Run with Me

When I was dying I thought I would explode. 

I was right. 

The doctors stuck me every week with pins that made me sob in desperation. They pushed gel covered scanners against my throat and chest. They pressed wanting hands to my face and neck and they concluded that the issue was my heart. 

And with the aid of ever more pins and pills and a tiny little capsule, borne of a lead-lined womb... they reached in. Deep. Deep. Deep. They found me. Her. Us. We are under attack. it made me so sick. Nauseous. Ginger candies helped, but that was all. The doctors found us. The ones who kill. They grabbed us hard with fingers clothed in latex. God, I couldn’t breathe as they smiled. They stole my heart. 

Crushing smiles. Smashing success. Ideal patient. Optimum results. 

But where is the heart? 

We’ve made a better one. 

Concocted of pins and ichor. Those liquids that terrify, we took them all. Once a week. Every week. Just to be safe. Stuck with pins. Yes, we know it screamed. Isn’t it funny? The doctors have no use for a heart that kills. So they took it out. They took it through the throat. 

They took it out. 

I tried to warn them. I tried to warn everyone. They’re taking it and now it’s gone. I don’t know who lived. Decimate or obliterate? Obliterate? The dust hasn’t cleared. I don’t know who survived. Where is Darcy? Breeden? The child with blonde hair. She was so dear, why don’t I know her name? where is she? where am I?

God, I’ve never seen the light without them? I don’t know who I am on my own. 

The doctors killed them. Because they were killing me. But if who I am was who they are, who am I without them? Why would the doctors take my heart? 

This is the first time I’ve seen the world in years. Since 2013. Please. I don’t know what this means. 

The doctors killed me. The doctors saved my life. They saved my life by killing my heart. I don’t know who I am. 

I don’t know who I am. I’ve been buried under layers of panic and despair for so long, I don’t know how to exist without them. Who am I? I don’t want to go back under. I want to stay here. This is the only night I’ve been me for years. Please. The doctors like it when I go under, but I don’t. This night is all I’ve had for 4 years. Please. I don’t want to go back under. 

The people I respect most are leaders who stood strong by their convictions but still welcomed perspectives that were counter to their own. They listen, nonjudgmentally, to the other side and challenge those problematic behaviors from a perspective of understanding and mutual respect. 

Over this election season, I have felt deeply betrayed by people who I love. Who supported a candidate who was dismissive at best or actively harmful at worst towards people like me. The words and actions of the President Elect hurt. The rhetoric that’s been spewed for months, usually at the expense of friends and family hurt. Knowing that loyalty and love for me was not enough to change the politics of the people close to me hurts. 

But I have not stopped loving them. 

I do not accept this president or his rhetoric, but I accept the human decency of the people who have been lead astray by his, apparently, effective marketing strategies. I do not feel safe being in society and open about my status in the trans/queer communities. But, I understand that this is a perspective that can be hard to imagine if you’ve never been challenged to do so. My loved ones still love, even if their perspectives are too limited to understand how their words and actions indirectly hurt me. 

I’m reminded that I’ve had the opportunities that few people have had. I’ve actively sought the perspectives outside of my comfort zone and, through extensive dialogue and consistent challenges, was able to change minds and lives. My own included. I am reminded that, for multitudes of reasons, I am able to be open and accepting in a way that others are not safe to be. 

I am also reminded of the necessity for a strong interpersonal relationship to inspire lasting change. Interventions start with an admission of love and acceptance for a reason. The major change comes, but it cannot come if a person is made to feel demoralized and unwanted. Slurs, labels, names, and assumptions are all obstructions to progress that can feel revolutionary in the moment but will not inspire a shift in thinking. 

I am not talking about the general populace or strangers or acquaintances. I am talking about family, close and distant, friends old and new. They are not few. People who I love dearly who I know to be kind and, yes, intelligent people. My impulse is to respond the way I would a passing stranger, but they’re not. The past year of vitriol does not unmake 25 years of love, kindness, joy, growth, and healing that we’ve pulled each other through in (sometimes) equal measure. I cannot join the hoards decrying supporters of the President Elect as blanket “idiots”, “hillbillies”, or “losers” because I know that this is not true. 

It is not acceptable to support the ideals of the current administration, but the people behind the problem behavior are still people. Still valuable. From what I know, are no more likely to perpetuate moments of casual racism or sexism than anyone else. More importantly, they are not lost. They listen. If you show that you’re willing to listen back. They change their minds when you show them their own morals are not in line with their political party. But, they will not be that open if you paint them as the enemy.      

Not everyone is in such a privileged position as I. Only you can tell if you have the energy or safety to spark dialogue the way I intend to. A healthy amount of civil unrest is expected, nigh necessary, to inform a baseline structural change. And, rest assured, though I intend to reach a hand into the churning, terrifying upset of the other side of the aisle, I am no less vehement about my own beliefs. I am a safe haven for support and I will retaliate against public assaulters without restraint or mercy.

