Why We Must Honor the Trans Lives We’ve Lost Without Telling the Living They’re Doomed — Everyday Feminism

Why We Must Honor the Trans Lives We’ve Lost Without Telling the Living They’re Doomed — Everyday Feminism.

I am begging you all to read this.

It’s hard to describe what it feels like inside when I, who have never felt more present, more alive, more legitimate, hear that other people say that I have died, or that they consider me dead.

It’s a worse feeling than despair.  It’s repudiation mixed with invalidation and poured over indifference and then shoved into my throat.

It’s at that point that the thoughts of making that statement true begin to assail and assault…like there is this feeling of well okay if that’s what they think then let’s just finally let it happen and in that congruence let them have a real comparison.

People say that suicide is the ultimate selfish act…maybe.  Certainly this is something I have thought about a lot.  But is it the ultimate selfish act?

What about the act of policing someone with the withdrawal of relationship and then acting like they are dead and they “betrayed”?  Is that act selfish?  Ultimate?

It sure feels like it is at least petulant and petty.

But hey, those are the feelings of a dead girl…and since I am considered dead what do they matter…and since I am considered dead why would anyone even notice when I am gone…right?

Yes…I am using absurdity to illustrate the absurd.  But please:  don’t tell me I should stick around and then punch me in the face of my tender hurting heart.

I am pretty sure I have pressed other things similar to this article…in my opinion it should be pressed by every wordpress blogger until it stops.tumblr_ndg1500IZT1qb4hiyo1_1280

4 thoughts on “Why We Must Honor the Trans Lives We’ve Lost Without Telling the Living They’re Doomed — Everyday Feminism

  1. “A week ago, I posted this Facebook status: “Every time I see an article about trans women being killed, I remember that someday I may die that way.”

    Within the hour, a half-dozen cis folks had commented that they were sorry that we lived in a world where I had to live in fear. I wanted to feel touched, but I just felt dread.

    Feeling sorry will not protect me on the street in the night when a man decides that I am too odd-looking to be allowed to live.

    Posting articles about trans women’s murders will not stop it from happening to me. It only increases my certainty that I will be alone on that street, in that night, when the moment comes at last that my numbered days have run out.

    A bit later, another friend, also a trans woman of color – and one of the fiercest, most fabulous girls in the city – sent me a private message.

    In it, she promised that “it” wouldn’t happen to me. That she would protect me, somehow, some way. And reading it, I cried for the first time in this terrible year of murdered sisters.

    Because no one had ever said this to me before. No one had ever cared or dared enough to make that promise: to tell me that I would live.”

    You. Will. Live.

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