first of all, it only started raining on my walk HOME from picking up my bagel and my iced coffee.
i have struggled with this concept my entire life. my alien body has choked on sobs in the dead of nights and i have begged to the moon, “i just want to go home.” i have spoken this on full voice from my own bed, because no physical space has ever sat just right on my skin.
“home,” today, in the most conventional sense is this room where i write and drink iced coffee and try to hold it together enough to do my jobs and where i sleep and where my cat sleeps.
Home is also this body I am learning to name and to feed and to please and to take on walks and to offer tithings of purple hair and the idea of tattoos and the promise of dragon con costumes.
because i think that’s where the sobbing and the pleading and the near-praying came from, right? i never believed my own body could be home. for years and years, it was just a trap. a puzzle box i couldn’t solve, couldn’t get out of.
the glory of my transness is that i do not have to solve the puzzle box. i am a puzzle and i do not have to beat myself in order to survive. i do not care if you especially understand. i do not live to be understood. i do not take up space to make you comfortable.
(like, sure, i hope you are, of course. can i make you some tea? can i pour steaming water from my shaking boy-fingers over your leaves and will you drink and trust me?)
i have spoken before of monstrousness and i will say it again: the monster of my brain is not to be slain, not to be conquered. they are to be soothed. they will always take up space here, in the home that is my body. they are my forever roommate and they fucking suck at doing the dishes, but hell, i’ll still go in together on a pizza order with them from time to time.
“it’s enough that you want it.”
what i want is simply, only this.
to be gentle with myself.