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.