For France

Goddammit. Motherfuckery fuckety fuck. What in the ever loving fuck is the matter with this world?

September 11^th was the first time I remember feeling terrified for the world. It was the first seeds of thought that translated to “I am never safe.”

Being at work. Being at school. Pumping gas. Driving down the road. Sitting in a movie theater. Sitting in a stadium.

“I am never safe.”

Murder in the name of gods that would never condone these actions. Murder in the name of love. Murder in the name of politics. Murder in the name of insanity. Murder in the name of an antiquated belief that one’s skin, one’s gender, one’s sexuality, one’s beliefs, one’s religion, one’s politics, is somehow justified.

How did we get here?

When I worked the sixth step, I began to develop empathy. You know what? Fuck you, empathy. I don’t need this shit. I don’t want to feel the terror and the tears and the pain of an entire country that is under attack right now.

Insanity. This world is full of insanity.

There is so much pain. So much suffering. So much starvation and homelessness and sickness and addiction and death. This world is already so broken without us breaking it further, one bullet at a time.

If you have enough weapons, you can bring an entire country to its knees.

What to do? What can I do?

I do believe in the power of prayer. I have faith in the power of prayer. My feed is covered now with messages of Pray for France. And yes. Do that. Take a moment, bow your head or raise it to the sky and ask whatever Power you believe in to take away the pain and the fear and the suffering. Bring peace to France. End this attack.

And it will end. Maybe because of prayer. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a silly superstition, like throwing salt over your shoulder. It will end because more men with more guns will end it. No telling how many more people will die before that happens, but it will end.

And once it’s over, they will rebuild. And everything will go back to exactly the same as it was, except it won’t. There will be more fear. And more hatred. And more blame. 

That’s what causes the most rage in me right now. The futility of it all. Tragedy happens, and we up the defenses against more tragedy. But there is ALWAYS another attack. There is ALWAYS another insane monster. There is ALWAYS another terrorist group.

We take our shoes off at the airport. We walk through metal detectors to enter schools. I went to the Social Security office today and they searched my bag. Nothing we do can stop the insanity of this world.

What can I do?

How to find love in my heart? How to find peace? How to find tolerance and acceptance and forgiveness? How to sleep at night?

I have no fucking idea.

This isn’t working. You see, when I’m full of emotion like I am this second, I sit and I write and I find the peace. I find the solution. I find the spiritual principle. The moral of the story. The positive message. Then I am whole and I can face the darkness that our world has become yet again.

I can find no happy ending to this fairytale. I wish I could.

All I can say is that although not a single person in France even knows I exist, let alone will read these words, I am sorry that this is your reality right now. I would take away your fear if I could. I love you. You are not alone. Help is coming. This night will end. You will know peace once again. Just hold on.

Maybe if we could all just give ourselves that message, and truly hear it, this world could start to change. Maybe

Sticks and Stones

I voted. So not the point of this story, but it should be.

I haven’t voted in a very long time. There’s no excuse for that. There are explanations/justifications/rationalizations, but there’s no excuse. I have not been a responsible member of society. I’ll say that again. I have not been a responsible member of society. I know it. I own it. I’ve changed it. So, I voted. I made the decision to do things differently, and I did. It feels good. It feels good to make different choices.

Those of you who have been following my journey know that I’ve changed a lot. Not just physically, although that’s a huge part of it. I still struggle daily with insecurity, but I do not live my life in fear. I have courage and sometimes I even can manage a confident swagger. It’s new, but I kind of like it.
  

It’s a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining. It’s cool but not cold. It’s glorious. The polling place happens to be right on the way to the post office and it’s a lovely day. A perfect day for a nice stroll.

So I’m walking. Audiobook in my ear. Sunshine on my face. Going to vote for the first time in I don’t know how many years. Feeling good. Better than good. Happy. Joyous. Free.

I don’t know who he was. I didn’t recognize the car. I only got a glance at it as it was passing anyway. If only I’d been listening to music. Usually I am and much less ambient noise gets in. I probably wouldn’t even have heard it. During a pause in the book, I heard the words roll out of his window.

“Hey dyke”

Lump forms in throat. Redness rises up cheeks. Tears try to form.

Just keep going.

(you’re different)

Fuck him.

(people are judging you)

Who cares?

(you’re weird)

It doesn’t mean anything.

I walked into the fire hall to vote and my mind was so discombobulated that I had trouble following the directions that they gave me. It felt like my head was underwater. Everything was a little hazy and the words didn’t seem to want to sink into my brain. I sat and looked at the ballot and had no idea what I was doing there, what I was supposed to do. A couple of deep breaths and I was able to focus enough to read the names, to remember who I had decided to vote for, and to completely fill in the little ovals. I got my sticker. I should’ve felt proud of myself. I deserved to feel proud of myself.

What I felt was the stares. The judgment. The separateness. Just like that, my head had turned into a bad neighborhood.

As I continued my journey up the road to the post office, each passing car carried another set of eyes that were looking at me. Watching my separateness. I heard the voices of my youth. “What IS that?” I was trapped in a shame spiral of self deprecation, insecurity, and self-centered fear.

Music. Sometimes music is just what the doctor ordered. “Release that Shit” playlist is in order. Loud, fast, angry, booming. Its sole purpose is to push the feelings away. Anger may not be the healthiest defense against self-centered fear, but it’s often effective. Master of Puppets so loud it made my ears hurt and the rage swept through my body and shot out my feet each time I felt them pound onto the pavement. A little Sabotage and I started feeling the music more than the emotion. Then, Suggestion.

Why can’t I walk down a street free of suggestion?

So my question for you, dear ones, is this:

Where do I vote to stop being a second class citizen?

Where do I vote to change to a world where anyone, anywhere can walk down a street without being leered at, or shamed, or judged, or risk physical violence solely based on who they are?

Where do I vote to be able to walk down the side of the road with the same rights, protection, and sense of security as a white, heterosexual man?

Where do I vote for that?

Also the term is genderqueer, dickhead. And I voted today.