My Last Goodbye to You
I don’t quite know where to begin. You know me like no one else knows me, and you know that I prefer to wrap my feelings in words and let my pen flow onto paper. There is still so much I would want to say to you while looking into your eyes, so I can feel how your gaze — which speaks without words — stirs so much within me.
The way we communicated from the very first moment was more than special; with a single look, we said more than with a thousand words. My whole life I stood “on,” always on my guard, but you took that feeling away from our very first meeting. For the first time, I experienced an unprecedented, deep inner peace and could let go of all my insecurities.
The emotional safety you offered me meant that, for the first time in my life, I dared to express everything I had never been able to share with anyone before. The most special moments we experienced together, I will not share openly here; those remain ours.
The invisible thread
Despite the silence that now stands between us, I feel your presence every day. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and feel with a heartbreaking certainty that you are not well or cannot sleep. In those moments, I send you all the warmth and comfort I still have in me, until I feel the peace return to you. Our connection has never gone away; I still feel when things are not going well with you, just like when we were still in contact.
Your promise to me
You came into my life at a totally unexpected moment and gave me your full trust from the first second. The “click” we both felt so deeply has never disappeared since. The final months of 2023 were a rollercoaster for both of us that not only demanded a lot of energy but also tested us emotionally.
You once said to me: ‘Nadine, know that if you need me, I will be there for you.’ Many have said that in my life, but in the moments when it really mattered, there was no one. You were the first and only one who kept her promise. As soon as you felt or noticed that I could no longer pull through, you didn’t hesitate for a moment. Even if you were exhausted yourself, you grabbed your car keys and stood at my door within ten minutes.
A house full of soul
In November 2023, I had nothing left; only a laptop, three boxes of clothing, and an air mattress. On Boxing Day, everything changed. In your parents’ house, you said: “Everything you can use, you may take.” Since then, I have lived among your most precious memories.
Your father’s coffee cup is in my cupboard and your mother’s sketch hangs on the wall. With tears in your eyes, you placed those things in my home. You didn’t just give me furniture; you gave me a foundation and the warmth of a family I never knew.
The dream of what could have been
I carry the memory of that morning in front of the flat with me like a precious jewel. You stood there, with your only grandson in your arms, and the way you looked at me broke the silence of decades. For the first time in my fifty-five years of life, a sense of loss became tangible — a loss I had always tucked away deeply and carefully.
In that one look, I knew: if I had ever wanted to pass on a life with someone, if I had ever wanted to bring children into the world, you would have been the only one. It was the moment when my lifelong “never” melted and turned into an unconditional “yes.” If we had been allowed to build a future together, I would not have hesitated for a second. To me, you were not just love, but the promise of a home I never thought possible.
A life without warmth
A whole life long, I have had to do without love, warmth, affection, and comfort. I didn’t find it at the funeral of my grandfather when I was thirteen, nor when I was beaten and kicked by ten classmates on the school playground as a nine-year-old child.
In December 1995, on the Friday evening before Christmas, I lost a German colleague in a head-on collision. That evening, I had to identify him in the mortuary in Roermond together with my father. After that, I was alone in my house in Belgium; there was no one with whom I could share my emotions. This event left an indelible impression, an image that still returns to my mind weekly.
The fragments of the past
But the biggest blow came a few days later, when I had to clear out the wreck with my father. The Nissan Patrol was unrecognizable, broken into two pieces. The recovery worker said they couldn’t get him out of the car on-site; the wreck had to be moved with a crane and opened with cutting torches to recover the body. Two people died in that accident. The woman who did not survive turned out to be six months pregnant.
A connection across the ocean
It is January 24, 2024, when you, shortly before your return from your kitesurfing holiday in Colombia, send another message after three and a half weeks. Those have been incredibly heavy weeks for me. I had kept track of your email and saw that you very occasionally had Wi-Fi to read your messages. Never before have I missed someone as much as during that time.
