I Choose…

 

I Choose…
To live by choice, not by chance;
To make changes, not excuses;
To be motivated, not manipulated;
To be useful, not used;
To excel, not compete.
I Choose self~esteem, not self~pity.
I Choose to listen to my inner voice,
not the random opinion of others.

 

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Another Coming Out is Coming…

Constance:

things are beginning to hop, move…bounce.  I am deeply moved that soon (it appears) there will be no need whatsoever to become and unbecome and become and unbecome…but rather to just become…allow the chrysalis to form, work, and then be rent…

In the past month, I have come out to_____ dept, and to 2 people I work with, I have found out that the gossip demon has been on fire so word has spread…and last night, I got a phone call from a person who I watch over at work, and I have known for 30 years…and he essentially demanded to meet.

As there is some significant history here, I felt I owed it to him…but I also found I was somewhat eager to speak with him, as it was just one more barrier fallen, one more obstacle overcome…and one step closer to the ultimate ground zero.

For a trans-person, ground zero is that place where you are only and always for the rest of your life just one person, and everyone else has to process and adjust what you have been dying on for however long you have drawn breath…and they will either launch their missiles or they will march across no man’s land and stand shoulder to shoulder with you…

My baby will be with me, today at 4 PM Pacific time…but I feel so alone right now.  Here, in the dark of another 3 AM (if you have followed my poetry you know that 3 AM is not the best time of day in my life), I sit…and the gristmill grinds inside, as it ever always has, long as I can remember…

…and I become anxiety’s thrall, its plaything and it is a cruel implacable cat with sharp claws and nasty growl.

I am alone.

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It is an hour later…Mama is nigh.  She is always nigh, even when I am all alone and stark in the quiet dark.  In those times, for reasons I have no idea, Mama is silent, and She is not accessible, present…there is some way or factor of loneliness and endurance that She wishes to develop in me.

But She comes to me…eventually…She comes, thank God!  Because people:  we are weak, yes?  We tire, we falter…we rush with hearts bleeding and quick and then find fires raging that blister even at a distance…it is the way of the finite, the way of the creature.

But God, great in power and rich in mercy, and intensely inextricably committed and woven into our hearts…and Mama as Their sent One to me in these times of instruction I never got from my own mother, and why would I…back then in the night of bad dreams?

She has given me direction in how to precede if it goes this way, and if it goes that…She is loving me, pouring Herself in so that I will be full of Her in the moment and not full of my fear and anxiety and lonely hurt.

But in the meantime…if you think of me?  Please say a prayer for me, or if you are not the praying kind, then let your heart be tender for me, knowing that I am going to face some pretty big dragons today…

…and my old male self is going to die yet again…one of the first fruits in a funeral procession that will happen over and over and over and it gives me such a clash of feelings over it…total ecstasy  in being free…and total exhaustion in attempting to process all the feelings of those around me who are adapting to me being real and myself but calling it a death.

all that is dying is their expectation of how I will look when we meet.

it hurts to realize that how I look to them is who I am to them!  It is painful to recognize that in the name of “contending for me (him)” they are actually contending for their own comfort and maintenance of their personal status quo.

it is shatteringly discouraging to discover that the investment of time, tears, laughter, sweat, and yes even blood is null and void and in no way is retained by them as who I actually am!!  That who I am to them is a set of clothes…and a hair style…and a shaving decision…and a farcical acting out of a role forced on me when I was a child because that was the role my plumbing dictated to me! and yes, pun intended!!

Who I actually am stands for nothing?  How I have lived?  What I think?

I am defined only by what I do, how I conform?

It occurs to me that these questions have been asked by women since time immemorial.

Anyway…this one could go sideways quick.  Certainly the potential for policing on religious grounds is very real…and there has been enough life shared that the possibility of it going smoothly exists too.  There have been events in this man’s life involving others’ coming out for other reasons and with other dynamics that I think will strongly color his experience of this with me.  If he is able to separate me from them, then all will be well.

If not?

Well work tomorrow will be even more strained than it has become.

I will let you know how it goes…and thanks for being here.

Trembling like my doggie Millie,

Charissa Grace

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