In case you haven’t gotten the news, Mike Penner/Christine Daniels died this past week. Reports are that the individual committed suicide. As one who has had friends do the same, I am deeply saddened by the event. What is even more saddening is that we will never be able to put any real meaning to it. We won’t know what caused the individual to take this drastic action.

Two things you should know: 1) Mike/Christine had transitioned, publicly, as a sports reporter for the LA Times before retransitioning this past year; and 2) I have gone through a similar retransition (I am now working my way back to being “me”)  . When you take these two items together, I am not afraid to say that I was deeply shaken by the news.

Several years ago, unemployed and facing the grim reality that my savings were evaporating, I contemplated suicide. In fact, I was committed for observation at a mental health facility for three days (during which time I was able to convince the doctors that I wasn’t suicidal). I got through that episode, which happened less than two years after one of my friends (non T) killed herself by driving her car into the path of a semi.

So, I speak with a little “first hand” knowledge about the subject of suicide…even though I never made a serious effort…unless you call being taken into custody while having written a suicide note and having a noose with me (I have never owned a gun). I am being honest here, even though these memories are terribly painful to me.

What scared me about this recent suicide is that I identify with the individual. I had an unsuccessful transition. Evidently, for whatever reason, so did Mike/Christine. You may note I can’t bring myself to use a pronoun. That is because I can’t use “she” even though the individual was living in male mode at the time of death. And, I can’t use “he” because I don’t know the reason for the retransition.

What I do know is my story. Transitioning and having SRS was not a “mistake” for me. It was the right thing to do. Retransitioning was exceptionally difficult for me, which is why I considered suicide prior to doing it. I felt that, given a choice of suicide or retransitioning that going cross dressing and cross living as a male was the right thing to do.

The suicide “shakes me up” because I can’t help but wonder how much longer I can continue the masquerade. It is becoming increasingly difficult to present as male at work, and living the rest of my life as me. I don’t want to get to the situation where the tension between the two reaches a point where I “snap.”

I am very fortunate in some ways. I have several very loving friends and a cousin who cares about me greatly (I also have a dad who wants nothing to do with Tina, but that is another story). My therapist presented me with a question: if I needed to call someone to help me at 3 in the morning, who would I call? I could think of five people. One lives in Colorado (my cousin), but the other four are near me. I feel blessed. I have promised them that, if I ever feel suicidal again, I’ll call them. They have pledged to help me and to be there to provide whatever support they can.

I do not write this because I am suicidal. Instead I write it to provide hope. I made it through my dark hours…and I continue to. The inspiration should be that we can make it through. I believe life will (and is) getting better. I have faith that I have made the correct decisions in my life. I continue to work to be a better me. I am saddened by the loss, but I’m going to choose to remember a person who had the courage to publicly admit to being transgendered. That is the person I choose to admire.