So, from a very young age I was a social outcast. I tended to be a tad bit dramatic, and violent too. Thinking back I think it had to do a lot with attention, and trying to fight back against my lack of confidence, and with that in mind, it makes sense that I would adopt narcissism as a way of coping.
At some point in this mess I was taking care of a neighbor's horse. Just a flake of hay over the fence every afternoon. I walked past it one day planning to come back, and when I did, I noticed that the old gelding had fallen into a small pond in the back and couldn't get help. I ran to get help and ran back, holding his head above the water. I don't know how long it took, but I heard every wheezing, gurgling breath of the dying horse, my hands cold because of the water and my arms tired. Of course it's almost impossible to save a drowning horse. He died in my hands, and because he was already dead they made a noose and dragged him out by the neck. Even though I swam after this event, I still think it contributes to my fear of water today, and I still blame myself for what happened because I didn't stop when I first passed him, and even glanced in and didn't see the horse when I first went by. I know it's not my fault, but needless to say it was very traumatic, even if I did just swallow it at the time.
I've always had doubts about my gender identity and my sexuality, but when I was fifteen, I ended up dating a girl. I think I was probably too forceful with her. Even though it never happened, part of me thought if I could enjoy having sex with her, I could escape my sexuality. I never did though, and my doubt became so great that I had to break it off. I feel a lot of guilt for this not just because I was too forceful, but because I'm sure I gave the impression that I broke up with her because she wouldn't "put out." This may even be partially true, considering I never felt very romantically about her, but I think it was an emotional struggle within myself more than anything. My parents divorced when I was about fifteen. Because my dad has a less-concerned style of parenting, which let me isolate myself, and because in order to fit gender norms I emulated him(It never did feel right), I lived with my dad, and sort of left my mother behind. (I feel guilty about this sometimes, but I try to remember how ill I was then) A little before this I began realizing my sexuality a bit, but wouldn't acknowledge it. Approaching my seventeenth birthday I finally started to accept it a bit, at least my attraction to men, and came out of the closet. Unfortunately, because it had taken me such a long time and I wanted to get it out, plus the fact that at the time I was still very narcissistic, I was very cocky about it, and even thought of myself as superior because of it. A consequence was that I made mistakes. I came out as gay, even though I'm not, to the wrong people, and seemed very cocky in the process. A noteworthy point is telling my mom. She did not react well to the news, and it made our relationship all the more strained. This was the end of my narcissism. I grew to be self-loathing, and shut myself up even more than I did before hand. About a year later I gained a little bit of sanity, and even though I had no confidence at the time, I managed to realize that I wasn't a man, and actually accept it. I started to really look back on my life, and realized that for a long time I felt trapped, because I couldn't express myself right. Because of the way I function, I came out very soon after the realization to my dad, and he reacted in a very poor manner, telling me that I should "wait four years" because that's "what a doctor would tell you." Not long after this, I eventually really snapped. I had always had suicidal thoughts but there was more consideration for it then since I was at the peak of being a social outcast in elementary school. I also took up cutting, and my dad found out about that because I needed to get stitches due to a mistake I made. He was more angry than anything else, he took advantage of my age, making the doctors disclose, even though I was almost eighteen and I didn't want to share with him. About a month after that was my eighteenth birthday, and I think it was two days after that, that I walked some miles to the hospital and checked myself into the hospital. The staff there were harsh. I was locked in a safe room, which is understandable, but I was well-behaved. I had to hit an alarm to get food, because I had been there for some twelve or something hours and hadn't seen a nurse or a doctor despite the initial check, and the security guard relayed my request for food but it was never answered. Later I was moved to a mental health clinic for about two weeks. They diagnosed me with bipolar, severe depression, and social anxiety disorder. I also asserted my gender but no word was given for diagnosis and doctors didn't seem that interested. Nevertheless, I met a lot of nice and understanding people. For the first time in my life I felt brave enough to assert my gender, but I still spent about half my time curled up in the fetal position in the corner, and subverted the staff so I could harm myself. The insurance company kicked me out. My mom found out about my hospital stay, because she couldn't get a hold of me, and told my dad she was going to call in a missing person. I still didn't talk to her. About a week back at my dad's I ended up not cleaning up one of my arms, and my dad was pissed. He sent me back to the hospital, and told me I couldn't live with him any more because he "had a responsibility to the family." When I went back to the hospital I was starting to feel a bit better, and the insurance company didn't kick me out. After three weeks I was ready to leave, with the bipolar being said to be misdiagnosed, in part so my insurance company would let me stay the first time. I ended up moving in with my mother, having spoken to her only briefly during my second hospital stay. She was actually amazing. She apologized for all she did and tried her best to be supportive. She was still judgmental sometimes, and she considered me lazy, but it was better than what I had before. About by the end of the summer(the hospital visit was in May) I was seeing a personal therapist who I really liked, and was planning on moving to Oklahoma with someone I met online about a year before I started seeing her. She actually encouraged me, because apparently Reno/Tahoe has apparently no upward mobility, and no support for trans people. With the help of my therapist I was able to overcome a lot of my confidence issues and did a lot of healing. I visited my friend online for two weeks, and was in love. We had been unsure for a long time but this proved it. By the start of the new year, I was moved in with him. He payed for the ticket, got a new job, and basically rearranged his life for my sake. <3 I can't even express how grateful I am for that, and he's the most understanding person I've ever met. Unfortunately, even though we have enough money to get by, I have trouble getting a job, since my social anxiety, not at all hurt by the amount of distaste there is for trans people, prevents me from doing much. We've been looking for a place that calls itself LGBT friendly, but haven't had too much luck yet(to be honest we haven't looked too hard, still getting moved in.) Because I had always been told that I "had it easy" and that I'm lazy, I feel kind of guilty for not doing much, but I am surviving and healing, so it's a start, and I've talked to Kevin about this and he's sympathetic of my fears.