A Warning To Others

Hi.

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name’s Al. I’ve been a eunuch for about 6 years now. Not for much longer, though.

I’m sitting here, in my bedroom, in front of my computer, trying to find the words to explain all that has happened to me. Its difficult, since I have a hard time concentrating and remembering the right words. Please excuse me if I ramble a bit, or don’t express myself well.

I think I forgot to mention that there’s a gun here, sitting beside the computer. It’s waiting for me to finish telling my story. I don’t know much about guns, it’s some kind of revolver. It’s probably hot, but I don’t care. It’s loaded, and it will do the job.

I was young when I became a eunuch, only 24 years old. I’ll admit I had one or two bouts with depression before I was castrated, but nothing serious. I had always figured they were caused by frustration over my sex drive. Looking back, I guess it wasn’t that strong, but it felt that way at the time, and it had brought me nothing but pain. I had grown to hate my sex drive, and the balls that caused it. Castration became on obsession for me. I knew I’d never be happy as long as I still had my balls.

I visited the archive daily, reading every story, every post. I became a fixture in the chatoom, listening to anyone that claimed to be a eunuch, asking them questions about what it was like to be a eunuch, how they had become one, things like that.

Not every one was positive about having become a eunuch. There were one or two people that weren’t happy, but most of the people that I talked to had nothing but praise for it. They described in glowing detail how they had become eunuchs, and how wonderful their lives were now. They made it sound great, and according to most of them, there were no drawbacks, no side effects, absolutely nothing negative about it at all. In fact, they told me wonderful things, about how I’d be calmer, more in control, less angry. I was even told that castration would help me live longer.

Did I mention that I was married? Maybe I should have said something earlier. Back when I was considering castration, I was married. She was my first love, and we had been married two years. It wasn’t a perfect relationship, but we loved each other greatly. She had never heard of anyone wanting castration. The idea was completely foreign to her, and she resisted it. She thought it was wrong, a horrible thing to do. I kept showing her the glowing testimonials though, and kept telling her how much happier I’d be afterwards. After the castration, I’d be completely happy, with no sex drive of my own, but able to please her more effectively.

I’m not trying to make excuses, but 5 years ago, the archive was a different place. There wasn’t as much talk about the side effects and dangers of castration. Nobody told me depression was a side effect. Or if they did, I guess I didn’t listen. It certainly wasn’t one of the side effects I was expecting.

Eventually, my desire and drive got to the point where I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to have them off. I’d been trying to find a cutter for a year now, with no luck. They were either too far away, or I couldn’t trust them. The people that I talked to in the chatroom though, told me there was an easy way to do it. Just take an elastrator, put on two or three bands, and let nature take its course. They said it didn’t hurt that much, or for that long. I was desperate enough to believe them.

I had managed to convince my wife that castration was for me at that time. I thought at the time that she was convinced, at least. She told me she was behind me 100%. When I realized I wouldn’t be able to find a cutter, I started to make arrangements to do the castration myself. I went out, and bought the elastrator, and the bands so I could do it myself. After all, I had been told it was easy, no hassles, no bleeding, no need for anyone with experience.

My wife and I agreed on a day. She arranged to be out of the house. She may have supported me, but she didn’t want to be there when it was done. I loaded up the elastrator, and slipped three bands on. The pain wasn’t too bad at first, nothing I couldn’t handle. I settled down to watch some TV, and waited for the time to pass.

The first hour went by fairly quickly. At the end though, the pain was a lot worse. I kept hoping they’d go numb, and the pain would go away. Well, they seemed to go numb to the touch, but the pain got a lot worse. At the 90-minute mark, I know I was nearing my limits. Time almost seemed to stop. The next half-hour seemed to take forever. At the two hour mark, the pain had passed my limits. I knew either the bands would have to come off, or the nuts. And I wasn’t about to take off the bands.

So I went to the kitchen, and grabbed a sharpened chef’s knife, along with a cutting board. Since the elastrator bands cut off all blood flow, there should be no problems, right? Armed with this conviction, I walked into the bathroom, placed the cutting board on the counter, and my balls on the cutting board. Gathering my strength, I put the knife down as far below the bands as possible. Both hands on the knife, I lean down on top of it. At first it doesn’t feel that bad. My scrotum is mostly numb, I think. Then the pain starts getting worse.

It turns out not everything is numb, in fact not much is, below the surface. The pain rises to indescribable levels, as I keep pushing down. Then I hear a sick crunching sound, along with a sharp spike of pain. My balls and scrotum have been cut away. I open my eyes, and see them laying there on the counter, covered in blood. There is more blood coming from the hole where they were attached. Blood? But there shouldn’t be any. The bands should have stopped it.

As I watch, there’s a steady stream of blood from the wound. I start to hear a ringing in my ears, and my vision begins to fade. In moments, I feel sick and cold. I can’t hear anything but the ringing, and I feel like I’m looking down a long tunnel. It’s hard to think clearly, but I know I’m going into shock. I’m still bleeding. I fight to stay awake, not knowing what will happen if I pass out. I realize everything has gone horribly wrong. I’m going to have to call an ambulance, there’s no way I can stop the bleeding, it’s too much.

