Ok so ... ouch. Really ouch. That sort of pain that sits and grows within your head over time, manifesting worse and worse scenarios and looping indefinitely. It's that manic sort of pain. It's the chaotic sort of hurt. It can make us feel like we are the insane ones.
How did you handle the news that the 'Land of the Free' is becoming the 'Land of the Cis, White Male?' My reaction came in waves.
See, I checked the voting when I first woke up. Trump was already on 266 votes. I wasn't one of these toxic optimists who insisted that it wasn't over. I knew it was. And at first? I laughed. What else could I have done? This beacon of western culture just decided to set itself back 300+ years with a stream of policies that would make Jeffrey Dahmer feel sympathy for the victims.
Even as I started to put yesterday's look together, it hadn't struck me yet just how disastrous this was. I was too focused on the job at hand to care.
I only realised as I finished applying the blue to Day 49's look that ... the colours were those of the transgender pride flag. I bit my tongue. I held back the tears. I realised that this, in itself, was propaganda. In just the existence of my face, I was contraband to the so-called great plains of America. I wouldn't even be allowed there. Still, the hurt hadn't got me fully yet. I put my pink Barbie hoodie on, and it still didn't claim me. I put a hot-pink, leopard-print skirt on. I was still somewhat happy. I put my pink combat boots on. No tears. My pink faux-fur coat draped across my shoulders, and I felt alright.
Well, my tutoring was cancelled. Not before I arrived, mind you. No students turned up. Great start. I headed home half an hour after arriving.
I sat and ate something, and I still felt alright. I wondered if I had become desensitised to it all. Was I numb to disappointment?
In all my life, since about the age of 10, a right-wing government have been somewhat prevalent. The Conservatives took over in 2010, and Trump's cabinet of cuckoo seized power in 2016. It was a really horrid time. I came out midway through that. Trump spouted his bile from across the pond while the government here remained as helpful as a chocolate teapot. And I wondered why. I couldn't grasp why people saw the world this way. Is it my autism sparking a common showing of naivety? Do I have too innocent a view of society? Are my glasses too artificially dipped in a rose tint?
Biden won in 2020. Starmer and Labour only just took control this year. Things were, somewhat, looking up. But once I'd finished my 2pm lesson on this day, I broke down.
How could I not? In addition to being a trans woman myself, I had met countless online. Guess where most of them reside? Clue - it rhymes with 'my country is in a horrible state(s)'. And I have heard their tales of woe. I spoke before about how I feel guilty over how lucky I have been to be able to transition mostly freely. None of these girls seemingly have the same luxury. None of them will ever get the chance again if President Trump (typing that alone has brought with it a surge of nausea) gets his way.
I cried for how their lives would be affected. That was my first instinct. I had grown pretty close to an amazing group of friends who all share my same passion for gender validation and living life to its prettiest. Their stories started speaking to me one-by-one as my mind pulled them to the forefront. Girls in some of the scariest places imaginable to be trans, provided you don't head to an Islamic country (and no, that is not a racist comment), somehow having to pull some semblance of gender euphoria from a snake pit.
Once I had recorded a couple of videos, I chose the best ones to share online. During one of these recordings, it all became too much and the tears came again. I bottled most of them up and braved the rest of the day. I could have easily cancelled work and packed it in there and then. The hill in this uphill battle was beginning to resemble something Sonic The Hedgehog would blaze his way through. It just looped and spiralled and circled and looped again.
My real breakdown hit when I went to bed. More accurately, my last visit to the bathroom before I tried to sleep. My eyes became misty as I sat there, alone with all my thoughts and fears. It struck me like lightning this time. This fear was very real, and it was very personal.
I'm a villain again.
I'm evil. I'm wrong. I'm fucked in the head. I'm corrupting your children. My existence is a burden. My identity is a hardship for others. In one fell swoop, every piece of anti-trans rhetoric slapped me across the mouth.
Returning to my bed, and my loving fiancé ... I bawled my eyes out. Every time another tear felt like an impossibility, three more dripped down my clean, wiped face. My chest ached. My heart hurt. I couldn't see a light. It took me 90+ minutes just to calm myself down for sleeping.
I've woken up. 7:20 the following day. I'm aware that today, the 7th, is a day where it all begins again anew. People loving the Magaman (dreadful adaptation of a beloved Nintendo character, by the way), and his words now see me as a villain again.
If they aren't careful, part of me reckons I could live up to that title.
No! That's bad! That's wrong! I can only beat the hate by refusing to disappear. WE can only win this if we stick around. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. It's the toughest battle we've faced yet. But trans people have always existed. Nothing will change that. They can do what they want with our rights, but they'll never take our identities.
And a quick little plea to Keir Starmer. Please don't listen to the opinions of those who seek only to tear our community down. We are not trans by choice. We are not queer by choice. We are who we are. Don't allow the UK to become a country where this very core principle becomes a distant memory. A memento of the before times where life was easier for us. Keep it so we can walk the streets in relative safety. Protect our vulnerable souls, and our fragile minds. See that we are not the enemy. See that we don't wish to be the football you kick around in the Houses of Parliament. Recognise that we just want to be happy, and respected. Some of us, like myself, are even allowed to feel loved. We have been afforded that luxury. Don't take it away from us. Don't follow suit. Don't allow the radical right to convince you that we are the villains in this story. Don't ... Just don't.
Please. Protect our people. Protect our safe spaces. Protect our right to live. Protect our circumstances. Strive to make life easier for the most vulnerable groups, not harder. Life is rough enough without you adding sandpaper to our toilet roll.
I'm going back to sleep now, if I can. Sorry if this wasn't an entertaining read. Shockingly, that wasn't the goal.
YOU ARE READING
Diary Of This Autistic Transgirl
No FicciónI have too many thoughts not to put them somewhere. You might like it. It might help you. It might also explain the sudden halt to my writing.
