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Being trans when they make you lesser
Rage is not an emotion I care for, as it usually leads me to do stupid things. Yet, sometimes it has a power all of its own. Slow, simmering, burning rage because my very identity is being weaponised against me. Describing a smouldering volcano in reds and oranges, molten glow and the heat from afar does little to capture the visceral nature of the thing, and that is rage all over. You have to feel it, sense it, taste it, get the adrenalin shot through your stomach as your body works through the chemistry; rage is potent. I am trans and I feel betrayed, angry, and on the cusp of a rage I have rarely felt. This last week rage has been building up inside of me and many of the trans people I know, to the point that it leaks out of all the seams, with no amount of placating enough to cool our jets. Trans people are thrown under the bus because it suits many people to do so, and they wonder why the moderate trans folk are now full of rage at the injustices hurled in our direction.
It is not enough to say I am angry, for hedging my worlds gets us no-where. In societies that accuse of grooming kids, mutilating bodies, and being disgusting freaks we are the whipping posts that every attack ad centres on. For now is the time of treating me and every other trans person as poison seeping through society, as if there is nothing worse than simply existing as your affirmed gender. To be us…
