Bad Day? Turtle!

I’ve sat staring at my computer screen for three hours now.

I started writing the piece I had in mind, which was about how so many things change in This life. I was going to use a skirt as a metaphor. Work that a bit and point out that sometimes the Strange can become Familiar.

I wrote one sentence of that in my notebook. Gave up on that. I decided to type it directly into Word.

Nothing.

Dear reader, I’ve had a very bad day. I’m not going to discuss it or whine about it. I cried my eyes out for a while. Said eyes ache right now. I’m typing this directly into my computer. That sure doesn’t help.

Folks, this is going to be a Rant. Fair warning.

I’m reacting to the events of this bad day the only way I know that works. “Turtle.” Isolate myself.

Fact is, I’m tired of being attacked. For example, today I actually had a right winger, who thinks that The New York Times and Washington Post are not legitimate news sources because they employ liberals; accuse me of “hate speak.” This is someone who I respect. They blocked me on Facebook rather than talk with me. Yes, the topic was politics. Go figure. Anyone who has read my column or blog knows my politics. I am a Liberal. I am proud of this. I also aggressively defend my positions with legitimate sources.

I do this because the stakes really are that high.

So I read this person’s email to me while on my break at work. I finished my break and the first customer I saw misgendered me.

There she goes again — whining. Put on your f*cking big girl panties and deal with it. You bring this all on yourself. You need professional help. You’re so f*cking negative. That’s why nobody likes you. Can’t you just look at the bright side? We all have problems, you know. We deal with it — why can’t you?

I deal with it the only way I know how. I isolate. In the days back when I pretended to be a guy, when this shit happened I would explode. I’d find a target and unleash hell. Inanimate. Animate. Whatever. But the Anger never left.

The Pain is eternal.

Since transition, I am more at peace. I don’t explode anymore. But I take more shit from all sides now.

Dear reader, that is what being Trans means. That is what it means to transition mid-life. You become a Target. You become a fetish, freak, demonic, damned, perverted, inhuman, non-human, Thing. People stop taking you seriously — you’re a side show. You are Judged by everyone. After all, I chose this, remember?

To transition, one must have thick skin and thicker armor. But the problem with armor is that it can be penetrated. The problem with skin is that flesh is fragile. And when attacked from all angles at all times, eventually the attacks get through.

Damage.

More Pain.

So tonight, I disengaged my facialbook account. I have written resignation letters to every organization of which I am a member, save one (I swore an oath to Phi Kappa Sigma, and my word is all I have.) I haven’t sent them. Going to sleep on that.

Isolate. Verb. Cause (a person or place) to be or remain alone or apart from others. The word entered the language in the early 19^th century.

No interaction means no attacks.

I can heal.

I have off of work tomorrow. I think I’ll stay in bed with writing notebook at hand, and try to make a skirt metaphor work. Or not. Maybe I’ll just sleep.

This is how I bear my cross.

And don’t you dare f*cking judge me for it. I have had more than my fill of people judging me.

I am aware that I’m not an easy person to know. I have problems. Issues. I “need professional help,” remember?

Sorry. This is my rant. Because I can’t make my metaphor work. Because I can’t make my life work.

So on a rainy spring night my soul howls impotently.

End rant.

Tags: featured, opinion, Transgender

Category: Transgender Body & Soul