If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll be aware that my husband is struggling to deal my need for castration and that he also suffers from PTSD and is bipolar (amongst other things). Whilst in one way this is all very new for me too, I’ve had the urge, the feeling, the need for many, many years. “Coming out” in this way, effectively as non-binary and having a need for surgery, especially since I’ve never telegraphed anything of this sort to anybody (how could I? I had buried it so deeply) had come as a shock to him and he is struggling to cope.

Yesterday, it really got to much for him and whilst I was out getting shopping, he began seriously self-harming using lighters, cigarettes, and blades to cut and burn himself. I was really shocked when I got home and found the damage he’d done to his arms and legs. I tried to stop him and he got angry. He threatened to kill himself. I was distraught and I have zero reserves left to look after him. I called for an ambulance.

They took their time (his wasn’t a life threatening situation, so I accept that, but it was scary nonetheless), but when they arrived they had to try to persuade him to accept treatment.

The purpose of this post isn’t about my husband’s problems, or even my own struggles coping; it’s about how my “secret” isn’t really mine and it’s not “secret” I might like it to be. He told the ambulance people that I wanted to have my cock and balls cut off (it is only my balls that I have a problem with). So I had to explain everything. Such fun. They were really nice about it though and understood how it was that I wasn’t coping with my own issues and no longer had much spare for my husband. They arranged a short hospital admission for the husband so that they could treat his wounds and maybe see about getting the Crisis Team involved.

As it happened, he spent only a few hours in hospital before discharging himself; I didn’t really want him home yet – it didn’t feel safe – but there was nothing else to be done. He was ok when he got home.

Today I joined him at a meeting with the mental health team. I had to give some background and again my testicles came up. I’m getting quite good at metaphorically popping them onto the table for discussion. I don’t know how much help he’s going to get, but unless he gets something there gonna need to find us adjoining padded cells!