It's very hard

It's a lot to take in, you know? I don't even live in the United States, but I know what happens there soon happens here.

I don't intend to obey in advance, to capitulate to the hate that is arrayed in front of us. I won't go quietly when they come for me. 

Nevertheless, it's very hard to go about my day knowing what is happening and what is to come.

It's very hard to go about my day as we're demonized and persecuted. Not a day goes by where I don't see another story about how some uncaring, hateful, person in a position of power is looking for yet a new way to torment us, to harm us, to make our lives more difficult and fraught with peril.

It's very hard to go about my day when my anger, my sorrow, my very fear barely warrants a sad emoji on Facebok from those that profess to care. That's the hardest part, you know? 

On November 6th, as it became clear that my community was about to face increasingly extreme levels of hate and violence in the years to come, I was unable to stop crying. My heart was on the floor and I could not see a future in front of me. You know who picked me up? A friend, on the far side of the world, who called me near to midnight her time. She called me to pull me from the brink of despair. I am so grateful for that.

You know who didn't call me? My family.

I talk about the unicorn that is my transition, but is it? My family has lost ones we love to despair before. We gather, we say sad words, but when it matter most to the ones that we mourn, we're not there. That hurts a lot.

On November 20th, I shared a post on Trans Day of Remembrance. I called out. I heard the echoes of my own voice. 

We feel so alone, because we are. I had hoped it would be different.

It's very hard to go about your day when you're alone.