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I was in extreme pain for a long time, and I couldn’t cope with it. I tried so hard for so long, but everything was too hard and I don’t think anything could or would get better. I don’t have many people that I’m close to, I don’t really have friends. I’ve written two other documents that I’ve sent to the two people I’ve cared most about in my life. I don’t mind if any of those are shared. There are a lot of people I care about though, if I was in a group chat with you, or you were on my gooning server on discord, then you were one of the people I was closest to, really. I won’t mention names because I don’t think I can be exhaustive and I don’t want to be hurtful, but if I’ve spoken to you in the last year, even just a few messages, you were probably one of the people I spoke most to in my recent life (I don’t really talk to many people). I was extremely lonely for a long time. Only a couple people ever seemed to care about me as much as I cared about them. I had constant insecurities and I have awful abandonment issues and rejection sensitive dysphoria. If you didn’t reply to my discord message, I thought you hated me. I had really unhealthy views about relationships, and it destroyed me constantly. I think I probably have borderline personality disorder, or at least some kind of personality disorder. I’m not really sure. A lot of my behaviours around relationships were extremely unhealthy. My abandonment issues I think were pretty justified though. Most people that I’ve ever cared about ended up abandoning me. My father hated me, stopped talking to me on my twelfth birthday, then threatened to kill my mum a couple years later. He chased her outside and I thought he was going to kill her. He was a horrible man, and I’ve never really had any sort of closure or anything, he just hated us. Most people I called friends didn’t really care about me, found me annoying (one of the people I thought I was closest to in sixth form thought I was “too autistic” behind my back and then excluded me from the friend group). Some of that was probably deserved but I think most of it wasn’t. A lot of people in my life felt like they just wanted to use me. One of the people I was closest to, and the first trans person I ever knew, would ghost me, then come back to be friends when they wanted something, only to ghost me again. I’ve always had people pleasing behaviours, I desperately want to prove my worth to people by doing things for them. I want to prove to myself that I’m useful in some way. I thrive on the attention I get from it, but a lot of people never gave me the attention I wanted so I thought they hated me. Sometimes those feelings were justified I think. There were a lot of people that I thought cared about me and that I cared about a lot that really didn’t care about me at all, who could be exceptionally cruel and just didn’t care at all. In August 2020 I got badly sick with Covid and it ruined my life. I have had severe chronic fatigue since then, and I have been in significant pain. I had to give up everything in my life. I graduated sixth form with accommodations, and I was accepted into a good university. I couldn’t go. I spent all my time since then languishing in bed and it killed me. I lost everything. All the hopes and dreams I had of living independently, and having an impact on the world, all the groups I was part of and causes I fought for - Oxfam, the Holocaust Educational Trust, Labour Campaign for Trans Rights, Haringey Trans Action, etc. I couldn’t do anything anymore. My friends stopped talking to me, and I isolated myself. - I am eternally grateful to my girlfriend at the time for being so kind to me, so supportive. You meant everything to me and I’m so happy that we could stay friends. You were there for me when no one else was, when I was completely alone. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there for you much. I think about you a lot even now and I’m so happy for where you are. – We took in a stray cat that we then organised to foster for a while in 2021 or 2022 I think, and we couldn’t really look after it well. It was always fed and its litter tray was always empty, but we couldn’t really play with it or anything. That was the most horrible feeling. I love cats so much, and I couldn’t even look after it. We gave it back to the shelter we were fostering from eventually. I feel completely useless. I struggle to wash myself, to stand, to walk. I’m not a functional person and it destroys me every day. There were so many things I wanted to do constantly and I just couldn’t, I let everyone around me down. I look out my window and I can see life, and it’s just not something I get to be part of. When I was eleven or twelve I was severely depressed, and those feelings never really went away for very long. I always felt so much less than anyone else, and I struggled to enjoy much. I first opened up to someone about feeling suicidal when I was twelve, to my parents. They were horrible. My father said I should kill myself, my mother ignored me. I spent the rest of my life mostly feeling passively suicidal, occasionally making plans but not going through with them. This got to its worst when I was 15, and I was certain I wouldn’t live past 16, that I had to kill myself. I never made plans for any of my life because I