I had a "enjoy it while it lasts" mentality when it came to BlueSky. The tipping point finally came for Twitter, and a mass exodus occurred in their favor. The rest of my streamer friends were finally on a platform I kinda-sorta paid attention to. But I didn’t hold my breath.
Sure enough, the nail on the coffin was swift: within days of new users enjoying the new-to-them platform, Jesse Singal, known P.O.S., is not only welcomed on Bluesky– but has ties to Kiwifarms.
(If you have no idea how that’s bad news [I’m envious at your ignorance, but also, where have you been?]: KF is notorious for being a forum full of people that love to doxx, stalk, SWAT, and generally spend way too much of their time obsessing over people they don’t like. They’re most known for harassing transgender individuals.)
And…
People are still being declared overreacting about this?
But what’s been really getting me, is that people are staying anyway. I’m annoyed similarly that it took people this long to GTFO Twitter.
Now, I should hold nuance for those that feel like they don’t have anywhere else to go[1] (Anti-Blackness is global, and permeates the Internet) and for some people, it’s literally their business. And not everyone can just up and delete their account, I guess, or have time/energy/knowhow to just say "fuck it" and roll their own. Or, like, whoever. Whatever.
But…
We gotta do better, y’all.
I’ve come across so many others that articulated way better than I could about how I was feeling about this.
It’s the main idea of why the whole aspect of the "Indie Web," Web 2.0, The-Web-I-Grew-Up-On, has been my Roman Empire for the past year.
There’s alternatives, but unless it’s VC-backed no one really cares. It’s toxic to so many marginalized groups, but that’s where the community is. It harms the most vulnerable and the man behind the wheel is a fucking weasel, but that’s where all your followers are.
Who brings the community?
Who gets sacrificed the instant it’s no longer profitable to exploit their work?
Who suffers because people think Tolerance is still a good idea? (It’s not!)
It’s very likely that I’m salty because, well, I feel this boils down to yet again that trans people just aren’t important as comfort media and convenience. Cis folks wouldn’t stop clutching their Harry Potter books and that fucking game to show the bare minimum of solidarity, so I can’t say I’m surprised.
And yet, this still stings.
It’s not about connections and empathy anymore. It’s all about the numbers, and I’m an unimportant one.
So, like, whatthefuckever. Stay there if you want.
It’s business as usual.
Source: Dumbing of Age
[1] What? You thought I was going to recommend Mastodon? …Well, maybe, but with huge honking caveats and a narrow list of the instances and apps that I recommend. And let’s face it, we absolutely dropped the ball when Twitter first started fucking up (more). So, probably not.
Fuck the system for not being broken, but working just as intended.
To the Queers, the Black and Brown People, The Poor, The Disabled, The Marginalized, and anyone else terrified and angry and numb and everything else:
I know you’re scared right now. I am, too. And I’m feeling despair right along with you.
But remember. We will have each other. Remember mutual aid, community, helping one another.
It is long past to be trying to change people’s minds. The numbers have made it abundantly clear we can’t olive branch ourselves out of this one.
Use your energy to lift up those that will lift you up.
Don’t feel bad if you can’t fight. We need warriors. Healers. Tanks.
But most importantly, we need you to survive.
“Don’t panic. Organize!”
Even better, join those that have been organized.
But it’s okay if all you can do is keep living.
They want you to die, or they don’t care.
Don’t let them take you.
Every so often there is invoked a Blood of Eden mission protocol – we call it Protocol One. It is used in times of either terrible joy or the worst possible outcomes. Protocol One means there are no more formal orders… Now I give you Protocol One . . . and Protocol One is ‘Live.’ Nona the Ninth
For those applicable, enjoy your lil victory lap and be sure to get your stretches in. The lot of us are going to give you hell.
I’m going to do what I can. I am going to live for those that didn’t make it. I will live and fight my sorrow. I hope to see you beside me.
So for funsies, I’m making a pronouns.page account and when I’m not looking up the unfamiliar terms, I’m wrapped up in the nuances of
agender
neutrois
nonbinary
gendervoid
genderqueer
And. So. On.
I love noodling over stuff like this. This is why I appreciate and enjoy microlabels. For the people that need them, they can convey exactly what they mean. And for ruminating introspective overthinkers such as myself, it is like a really good snack that I can’t put down.
I started out genderqueer… then neutrois… non-binary… now I’m feeling agender nowadays. Maybe gendervoid. Definitely staticgender–
I love making these.