I’m still not thinking clearly, but I grab a towel, to at least try to slow the bleeding. I check, and all three bands are still on, but they don’t seem to be helping. I hold the towel to my crotch with one hand, while I try to work out what to do. I know if I leave everything the way it is, when the ambulance gets here, they’ll take the balls and try to reattach them. I don’t want that. They might find them if I put them in the freezer, too. I can’t keep them elsewhere, as I don’t know how long I’ll be in the hospital. There’s only one solution. I grab them, and throw them in the toilet. Then I flush. I’m still in shock, and I think it’s getting worse.

I go for the phone, reluctantly, and dial 911. Within moments, an ambulance is on its way. All I have to do is stay conscious. That proves enough of a challenge to me. Soon, the paramedics are there, and loading me on a stretcher. They ask what happened, and I came up with some story to avoid telling them the truth. They get me into the ambulance, and race to the hospital. I think I’ve gone numb inside, everything seems unreal, almost dreamlike.

Some time passes, I’m not quite sure how, and I’m in a room in the ER. People are shining lights in my face, taking my blood pressure, hooking me up to an IV, and asking me all kinds of questions. I don’t really remember what I’m saying to them though. I think I’ve been given some painkillers. I think I’m there a couple hours, while they find a urologist, and get an operating room ready. Then the time comes, and they wheel me into the operating room. I remember someone giving me an injection, counting, and nothing.

When I come to, I’m in a hospital room, with a catheter, and plenty of painkillers pumped into me. I’m not feeling all that bad. Nurses come in every once in awhile, checking on my condition. Doctors come and talk to me, asking what happened. I tell the truth. I’m not given much of a choice.

A few days later, I’m well enough to be released from the surgical ward. I’m quickly moved to a psychiatric ward, and the paperwork started to keep me there involuntarily. I know the law, and how the system works though. I argue my case, and convince them I no longer present a danger to myself. Against advice, I discharge myself from hospital, and go home.

Things begin to go wrong almost immediately. My wife tells me that while she said she supported me, she still hoped I wouldn’t go through with it. She’s upset that I actually did it. Worse, she needed someone to talk to, so she told both her family, and my own, what had happened. They don’t understand at all. My relationship with my parents is forever altered. Her parents no longer want anything to do with me, and insult me behind my back. Friends find out about the castration, and refuse to have anything to do with me anymore. And all this is before the post-castration depression sets in.

Some months pass, and depression really begins to set in. My wife and I argue a lot more now. I feel hopeless all the time, I’m having trouble concentrating, my work is beginning to suffer. I’ve gone to my doctor, and he’s started me on some antidepressants. They don’t seem to be working, though. Things just keep getting worse.

It’s been a couple years since the castration. The depression has me fully in its grip now. I’m holding on to a job through sheer willpower and luck. My sex drive has gone completely. I try to keep my wife happy, but I just don’t see the point in it anymore. During one argument she tells me she wishes I had never become a eunuch, then tells me she’s going to leave me, and I’ll be alone forever. That’s the first time I don’t see a reason for going on. Convinced she’s going to leave me, and that’s it’s my fault because I’m a eunuch. I decide to end it all, and overdose on some pills.

Sadly, I’m found, and the hospital manages to bring me back. I spend more time in the psychiatric ward this time. During this, I lose my job. My wife decides she has had enough of being with a moody, depressed eunuch, and decides we should separate. Having nowhere else to go, and no income, I’m forced to move back home. My relationship with my family is even worse now. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I have no choice but to apply for disability, it’s a long painful process, but eventually I manage to get accepted. It’s not much, but at least it’s something. It’s a pity most of it goes to my ex, who claims I ‘owe’ her.

Someone brings to my attention that osteoporosis is a potential problem. I don’t want to take any chances, so I ask my doctor to get me a bone scan. It takes a bit, but eventually I get in for a scan. It takes a few months to get the results back in, but they eventually arrive. My doctor calls me into his office to give me the news. It’s not good. I have gone straight through osteopenia, right into the heart of osteoporosis. I’ve even lost an inch or two in height already. He immediately prescribes me testosterone, and didrocal.

The anti-depressants don’t wok though, the testosterone gives me back my sex drive but not the ability, and with the depression, it’s hard to remember to take the pills on time. Every day becomes a little more bleak. Every day I have a little less hope that things will get better.

It’s now been 6 years since I became a eunuch. It’s cost me my health, my marriage, my family, and my sanity. I don’t see any reason to go on, the depression has gotten too much for me. The osteoporosis was the final straw for me. That’s why I have the gun here with me. I can hear it calling me, whispering to me. After I finish telling you my story, I’m going to use it. Everyone will be happier then. And maybe my story can serve as a warning to others.

I can’t really think of anything else to say. I’ve run the spellcheck, copied this into the submission form, even come up with a title. All that’s left is to hit enter. So I pick up the gun, figure out how to turn off the safety, pull back the hammer, and place the barrel right behind my ear. I’ll only get one chance at this. I’m going to hit enter now, and pull the trigger once it’s sent. I will never know if this story is even posted. That’s ok. I tried to warn you at least. Here goes…

Goodbye.