always expected to die. Then when I was 16 and doing my GCSEs I realised I didn’t have to care because I could always kill myself later, that if anything went badly, I could kill myself to escape the consequences. I did well in my GCSEs so I kept living, I didn’t have much reason beyond that. I was recently diagnosed with Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder, current episode severe with psychotic symptoms (F33.3) which is probably an appropriate diagnosis. I feel that I probably had schizoaffective disorder (bipolar type), but I’m not sure about this. This was one of the differentials my psychiatrist gave (along with bipolar 1). And then I got sick in 2020 and my body stopped working. My GP prescribed naproxen and co-codamol in December 2025, and in April 2026 I started taking sertraline, and it helped a bit sometimes. I had fewer racing thoughts and intrusive thoughts, but I still felt intensely suicidal fairly often. My depression and suicidality have been a lot worse and a lot more intense recently, and it’s felt so horrible. Quite often I have to stop what I’m doing and just curl up in my bed to scream and cry. On the 21st of September 2017 I started keeping an audio diary which I added to almost every day until 13th of September 2020. I struggle to listen back to much of it, I was a shitty 15 year old when I started. At that time, I was really struggling with my mental health and realising that I had to come out as trans. I was fairly young, maybe 6, I knew that I wanted to be a girl. When I was 12, I finally had exposure to enough trans people online to put that into words. I was certain that I was trans fairly quickly, but I desperately wanted to bury it. I knew that my life would be more difficult, and that my mother wouldn’t approve, that my father would maybe try to kill me. When I was 14, he threatened to kill my mum, and he stopped living with us. On March 22nd, 2018, I came out as trans for the first time, a bit later I came out to my mum. She wasn’t great but could have been much worse. I was outed to most of my secondary school pretty quickly and things were basically fine. I enrolled in sixth form with my new name, and things were good, no one really cared that I was trans, no one said anything about the bathrooms that I used, and I felt generally very included all the time. That was the only time I’ve really got to exist as an out trans woman, and it was great. I started on HRT when I was 22, in February 2025. 7 years after coming out and being referred to a GIC. This was torture. I only started taking Decapeptyl in January 2026, and until then my testosterone was completely unsuppressed. 7 years of waiting and then another year of a useless regimen. I wish so much that I could have done DIY, or gone private or anything. I applied to GenderGP when Finnster had funded free/subsidised care but I was too old for it by months. I cried so much. I was so angry. I’m still furious at the world. The NHS is built to kill trans people, I strongly believe that. I think a lot of NHS care is designed to kill you or just to stop you from accessing it. I could have transitioned when I was 12 if I had better parents, I could have transitioned when I was 15 if my mum was better. I would’ve been kicked out if I had done DIY, and my mum threatened to kill herself a lot, and she told me for a long time that if I ever left that she’d kill herself. I feel like I had to give up all these years of my life because I needed to hide, and then to make other people more comfortable. My mum is happy that I went through the NHS, but I had to watch my body be destroyed for 8 years. My body will never have the changes that I want, and my body will always be something wrong. I would never be able to access any of the surgeries I want to correct any of it. Some time that I was keeping my audio diary (15-18) I felt like I was maybe a therian. I buried this in the same way I did being trans. I ignored all my feelings and attributed a lot of it to mental illness. I think I have schizoaffective disorder or some other psychotic disorder. The only person I’ve ever talked to much about any of what I’ve experienced is my girlfriend. I forget how often I used to hallucinate, and it’s only recently that I realised that one of the first things I said to her when I messaged her on a dating app was about seeing figures in the corner of my eye. I think I find it very easy to forget things when I want to. I don’t remember a huge amount of my childhood for example. When I was maybe 13 or 14, I thought that my life was a sort of constructed torture. That I was in hell or a simulation and that my life was being controlled to be awful. I believed that I needed to kill myself to free aspects of my mind from this torture and from my body. I believed that there were healthy parts of my mind, my self, but that most of my mind was harming me. Around this time, I did hear voices which I believed were aspects of myself trying to hurt me and make my life worse. I’ve had intrusive thoughts about hurting myself and others for a long time. Most voices that I’ve heard are command hallucinations saying to hurt myself and sometimes others, so that’s more consistent with psychotic depression, but other symptoms are more consistent with schizoaffective. That said I’ve had hallucinations well outside of mood episodes, so