–and oh my glob do not get me started on xenogenders we could be here all day! and neopronouns—
Ahem.
Some are happy with their Factory Settings, but I was always one of those folx who’ll mess with the settings menu and layout and colors until I get it just right. And change them again whenever.
It’s so cool how we can just customize our experience like this. If we want to.
That was the very first bumper sticker I ever put on my car… let’s say, almost two decades ago. Out of all the packers, rainbows, wigs, and glitter in that little LGBTQ shop, that was the item I ultimately came away with. It said everything I needed to say: I don’t have a problem with the whole god concept… I have a problem with the people that do horrible things in the name of their god. You don’t need to go far into the recent news cycles– and take note of the context of where I bought said bumper sticker– to see exactly what I mean.
When I slapped that thing on, I was a bit naive (or a bit dim): I didn’t think about any confrontation I may have had to endure. In the Bible Belt. And twice I was walked up to and asked to explain what I meant by that bumper sticker. Fortunately, everyone involved remained civil (the other party didn’t escalate and I kept my composure). I was also fortunate that they seemed satisfied with my response and didn’t get belligerent or even violent– doubly so when it was white folks stepping up to me, a Black stranger.
What was my answer? I simply had to Not All Religious People out those conversations. I specified “only the bad ones, and I assume you’re not one of them since we’re having a rational discussion in a parking lot instead of giving me an asphalt sandwich.”
I did have one more incident, and I promise it’s a funny one: I was dropping someone off and we were stopped at a red light. A car comes up behind me, and in the rearview mirror I see the driver absolutely losing his shit. It was after I stopped panicking that I realized that he was laughing, clapping, and pointing to the back of my car before giving me a thumbs up: turns out, that bumper sticker made his day.
I thought of that guy in my commute to work today, and I hope he’s living his best life.
I also thought of that bumper sticker… and how I’d probably get assaulted over it nowadays. Sigh.
Last month, I participated in a self-defense and empowerment course hosted by the FORGE organization. Not only is it becoming increasingly unsafe for queer people (especially queer people of color, and especially trans people of color)… the shit I pull riling up dorks on Facebook is not a great idea offline. I needed to learn the different ways to de-escalate!
These are all the notes I’ve compiled (and cleaned up…) over our four-day course. But, these are only notes. FORGE’s webinars go into greater detail, and I implore you to check it out.
If it’s one thing I’ll always love about dressing up, it’s all the accessorizing. Combinations are limitless, and your flair can be as small or large as you want it. I have a full shelf dedicated to various jewelry sets (most of it loud costume-y pieces), buttons, and pins– not to mention all the bags and purses threatening to fall on my head every time I open the closet door, and my growing collection of headbands.
My bling (we used to say that– do we still say that?) veers toward nerdy (a Kingdom Hearts necklace), pretty, quirky (chainsaw earrings), retro, and classy-because-I-had-to-be. The pins and buttons were reserved for that extra oompth and/or random silly thing. What was missing were all the pronoun buttons I amassed over the years…
I was taking a Staycation and spent a few days checking out the local queer film fest. I was having a blast, shooting the shit with new people as we got a card game started.
Then I heard it: the wrong one.
"Yo," I interject, "I use they/them." I tried to add a little humor as I pointed to my pronoun button: "It’s right here next to my cleavage. I know you’ve seen it!" The game started, and we played a few rounds until seating for that night’s film became available. The night went on, and I went home.
I was there for the last day of the film festival, too. I’m by myself this time to catch a special viewing and discussion. I was proud of myself– I mingled, was only a little awkward, and carried out a few conversations without stuttering. "I use they/them pronouns," I heard myself say, after my name, and I reminded here and there. The button by itself proved to be too subtle.
Then came the discussion portion of the morning. The producer, who I struck the strongest conversations with, went up to the podium. And pointed me out due to how excited I was about learning more BIPOC queer history. To thank me for supporting her. They used
she.
I smiled, awkwardly, trying to match our earlier enthusiasm.
The they/them button on my shirt felt so heavy. My heart behind it was breaking.
I don’t recall much of what happened after that; all a blur or blotted out over time. But I remember going home and ripping the button off and crying.
I try to be understanding when– not if– this happened in other ‘mainstream’ spaces. But there, I was surrounded by queer people. This was the crowd that was supposed to get it. But, no matter where I was, I always worked under the assumption that a button could be easily missed.
So I still declared.
And I corrected.
And that still never seemed to be enough.