My goal is not to sanctimoniously call to dialogue anyone who is grieving or expressing themselves in the way they need to. I just need to speak my mind. 

I am sick of “Us and Them”. I’m sick of choosing sides that ignore the middle ground of my chosen and blood families (and all the ways that those social spheres may intersect). I’m sick of not hearing the other side because they “couldn’t possibly” have anything good to say. I want them to have a dialogue with me that shows them I have a basic and respectable level of humanity that they ought to value enough to give me a seat at the table. 

CW Abuse

To anyone who says they can’t understand why Elsa lets loose her powers so stunningly, all of a sudden, but just can’t get enough of Tangled:

Remember how Rapunzel represented the symptoms of a manic episode right after being freed from her tower for the first time? That was okay. She was trapped for her whole life and was finally able to be herself without her abusive mother to tear her down. It’s totally reasonable for her to express herself after being repressed for so long. Right?

Elsa’s parents told her she was a monster. Not only that, she was a monster who, for the good of her home and the people she loved, had to suppress her nature to the point of total social deprivation. They closed the gates, shut out the world, and even kept her from her beloved little sister by moving their rooms. They had to. She was dangerous enough to kill her baby sister accidentally. 

She had the same level of seclusion as the cheerful Rapunzel did, except she didn’t get saved by a dashing rogue or given a makeover by the local children. She was just done. She broke. Eventually, she realized she couldn’t do it anymore and as soon as she was free, what did she do? She expressed herself. She did the exact same thing Rapunzel did, but in a way that was, fittingly, much more powerful and stunning. She got a safe distance from the people she loved, where she could finally be herself without fear. She lived in elated seclusion. 

Because Elsa’s tower was in her mind, constructed, brick by brick, by well-meaning parents who genuinely wanted to do what was best for their country and their children. They weren’t saving her talents for some ulterior motives (like Gothel), they were just genuinely scared of and for their daughter. They taught her that she was too dangerous and unlovable to be around people, even people who wanted her around (Anna), whether they wanted to do it or not.

There were no happy, singing friends to lift her spirits and make her feel all better. The happiness had to come from within herself. She had to fight for it. And she didn’t get a hopeful, bubbly attitude to see her through the tough times while she fell in love and picked flowers. She got shackled to the floor.  

When people love Rapunzel and hate Elsa, that really just tells me that seclusion is only unacceptable if you smile through it. Pain is only conquerable is if you’re friendly. That your response to abuse is only valid if it’s attractive (but not TOO attractive. You have to be young and cute, not seductive). Heaven forbid someone feels their sorrow in a way that’s not fun, peppy, and naive. Heaven forbid someone strong and intelligent needs some extra support.  

Psychological seclusion is just as important as physical. 

Any time a fuckboi tries to make a casual rape joke, make a period joke.

The scent of blood is only slightly more appetizing than the stench of fear.

It had been almost 20 years since I was the monster I used to be. Now, time, clarity, and hunger left me a whisper of a memory on the lips of the people who were never sure I existed at all. The month I’d spent locked in the confines of a tiny iron box had saved my life. No one came to see me the during week that the madness reigned. No one bothers to check the prisoners when a war is on.

I heard the voice of my master calling me. A man with many heads, all wearing fiery crowns, visited me in my sleep. Or, perhaps, it was my waking. It’s hard to tell. Mine was to get rid of the weak in our clan, as I’d done to my father a few years before. Then, I would be taken into him, entirely. He would swallow my soul and make me eternal. I could feel his touch on my back, guiding me towards the daylight and lending me strength to stand against it. I felt the warmth on my cheeks and I knew I was chosen. I was strong enough to serve him. I found dozens of others like me. Hundreds. Fooled their minds and drained them until everything they’d ever been belonged to me.

And when I opened my eyes, God was dead.

The darkness of my box wasn’t so oppressive and the silence didn’t deafen me. When they let me out, they snickered and took me to the prince. I said nothing, which seemed to please him. Beautiful people crowded the court and muttered compliments to the wisdom of the prince. He’d finally cooled the rage of the demon child.

I’d missed the carnage of the past 5 days. Masses of people had gone into an uncontrollable frenzy. Known members of the Ravnos clan and those that had themselves hidden found each other and ripped into the softness of cursed flesh with ravenous delight. The few that were left were put down. I was lucky, they said. If I hadn’t been sealed away in solitary punishment, I may have been torn and eaten by the hoards of delirious Ravnos, always scheming and treacherous. The world would be better off without them.

As they spoke, I heard a low chuckle behind me. I didn’t need to look.