Words and an inspiring Stone Butch
I keep telling myself I'm going to write. I have this outlet here, and I've posted 14 times. I have 15 unfinished entries. Just sitting there, waiting to go.
I have things to say.
I can't seem to do it.
WHY?
Because. I'm too busy. My mind is elsewhere. I have more important things to do. Dan needs me. My cats need me. Work needs me. My time is better spent being productive. Dishes. Laundry. Cat boxes. Netflix. Dinner.
I have a file in my brain just for excuses.
I use them when I feel like maybe, just maybe, it doesn't matter if I say anything.
I use them when I feel like I might not be good enough to speak, to take up virtual space.
But then Leslie Feinberg dies. She died.
My heart is a little broken and I didn't even know that much about her, let alone know her.
Pronouns are a little tricky here because of Leslie's nature.
I don't have the mental space to educate you all on what that means in detail, so just go here.
Leslie was transgender, but not in this clearly defined, black and white way. Shi (pronoun of choice) lived in the gray area.
That's where I live.
Being there in the binary world we live in can be crushing. It is confusing and harsh. We are the shadows who aren't visible unless you're looking for us. We sometimes don't even see each other.
Stone Butch Blues changed the way I look at the world. It broke the binary for me. It transcended some level of fear I had of myself because compared to the characters in that world, I was safe. I had the freedom to explore all of the things in my life that could have gotten me raped, beaten, or killed years before. It gave me a sense of cultural history. The ones who came before. The ones who made it so I could be free. It filled me with a sense of gratitude. It filled me with a sense of obligation.
No way in HELL am I wasting the sacrifices they made for me. I'm going to be the glorious, imaginative freak that I am. And I am, don't you doubt it for a second. I pass, but I'm not who I look like. I like hiding in plain sight.
That said. . . I can't just sit around. I can't forget to use my voice. I can't be afraid.
Fear is the only thing in life that holds us back. Fear of being judged holds me back creatively. Fear of losing the people I love holds me back from being wholly open about myself publicly. It doesn't make me love them less, but I have a pretty good feeling it would make them love me less. Which sucks.
So. I'm not going to write very well, but I am going to write. I am going to post things. I am not going to be perfect when I write my words, but I am going to write them. I have to. Because of the people who came first. To honor the people who used their words before me to speak their truths. Because of them I CAN, and I have things to say.
So. I'm not sure what those things are right this second. . . But they're there. And I'm going to say them.
I have things to say.
I can't seem to do it.
WHY?
Because. I'm too busy. My mind is elsewhere. I have more important things to do. Dan needs me. My cats need me. Work needs me. My time is better spent being productive. Dishes. Laundry. Cat boxes. Netflix. Dinner.
I have a file in my brain just for excuses.
I use them when I feel like maybe, just maybe, it doesn't matter if I say anything.
I use them when I feel like I might not be good enough to speak, to take up virtual space.
But then Leslie Feinberg dies. She died.
My heart is a little broken and I didn't even know that much about her, let alone know her.
Pronouns are a little tricky here because of Leslie's nature.
I don't have the mental space to educate you all on what that means in detail, so just go here.
Leslie was transgender, but not in this clearly defined, black and white way. Shi (pronoun of choice) lived in the gray area.
That's where I live.
Being there in the binary world we live in can be crushing. It is confusing and harsh. We are the shadows who aren't visible unless you're looking for us. We sometimes don't even see each other.
Stone Butch Blues changed the way I look at the world. It broke the binary for me. It transcended some level of fear I had of myself because compared to the characters in that world, I was safe. I had the freedom to explore all of the things in my life that could have gotten me raped, beaten, or killed years before. It gave me a sense of cultural history. The ones who came before. The ones who made it so I could be free. It filled me with a sense of gratitude. It filled me with a sense of obligation.
No way in HELL am I wasting the sacrifices they made for me. I'm going to be the glorious, imaginative freak that I am. And I am, don't you doubt it for a second. I pass, but I'm not who I look like. I like hiding in plain sight.
That said. . . I can't just sit around. I can't forget to use my voice. I can't be afraid.
Fear is the only thing in life that holds us back. Fear of being judged holds me back creatively. Fear of losing the people I love holds me back from being wholly open about myself publicly. It doesn't make me love them less, but I have a pretty good feeling it would make them love me less. Which sucks.
So. I'm not going to write very well, but I am going to write. I am going to post things. I am not going to be perfect when I write my words, but I am going to write them. I have to. Because of the people who came first. To honor the people who used their words before me to speak their truths. Because of them I CAN, and I have things to say.
So. I'm not sure what those things are right this second. . . But they're there. And I'm going to say them.
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