maybe schizophrenia or some other psychotic disorder, who knows. When I’m doing poorly mentally, and mostly concentrated during mood episodes, I do relatively often hallucinate figures and animals and bugs and things. Usually briefly and in the corner of my eye I’ll see something. A spider (sometimes a huge one) crawling somewhere or descending from the ceiling has been the most frequent recently. I sometimes often see dogs and wolves and things moving in the corner of my eye. Sometimes a man would stand in the corner of the room or in the distance watching, often shadowy figures. These are almost always quite brief or go away relatively quickly after perceiving them but sometimes not. I sometimes hear my name being called, or people speaking outside, sometimes about me when it doesn’t make sense. Often it’s pretty innocuous. Sometimes it’s negative things. Often these hallucinations are hearing them say my insecurities or that I need to hurt or kill myself. I’ve had this about hurting others, and I’ve had intrusive thoughts about hurting others as well. For a while I had these thoughts about David Lammy. I hadn’t sought help for any of this until June 2026 when I saw a psychiatrist for the first time and started on antipsychotics. Those have been somewhat good but partially pretty shitty. The antidepressants don’t really work. In the last two years I felt fairly strongly about being therian. I don’t believe that therians are delusional, or that it’s mental illness. I don’t believe that about the therians I know whatsoever. I do think that, for me, I feel as though I’m not human and that I am actually a dog, maybe because of mental illness. If I had to consider the trends of my mental health, and of mental illness, the likelihood that these feelings aren’t a way of coping or me being delusional feels pretty slim. At the same time, this seems like a pretty healthy delusion all things considered. Is it normal to feel a phantom tail or ears or a snout? Probably not. Is it normal to think that I’m a dog, and that my body doesn’t fit me? Not really, but I have similar feelings around being trans. I don’t think I’m hurting anyone, and I don’t think I’m hurting myself. In any case, I do want to be a dog. I am a dog. I personally don’t feel much differently about this than I do being trans. I hate my body in a lot of ways, my genitals are disgusting, my body shape is wrong, my face is gross, etc. I know that I am more comfortable presenting as a woman, and I feel happy and comfortable when I’m referred to as a dog, when I think of myself as a dog. I think squaring gender dysphoria and species dysphoria is weird. I don’t really know what I think about it objectively. I want to be a dog, to have the body of a dog, to really be a dog. I also want to be a woman, in some way. I am growing breasts, and my skin is different, and I’ve enjoyed these changes from HRT. I would like to have a vagina if I could (and it was perfect), I definitely want an orchiectomy at the very least. I would be more comfortable if I had the body of a cis woman, definitely. Can I feel dysphoric about these things, want these things, while also wanting to be a dog? Breast growth, bottom surgery, etc, are definitely all more achievable than being a dog, and if it makes me more comfortable in my body then that’s preferable, yes. Does wanting to be a woman make me not a therian though? I don’t want to be considered a man, I’m not a man. I don’t think I am. I want to be a considered a woman, I want to be a woman, I am a woman. I don’t want to be considered a person, I’m not human. I don’t think I am. I want to be considered a dog, I want to be a dog, I am a dog. I didn’t choose to be trans. I have had a very strong innate feeling about this for a long time, and I identify with being a trans woman. I think being a woman describes my gender identity well. Before I came out as trans I considered potentially being nonbinary for a long time, because I thought it’d be easier to be quietly nonbinary and that I could avoid medically transitioning, and anything that could make my life more difficult. I wasn’t nonbinary though, I was just trying to cope. Being a woman fits me and is a comfortable identity. I have felt strongly about being therian for a while and it’s not something I chose. I didn’t choose to be a dog. It’s something I wanted to avoid for a long time. I’ve spoken to my girlfriend previously, and I’ve opened up a bit about it recently. I guess I can be a woman who is therian. If I could be acknowledged by everyone that I was a dog, I’d prefer that but it’s not realistic. If I could choose to have a dog’s body, to be reborn as a dog or whatever, I would, but that’s not realistic. I don’t know if it really matters, if I’m comfortable being a trans woman who is a dog then that’s good for me. I guess I want to be remembered as a trans woman that was a dog. I made a post on Reddit on a throwaway recently, https://old.reddit.com/r/therianbutbetter/comments/1svmfii/how_do_i_know_if_its_vol untary_and_im_just_using/ (I tried on /r/therian but it got removed and I think I was shadowbanned) I don’t think it’s voluntary. I think being anxious about it is probably normal given what I’ve read. I don’t know if it really matters. Right now, I don’t think it’s voluntary, and so right now I will call myself a therian. I don’t think it really