Last Goodbye

Last Goodbye 2

Hi, my name is Jordan. And this is my story.

I was born into a family of homophobes and transphobes; basically a family who didn't like the whole idea of my transition into who I am today. You see, I was actually a girl and I went by Felisha, a name that meant so much to my family as my grandma Felisha was murdered not long before my birth. Once giving up the name, I had received tons of abuse from my parents and my friends had scorned me. No body wanted to talk to the trans person who preferred to be a boy and not a girl. No body accepted me.

No body except my cousin who invited me to his house and offered to take me on road trips to take my mind off things. He had always been there for me; a role model, a best friend, a saviour. For years after my transition my cousin, Kyle, helped me cope with the haters and the constant abuse from my parents. He became the only person I had left in the world. But when his parents guilt tripped him into not talking to me anymore, I lost him. At the age of sixteen he came back and, because I had been self-harming, took me around the world to see all of the places I yearned to visit. I loved him to bits. I had always thought he would never come back for me.

Unfortunately, a day before my seventeenth birhday, he died. He had told me when he died he wanted me to have it money and house, but because there was no will my parents refused his wishes and they gave the house to his sister Maria. She didn't mind me, but every time I asked to visit she would come up with some lame excuse and leave me feeling terrible about myself.

Furthermore, my parents always called me Felisha, the name that no longer meant anything to me. I was Jordan, not Felisha, but they insisted on calling me by my birth name. I hated them. So much. As the years passed my depression became worse and the desire to jump off a cliff became harder to resist. My best friend was dead, my friends hated me, my parents abused me, my family scorned me, I hated myself. Everything about it I despised with a passion. The curves of my thighs, the dullness of my eyes, the tangle of my hair and the features of my face.

At the age of twenty four twice I came close to doing it, and twice I backed out because I was a coward. A self-loathing, ugly coward. I cut my arms to the point where I was sick with blood loss and my parents held me prisoner in my own house, not allowing me access to the outside world. I didn't have the money to move out; I was trapped. There was no escape. I could never be free.

It was then that I seemed to die a little; I felt no emotions, the slaps I received didn't hurt, I no longer needed to eat for I felt no hunger and my skin became a pure white and as cold as ice. There was a feeling of emptiness in my stomach, a deep black void that contained the remaining remnants of humanity I had left.

On the 11th of June 2014 my parents bought me a house just to get rid of me but I was a drunk; I seduced women, drank my life away and spent a lot of my few remaining years in prison. No body liked me, I didn't like me and, a few months later, I jumped off the cliff at last. Only I didn't die. I was in a coma for a while, but I didn't die. I was stuck with this life. I couldn't leave it.

And that was when the most best friend I had ever had appeared like a ray of sunshine and opened my eyes. He, too, was trans and, together, we helped each other overcome our fears and climb the steps to happiness. Neither of us married; we were happy with each other, but deep inside my brain I hid the memories of the past and the black void of nothingness. For once everything was perfect.

I guess I just had to get this out. If you are thinking of suicide, then things will get better I PROMISE! One day you will find yourself with the person you love the most, just like I have. There is still so much life left to live, and I hope you live your's. Stay strong, I love you.