The road I walk is not the one I chose

What to do I find it hard to know;
The road I walk is not the one I chose
Lift Me Up
-Trevor Rabin

I cant believe that I just spent the last half hour writing absolute shit instead of facing my demons. I'm so full of fury and misdirected rage, and I don't have anyone to talk to. This blog is supposed to be my testimony, and yet I am avoiding talking about the things I need to bring to the light of day. So lets just get to it.

I am talking about sexual violence. Worse, the kind perpetrated by an adult on a defenseless child.  With the news of Dr Larry Nasser and the you Olympian women who as girl were violated by this fucking monster. How could an adult do this to a child? So many children?


I was that defenseless child. My crime? I was born transgender. My horrified parents dragged me from doctor to doctor in an attempt to "fix" their "son", until they came across a monster who took advantage of a young defenseless child. And so began the start of a long series of acts of sexual violence for which I cannot recall other than at best vague memories. The stuff of nightmares that I still have to this day. When those women testify how their lives have been cruelly changed forever, no one can even begin to comprehend the magnitude of the crimes committed against them... but I can.

When I confronted my mom a few years back, she could only look blankly through me. I expected either righteous indignation of "that's impossible" or maybe some kind of parental protectionism "I would kill the motherfucker!". SOMETHING! Instead, she just started blankly past me like I just told her it was going to snow tonight, we might need to pull out the snow shovels from the garage.

Seriously?!? WHAT THE FUCK?!?

I was so taken aback when a confided to a long time childhood friend that I was molested as a child (I watered down the description) and how angry I was at my mother's reaction. His reaction was "that was so long ago, and anyways the guy is probably dead". I decided then and there that my friendship was done! Finished! I had it! In reality, his whole reaction to my coming out wasn't exactly... stellar. 

Then a few days later he texted how he realized he could have done better. But in his text message was also worry and concern, as well as genuine regret that he didn't see the earlier warnings and signs of things like my alcoholism or other addictions, or my crash and burn that would have been fatal save for my therapist and rehab. But that's for another post.

It was while talking to my therapist that I reconsidered my harsh reaction to ending the friendship. I was so sure that I was right that I didn't really read the text messages closely. I didn't look to see the pain and anguish of a long time friend who was feeling unable to help and perhaps to even comprehend what was going on or how to deal with his own emotions. I've spent so much time in the company of other trans folks indoctrinated int he belief of "if they cant accept 100%, there is no place for them in your life!!". I struggled with the idea that if I rebelled against that outrageous idea, that I wasn't trans enough -- indeed, I've been told that by other trans folks.

I call BULLSHIT!! That's just an excuse to avoid vulnerability and intimacy. That's too easy, too convenient. Too god-damned lonely for my tastes. Been there, done that.

Bad wolf girl says, NO MORE!

I have spent the better part of this afternoon and evening crying for reasons I cannot exactly pinpoint. For some reason I felt compelled to make the first post today to my blog, and it was true within its own context. This, however, is the other side to authenticity, the messy side I alluded to in what I will now refer to as "Part 1" of today.

I don't know that I will ever feel whole. I wish I could say that being violated as a child was the only time I experience sexual violence. It wasn't, and worse, it wasn't even the worst things that happened in that realm. 

What to do I find it hard to know;
I want to turn my life around.
Lift Me Up
-Trevor Rabin


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