matters since I’m hopefully dead. But I want to be remembered as this. As a dog. In March 2020 I met my first girlfriend, and apart from not really being able to see each other, it was great. Then I got sick and my life was ruined, and (at best) I was a shitty partner because I couldn’t do much apart from stay at home. I don’t really remember when me and my ex last broke up, but it was amicable and we stayed friends (it is my best friend, really). The last time I saw it, it recommended me the dating app that, very quickly, I met my girlfriend on. Meeting her was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. In some ways I feel weird about my life in the last 6 years. If it wasn’t for lockdowns, I probably wouldn’t have met my ex because I wouldn’t have been lonely enough to use a dating app, and then if it wasn’t for covid I wouldn’t have got sick, then I don’t know what would have happened in my relationship with my ex. If we hadn’t broke up it wouldn’t have probably recommended the app that I met my girlfriend on. It’s sweet in a way. My girlfriend means everything to me. She’s my entire world and she is perfect. She is the person I’m closest to in my life, and I trust her with everything. She has been supportive of me in every way and I cannot express how I feel about her. I am so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to her because I’ve been pretty awful in so many ways and a burden almost all of the time. I have been in so much pain for so long. Physically I am incapable of looking after myself or others. I cannot do anything without being in pain and even just lying in pain my body hurts. It’s miserable. I’m left inside on my own in my room dying and I can see the whole world existing and thriving. Everyone I knew from school is doing things with their lives. Everyone I’ve known since then is doing things. I’m just here, rotting. I’ve been severely depressed for so long, and so horrifically, overwhelmingly anxious so often. It’s been crippling to me for a long time. I’m incapable of doing anything without feeling terror. Talking to people I’m close to feels so daunting that I don’t, talking to the people I’m closest to feels like an invasion on them a lot of the time. I’ve isolated myself so horribly and I have such severe social anxiety that I’d never make friends or even stay in touch with the people I do know. I assume pretty much everyone I know hates me, and to a degree it’s pretty accurate. I’m anxious about everything though. Any minor inconvenience feels like the end of the world and that I need to kill myself because of it. I have never been able to move past any of this, it’s always been such an overwhelming experience. My depression has mainly manifested in feeling completely hopeless and useless. Part of that is mental illness, but most of it is realism. My body doesn’t work and neither does my brain, not properly. I’ve not done anything but lie in bed since I left sixth form. I’ve not contributed anything to anyone. If I had died in 2020 maybe fewer than a dozen people would have noticed. Dying now, maybe a few people would notice within weeks, in total, what, 10 people maybe? A lot of that is my own doing, but so many people have abandoned me. I feel so angry about so many people. I feel incapable of trusting many people, I feel very justified in my automatic assumption that most people hate me. I don’t think I was really a good person. There were people I was close to toward the end of my life (if you were in a discord group chat or my gooning server) who were okay with me, but the person I’ve known the longest that I’m on speaking terms with, my ex, I’ve only known since 2020. Everyone else hated me, ghosted me, abandoned me, mainly because I wasn’t a good person. I was anxious, depressed, often mean, awkward, etc. Anyone reading this will know a lot of my flaws, I don’t want to list them. I’ve lost enjoyment in most of the things that I used to enjoy. I can’t watch tv or films, play games without intrusive thoughts of hurting myself or that everything in my life is about to be ruined and that I’ll have to die. Those thoughts are constant and running and I can’t stop them. The sertraline did stop these sometimes, for a while, but not enough. I have thoughts that I need to hurt myself or kill myself so, so, often. Overwhelming urges. Sometimes in other voices. Recently I’ve started having disordered eating too, I put on 7kg in the month after starting antipsychotics and immediately started starving myself and often making myself puke up my dinner (the only meal I really ever eat). I’ve thought a lot about death recently. I was raised Catholic and was baptised but never confirmed. I don’t know if I believe in Christianity more than any other faith. I used to be an atheist, but I don’t know if I am anymore. Maybe that’s just me trying to cope with death. I think if there is a God, then I hope they understand what I’ve been through and what I’ve done. Suicide is a grave sin in most religions, but I can’t go on. My life has been too difficult and I’ve never been able to cope with it. My body failed me, and my mind is broken. My body is wrong. I’m alone. My hope is that I can have a life with a body that suits me, and I can be happy. A kind God would give me that. At the very least I want my suffering to be over.

Here's Trungus!

I hope he likes you.