Remembrance

aptly, on Memorial Day.

This morning, I posted a crashout because a trans elder was talking (sorry, but it’s true) out of her ass.

She claimed that trans men didn’t transition in the 20th century.

This is (fake) news to me. This is news to Laurence Michael Dillon… fun fact about him, he was the first recorded trans man in the world to get phalloplasty in 1946, and then, a few years later, HE performed the first recorded orchiectomy on a trans woman in the UK.

That is some cool T4T SHIT. Not only have trans men been transitioning OURSELVES, WE’VE BEEN HELPING THE DOLLS TOO, as we should.

That is one story of many, but. I’m used to cis straight people erasing me, I’m used to cis gay people erasing me, but I’m not in the mood for trans people to abandon each other.

Trans women are facing violence at the highest rates in our community. Trans men are also experiencing a rise in violence, as well, and going missing and being murdered, and SAed, and being forced to detransition, etc.

I WANT TO FOCUS ON LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE.

AND I KNOW OTHERS WANT ME TO AS WELL, MY GOODNESS. I AM SICK AS FUCK OF SOUNDING LIKE A BROKEN RECORD ABOUT TRANS MEN, OF TRYING TO TAKE UP SPACE.

I keep applying for shit knowing I’ll be rejected, I’m not really very good, and I’m kind of tired. My brain is struggling mid-recovery to see where I fit into the world once I come back, IF I fit.

I don’t want to quit, but it’s hard to keep going, you know. But I cannot forget that people came before me, and will be there long after me. and that I am responsible for far more than just myself.

I am so fucking tired. I am so sad. I’m sick of guessing the magic words that will make me and other people care that I’m alive.

As visits from friends and loved ones slow down, but I’m not all the way back to the real world, I’m stuck with my brain running in this weird place, trying to remember how joyful things make me. I’m still doing the gratitude practice.

I’m trying. I’m failing. I am so much more than one thing, but people don’t even like that thing, so why bother with the other stuff?

I feel deeply lost. and I know I should save this for a journal or a therapist or a journal and a therapist.

But maybe some of these words resonate.