kind of rip on Democrats *and* Republicans, and even Christians. But, I'm just trying to keep it real.
