Accusations

They are present all the time.

They lie unspoken in every conversation, as potentialities.  I fear them, seeing them nascent in every person I meet, and yet inherently grasping the absurdity of convicting each and every person of firebombing me for some future revelation that has yet to happen…but if the history of trans-people, gay people, minorities, women, and any non dominant people group is any indicator, it is certain to occur.

The Shock Troops, the Storm Troopers, the KKK, the malevolent police forces…and I am speaking of those words that lay coiled and bunched in dens, poisonous vipers waiting to strike and release fire that burns and scars and cannot every be put out…they wait, slumbering like Smaug the Great and Terrible, on piles of riches…

It is ironic…because I can be accused of being a monster, a pervert, a freak, (fill in the blank)…OR I can be accused of using my new found understanding as a trump card to excuse anything and everything that I do, think, or am…If I share anything, I am wrong and do so because I am trans and thus am trying to force my world and life on those around us, or if I am silent and withdraw back behind the cloud of not knowing what I know (which will never ever suffice anymore, that bell cannot be unrung now), then it is because I am trans and thus holding myself away and apart…

…I did not choose this, I did not ask for this, I did not “become” this…somehow I woke up to myself over 5 decades ago and simply was, and have had to deal ever since.  The options have not been good, especially in the early 60s in Northern Rural California where the local drunk took a couple of hippies from San Francisco out into a field and beat the hell out of them and then cut off their hair with his pocket knife (yes, that really happened).

But back to the vampire…accusation…it is there.  Living off of me, living off of others, like a scream waiting to be given air.

Most all others do not know about me, but accusation still screams at me from their eyes, their careless words…”I’m waiting for you”… “I’ll be back”…and because trying to figure out how I shall now live and be and move is always on my heart and soul now, it is hard for those who know, or so I imagine…because even in the presence of their love and acceptance, accusation is lurking in my gut tearing and ripping and telling me that I am wrecking their lives too.

I find it interesting the parallel between moving from who I have been to who I am gender-wise, and moving from who I was and who I am becoming in Christ (I am speaking of sanctification, which is that transition from death to life, from the old zombie-man of sin to the new child of God)…each happens by degrees, and each is ultimate.  Each is a metamorphis…a passing away of an old existential state of being and the birth of a new one.

But for me, in the gender sense, my gain is to others a loss…it is impossible for them to not feel as if they are losing who I was and used to be…but for me I still am and am and will be within the context of new growth and becoming.

Honestly, I am still crushed (and I specifically use that word)…crushed that a person whom I have given life to and sweated and bled and wept for, contended for, sacrificed for, ate crow for, labored in a job that has been agony at times internally, preferred this one’s well being and happiness above my own (oh yes, imperfectly of course…I must add that in as it is thrown in my face as the reason the person has issues and is screwed up, because I wasn’t a good enough parent)…but I am crushed by the silence, the coldness, the withholding of contact, the hoarding of days and life to them self as I watch my own days swirl and circle the drain and run out on the sands of time leaving a limp wet stain on the grains that quickly dries and is gone.

And I fear for them, because I do not know which is worse…not knowing that one is being this way and impacting people this way, or having it revealed and then mourning the loss of time, opportunity…gone…OR…having it revealed, and still not even caring.

Towering Indifference.

But within all this, at the core of all this, is my inability to control anything but my own decisions, and I come full circle back to accusation.

If I stay, then I stymie and hurt, and accusation gets to caper and dance macabre-ly before me…and if I go, then the odds greatly favor the chances that I will get the same treatment from virtually everyone in my life that I am getting from one whom I have given all that it is within my power to give.

God what a jumble.  But I post for me, and not for anyone else, so if you are still reading, freakingg deal, ok?

One last thought…and this hurts as well.  But I think the more objective reality is that the person whose actions I am grieving would be having these issues regardless of whether I had f***edd up and revealed my identity or not.  All that experience did was lance the ugly pustule of self that had formed on their soul.  It was there already.  In and of itself that is grievous, for I see lots of hardship down that path, and trial, and errors compounded, and my own failures amplified in the echo chamber of their own failure.

See?  Accusation…one bad ass mutha…scripture speaks of accusations, and of the works of Jesus and how he took every decree against us and made a public spectacle of it…Colossians…but that is another time, another post.

For now…I am gathering myself, and gritting my teeth, and clenching my jaw, and getting ready to put on the person everyone thinks I am and must be…putting earplugs into my heart ears so I can find some measure of space between

me and accusation.

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