It is a quarter to nine in the evening that day when you ask me: “Shall we video call for a moment?” A few days before, I had sent you a letter by email; a letter in which I expressed my sincere feelings and insecurities to you for the first time. It took a while before the connection was established, but then we could finally see and hear each other again. With a smile from ear to ear, you said: “I am in a hotel near the airport now and I have Wi-Fi here. I wanted to video call you for a bit, just to see your face and hear your voice, so I know how you’re doing.”
Hearing your voice, the inner peace I had lost for three and a half weeks returned instantly. I was overjoyed to see and hear you. I noticed you couldn’t say everything because your travel companions were in the same room, but know that this short moment is incredibly precious to me. You said you would be home the next morning, but that you already had appointments for treatments that same afternoon and evening. After arriving, you dove straight back into your work. I know why you did that, and that’s okay.
Comfort without shame
You have been the first and only person in my life who knew how to give me the comfort, warmth, and affection I so desperately needed. With you, I could finally let go of everything, without shame. Although I am almost ashamed now to have to write this down — and that I simply was never allowed to experience what true affection was before — you knew it instinctively. Without asking anything, you understood me without words.
The restlessness of the heart
I have already written much to you, but the Saturday evening I spent with you, in the second weekend of February 2024, is an evening I will never forget. We spoke for hours, laughed together, and cried together. Around 2:00 a.m., you said to me: “It’s bedtime.” You looked at me and said you would prefer it if I stayed and crashed in the guest bed. You gave me space; I could also stay sitting or lying on the couch, but you felt in everything that I was restless and wanted to leave.
An inevitable farewell
I looked at you and said you sensed that correctly. The truth was complex: I didn’t want to go home, but I didn’t want to stay either. Although you repeated that you’d rather keep me with you because otherwise you’d worry, you understood my urge to go. At that moment, I was completely trapped by my feelings and emotions.
I told you I would get in my car and drive south, without knowing where. I must find my peace, and driving is the only way for me to find it. The goodbye in the hallway didn’t make it any easier. You looked me straight in the eye and said: “I don’t want to lose you.” I answered: “You won’t just lose me, I’m not finished yet.” To which you said: “I’m not finished with you either.” You asked me to stay reachable and to let you know every now and then where I was.
The emptiness of the Autoroute
A little less than five hours later, I stopped at the first gas station in Luxembourg for a cup of coffee. Although I had been awake for more than 24 hours, I still felt no trace of fatigue or sleep. Around seven-thirty, I crossed the French border and drove towards Metz and Nancy. As always on long distances, the cruise control was set to 100 kilometers per hour, while I listened to my favorite playlist on Spotify.
For hours, I cried. I was angry at myself because I know no other way to find my peace. My car has always been my home and my familiar environment; the only place where I feel safe when I get stuck emotionally. I felt mostly anger toward myself.
A whole life long, I searched for the connection I was allowed to experience with you—a connection in which I found everything I had longed for for fifty-five years. Now, at the absolute low point of my life, that connection was finally there. But at the same time, it brought an enormous fear. The fear of being disappointed again. I have felt that pain my whole life, and I simply didn’t want to live through it again.
Confrontation in Mâcon
Around 2:00 p.m., I stopped at a parking area at Mâcon-South. I noticed that exhaustion was starting to set in. Whenever I detect that in myself, I immediately pull my car over. While I was smoking a cigarette outside the car, the Gendarmerie stopped next to me. To them, Dutch license plates are synonymous with drugs; my papers were checked and my car was searched. They clearly had trouble with how to deal with a trans woman. I wanted only one thing, and that was coffee and sleep.
The way back
Shortly after, I sent you a message saying I would turn around at the next exit. I would drink coffee at the next gas station on the way back and try to sleep. You let me know you were visiting your mother and asked me to send another message later. When I woke up, I saw your message: “I don’t want to wake you, but give me a call when you’re awake.” After a short phone conversation, I began the journey back to the Netherlands.
