This post discusses gender dysphoria, mental health struggles, transphobia, and feelings of distress and hopelessness.

I wasn’t sure whether to post this but, upon reflection, I have decided that I need to. The whole purpose of this blog is to portray the reality of mental health, and that includes talking about the times when things feel especially hopeless. Like right now.

I feel this overwhelming sense of hopelessness; about what is about to happen, what’s already happened, and what still could. Hope is a difficult emotion to hold onto when both your personal circumstances and the wider world keep telling you that your future is uncertain.

I’m quite open on here about the fact that I am transitioning. What I’m less open about is how fucking hard that actually is. The emotional, mental and physical toll it takes on a person.

And I think the reason I am so closed off about it, is because people always seem to find a way of blaming me for my own suffering.

“You chose to do this”, they say, as if I just woke up one day and thought, “yup. Wanna be a boy now.”

But what they don’t get is that I didn’t choose to be trans. I chose to stop pretending to be someone that the world forced on me.

And I think one of the hardest parts of this is the constant feeling of being stuck in limbo. Like my life cannot fully begin until I can access the care I need. The care I have spent the last few years desperately trying to reach, with little success.

Nearly two years ago, I decided to reach out and ask people for help with funding my gender-affirming care by creating a GoFundMe. And thanks to the generosity of strangers, I was finally able to be referred for top surgery.

That day was one of the best days of my life, and I am so incredibly grateful for everyone who helped make that possible.

But since then, everything has stalled.

Due to my disability, the process is significantly more expensive for me. I am looking at costs of around £20,000, including consultations, the surgery itself, recovery, and the additional care I will need during and after – care that will not be covered by the council because I am going private.

I am nowhere near £20,000.

And honestly? I feel lost.

And I hate asking for help because all it seems to do is open me up to more transphobia. People telling me that I am mutilating myself, that I’m mentally ill, that I need help, that I’m desperate, that I’m a burden.

And I genuinely don’t know what to do anymore.

With the way this country is looking right now, I am terrified that by the time I eventually raise the funds, gender-affirming care will be banned. And because of my disability, getting it done abroad is not a realistic option for me.

This surgery isn’t cosmetic, but every health insurance policy deems it so, meaning I can’t even get it covered. And that is what people don’t get. They think gender-affirming care is a want, but it’s not – at least not for me.

For me, top surgery is a necessity.

My dysphoria impacts every aspect of my life, making even the smallest tasks feel unbearable. It is at the forefront of my mind every single day. I feel trapped by it.

But top surgery? Top surgery would mean being able to look in the mirror without feeling sick, or wanting to claw at my own skin. It would mean freedom. Confidence. Comfort. Safety in myself for the very first time.

And right now, it feels further out of reach than it ever has.

I am so tired of living in a body that doesn’t feel like mine. I am tired of having to fight and beg for that. I am tired of people who have no idea what it means to be trans, making decisions that will impact our lives.

I just want to be me.

I don’t have a resolution to this. I just know how it feels to live with this every day and, I guess that is why I’m sharing it. I want others out there who are struggling with the same thing to know that they are not alone in what they are going through.

I know it can feel like all the odds are against us, but in the midst of all this, we have created a community that will always fight for each other, and I think that is pretty special.

And remember: we’re still here. Still fighting. Still trying. Still hoping. Even when hope feels very far away.

If anyone wants to support my top surgery fundraiser, I’ll drop the link here. No pressure at all – just appreciation for anyone who is able to help or has taken the time to read and understand this.