This is, I think, the theme of my life. Do not enter: wrong way. Don’t get me wrong, there are kind people around me. In some ways, it just makes it more painful. Having great people around me that I don’t feel I belong with. Most of my extended family tolerates me and nothing more. Some of them not even that. I cannot survive a regular job. It would kill me, I know it would. Not having one is going to kill me too, though. I have no good ground to stand on. Do not enter: wrong way.
Do not enter a relationship, because who could really love a fat, middle aged tranny with serious emotional health issues? Maybe someone could, but I just don’t see it. So no intimacy, no trust, no one to be there for me or for me to be there for. Just a trudging through existence because I am supposed to even if there is no where to trudge to. It certainly isn’t into the arms of another. Do not enter: wrong way.
Do not enter a career, because career means hierarchy and that means always having to compete for a prize that those higher up the ladder are going to hold onto, and one I don’t want anyway. I don’t mind responsibility, I hate being in charge. It makes me feel like I am one of the people who has consistently abused me my entire adult life. So no way for me to earn a living that doesn’t involve massive emotional trauma. Do not enter: wrong way
Do not enter a faith community, because it means lying to myself and them. Why tell people I think life, any life, has meaning when there is no reason to believe that, and no reason to need that? But not needing that makes me even more broken. My lack of faith is proof that I need faith, and even among my most loving believer friends, I feel so out of place, like a fraud, like an invader. Do not enter: wrong way.
Do not enter movements, because just like a career I will have to suffer strivers who believe their job, or their volunteering is a stepping stone, and I feel even more out of place because I just want to do whatever I can, whatever is needed, to make it so other people don’t feel as shitty as me. And even when I am around the good ones, I never feel comfortable speaking up, I mean I do, but every time I do I hear my mom whisper in my ear “you’re not as smart as you think you are,” and suddenly I wonder if I am one of the strivers. Do not enter: wrong way.
Do not enter institutions that are supposed to care for me because they are designed to make the broken feel even more broken. A fifteen minute appointment means a three hour wait among my fellow “scum” and yeah, every move by every authority is meant to remind us just how much of a burden we are to you all, how much of a burden I am, and how I should bow and scrape for the privilege to be alive. So no relief from that road, no hope, no rest. Do not enter: wrong way.
Do not enter oblivion, because that would be selfish. Whatever pain I endure, I must, because the one guaranteed way is verboten, and I agree, except it sure doesn’t feel right to expect me to carry this guilt, this shame, day after day, week after week, year after year, and look in your eyes and know how much I have let you all down. There’s the door, but I dare not go through. Do not enter: wrong way.
Except, where do I go?