Lost in thought
On the way back, too, I was lost in deep thought; my brain was working overtime. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings. Around 9:30 p.m., I had a moment of clarity and discovered that I had missed the exit to Nancy before Dijon, so I was now near Suippes.
Around 11:30 p.m., you sent me a message saying you had driven to my house to feed Binky: “Drive carefully! Binky is waiting for you!” Tears flowed after I read your message. What had I done to deserve you being in my life? Only you know how much Binky means to me and why that is. Your thoughts were not only with me, but also with that sweet little fluffball.
The final hurdle
I had two options: towards Paris and then via Brussels and Breda home, or towards Luxembourg and then via Liège and Maastricht. I chose the latter, which soon turned out to be a big mistake. After 50 kilometers towards Luxembourg, the autoroute was completely closed due to roadworks.
The detour route took me through numerous deserted North French villages for 65 kilometers. I was boxed in between two foreign trucks that were in no hurry at all. Only after an hour and a half could I get back onto the autoroute towards Luxembourg, where I ended up in a traffic jam at the border just after 6:00 a.m. That Monday morning at 10:00 a.m., I had an appointment at the garage for my car’s inspection.
A journey of 15,000 km without peace
At the end of March last year, the moment came that I can no longer put into words. On the day I left my car with you, I gave away Binky and his new buddy Bruintje. Not because I wanted to say goodbye to Binky, but because I no longer felt safe in my own home. I left them at a rabbit shelter because there was no one in my life who could take over their care. The grief over this is immeasurable; I hate this godforsaken, shitty society that forced me into this isolation.
On the morning of my birthday, I left again in silence. For ten weeks, I wandered through Europe in my car, searching for peace, searching for a place where I am allowed to be who I want to be. I slept in my car 85% of the time and sometimes drove a thousand kilometers a day, but I found peace nowhere. Eventually, the physical pain forced me back to the Netherlands, to a house that has become a prison.
Since my return, I hardly leave my home. After thirty years of always smoking outside, I now smoke inside; I no longer have the strength. The housework has come to a standstill; everything is too much for me. I have been sleeping on the couch for months because I no longer feel safe in bed. The threatening letters from residents of the flat and the unpunished vandalism to my car have made it clear to me that I am wanted nowhere. I am a stranger in my own environment, hunted and declared an outlaw.
The repetition of despair
On Sunday, March 1, I made another suicide attempt, exactly two years after I tried to jump in front of a truck on the A17. This time, instead of 4 mg of estradiol, I injected myself with 70 mg of estradiol, along with my normal medication and five Tramadol tablets. That morning at 10:00 a.m., the police were pounding on my front door and an ambulance was also present.
I did not speak, and after two hours of calling, I was given the choice: “Put on your shoes and jacket and come voluntarily, or we take you by force.” At 12:00 p.m., I voluntarily stepped into the ambulance. Before departure, an officer grabbed me by the arm and said, “This time they are going to help you.” I looked at him crying and said, “Believe me, within a few hours I will be sent home again without any follow-up.”
The cold rejection in Leiden
Once arrived in Leiden, I was parked in an isolation cell. For three hours, I saw no one. After three hours, I had a conversation with a psychiatric nurse, a doctor, and a doctor in training. After 1.5 hours, they went into consultation.
After half an hour, the psychiatric nurse returned and informed me that I could go. They do not want to treat me as a trans woman and informed me that they were willing to offer support in undoing my transition; in that way, you fit into the picture of society again.
I indicated how I was supposed to get home; I am 40 kilometers from home and didn’t even get time to take my phone or wallet with me. “You brought me to Leiden under false pretenses; initially, I was to be brought to Gouda.” She shrugged her shoulders. I told her that if she didn’t arrange transport home, I would give them a reason to keep me there. She left the room and returned fifteen minutes later; she had ordered a taxi at their expense. “We will send the report to your GP tomorrow and you must contact him.”
The closed door of the GP
On Tuesday, I went to my GP. He was having lunch with his two assistants and did not take the trouble to speak to me personally. I explained what had happened and that things were still not going well, and that I would try to end my life myself again.
He indicated that he had received nothing and would also not contact the crisis service: “You’ll have to call yourself.” But if I call, they refer me back to the GP. A week ago, my GP sent a secure email saying he can and will do nothing for me: “I advise you to seek another GP.” This is my third GP in four years.
The shattering of a life
I have no perspective left. The dreams I had are, just like everything I worked for a life long, completely shattered. Everything I built with care and effort is gone. The sense of loss is not just material, but touches the core of who I am; there is nothing left of the future I once saw for myself.
The betrayal of trust
I trust no one anymore. Everyone who has passed through my life in the last two years has shown and made me feel that this mistrust is justified. I have received more knives in my back than I cared for. Every time I opened up, it was punished with betrayal or indifference. The isolation in which I now live is the direct result of a world that has repeatedly let me fall when I needed support the most.
The mirror of recognition
You once said to me: “Nadine, you will never find a psychologist, psychiatrist, or any healthcare provider who can help you. They simply can’t.” You already saw then what I experience daily over the past two years.
Where they only see a “complicated file,” you saw the human being who simply feels too much and sees too sharply for the frameworks of regular care. Today, your warning has become my harsh reality: the doors of mental health care (GGZ) remain slammed shut for me as a trans woman. I am continuously denied care based on who I am, leaving me standing outside of every system.
Medical exclusion and the final protest
My isolation is now complete, also on a medical level. On paper, I have a GP, but in January he informed me that he can and will do nothing for me. Five other GP practices refused me as a patient because of my identity as a trans woman. I stand alone.
For a week now, my supply of Tramadol has run out, the only thing that made the physical pain bearable over the past two years. As a silent protest against this impossible struggle, I have stopped taking my blood thinners and stomach protectors. Instead, I take an ever-increasing daily dose of hormones. It is my way of provoking the inevitable — a thrombosis, pulmonary embolism, or a brain hemorrhage — as a last way out of a world that no longer wants to treat me.
Your Wings, My Pride
Before I write my last words, I happened to see that you won second place at the WULOP championship. I am so incredibly proud of you. I told you so many times that you are among the absolute top in the Netherlands, even though you never felt that way yourself. You always doubted your own skills, but here is the proof of your passion and craftsmanship.
When I saw the photo of you on that stage, I noticed something you might not have even seen yourself. You are standing there, a little uncertain but full of pride, and right behind you in the background are two large angel wings. To me, this is the ultimate symbol of the spiritual woman you are. One day, you will discover the true reason behind your spiritual path and the light you are meant to bring to others.
Seeing your life move forward now strengthens my feeling that I must end my own struggle soon. The pain is simply too much. But no matter what, I wanted you to know how incredibly proud I am of you. You have always been an angel; now you have the wings to prove it to the world.
In love and silence
Dear Maike, if these words ever reach you, know that they were written from a heart that, despite everything, until the very last beat, has known only love for you. You are the only one who has known the real Nadine, and that is the greatest gift I have ever received.
I am so sorry that my struggle became too heavy to carry any longer. I never wanted to do you any injustice or cause you pain; my flight was never away from you, but a desperate search for the peace that I could only find with you.
I never wanted my presence to cast a shadow over your life; I only wanted to be your light, as you were for me. Our invisible thread will never break, even now as I seek the peace that life could not give me. Thank you for being there in the moments when no one else was.
I let you go now, not because the love has run out, but because my strength is exhausted. Now that I see no other way out, I hope that you will continue to walk the path to happiness. I hope that when you think of me, you do not see the shards, but the warmth we shared.
You were my only reason, my last home. Know that I go in love, and that you are the very last thought I carry with me. No one can do it alone in life. You are forever in the deepest part of my soul and I will always watch over you from a distance. In the silence that comes now, I will always love you.