I didn’t see the point in wearing pronoun buttons if everyone was just going to ignore them.
So I put them all away.
The years without them… haven’t changed much.
I get what my partners call "apology tours" when I correct someone. (Protip: just utter a quick ‘sorry’ if you must, then move on.)
I have officially Heard Them All– the excuses. And to those I can only hiss: "Don’t care. Do better."
I don’t bother correcting close-enough acquaintances. If they didn’t get it by now, they’re not going to. And they won’t be invited into my house.
Some queer spaces have been getting better, incorporating pronouns along with names in introduction circles. The trans-inclusive (or even better: exclusively trans) spaces are a breath of fresh air.
After a few years of them being shoved into a tiny drawer, I unearthed my pronoun buttons (and one pin). A lot of them were from Pride events or meetups, and my favorite pin– a little one, gold-on-white– was a birthday gift. Each one I held in my hand, remembering.
I put one on for the LGBTQ picnic last month.
It felt nice.
I may wear it some more.
I have my oasis. My partners and allies are always willing to go to bat for me. More people have been trying and I’m sure to thank them. But beyond that?
The buttons don’t work.
The just telling you doesn’t work.
Throwing out my CashApp and keeping tabs on each mistake isn’t working either, but at least I can buy a six pack now and then.
Positive reinforcement only works if the other party actually cares, and a lot of people still don’t. What started as a joke is going to be a serious undertaking as I begin bringing a spray bottle to the function, because I might as well have fun and use the excuse to be obnoxious.
Because if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll begin crying in frustration. And, really, I’m tired of crying.
Bloganuary Prompt: What do you complain about the most?
The one thing I bitch about the most? Heteronormality.
Nah, scratch that; it’s how binary everything freakin’ is.
No, wait! How I’m expected to be androgynous because I’m non-binary.
No, wait, it’s how the [insert community here] has a racism problem it refuses to acknowledge.
Okay, let’s go with that one. It hurts my heart when I’m hit with racist microaggressions when I exist in queer-forward spaces, on top of the general history of Whiteness marginalizing anyone that isn’t white.
Wait, no, let’s take it a step further with [community] has a [bigot] problem it refuses to acknowledge, if not actively encourage. And it really hurts when it feels like these peers should get it, you know?
Because why the fuck is biphobia still a fucking problem in the overall queer community? I’ve friends who are currently shouted down and erased because they’re never seen as queer enough.
And all of my Black peers stay away from the Hoteps of the diaspora because they insist on hetero normativity, and toxic masculinity.
You know what? It’s bigoty. That’s what I complain about the most.
That’s it, that’s the post, because I’m tired of repeating myself ad nauseum. We’ll be here all day with the long list of examples I can illustrate.
A bitch is tired. I’ll probably expand on this at a later date, complete with personal anecdotes. But for now, just allow me to get to the point:
Solidarity ain’t shit when you’re still a fucking bigot.
Another revisited post. If you know where I’m from you better shuuuush! But seriously.
Disclaimer
This is about my experience as a non-binary person and is not meant to be the end-all-be-all for the non-binary experience. There is no one-size-fits-all narrative since they are so personal. Your mortality rate will also skyrocket if you attempt any of the following: Cissexism, refusal to respect my pronouns, and imply that I am some sort of tumblrina or special snowflake. And I’ll gladly arrange for your funeral if you outright state it. Since people are killed for being trans and living their truth, it’s only fair to put you in the ground if you try that shit. 🙂
respect my trans homies or i will identify as a fucking problem
Probably AdrianLeewayne via Twitter, but it is all over the Internet and I was unable to find a definitive source
Now, with that out of the way…
Calling Card
Under the non-binary umbrella, I’ve been feeling agender these days. Agender demifemme, to be precise. I’m not on the gender binary whatsoever, nor am I a mix of both binary genders. I do feel a connection to femme, however, with butchy undertones. I feel like I’ve come a long way from my first label of "genderqueer" and still use that sometimes.
It is a possibility that I am genderfluid. This is pending further investigation. 🙂
I also consider myself transgender. I’m the black (or white) stripe in the middle of the transgender flag!
Pronoun Trouble
If the good sir Shakespeare thought well
enough to use a singular they,
hoping as he did, that his words would
carry to this modern day,
then how sayest you that ‘they’ upon thine ears land shrill?
If’t be good enough for him, then good enough f’r thou t’will.
ey/em, which I think of as they/them with less letters. I’m a lazy thing.
“Yo.” Yeah, seriously. It’s pretty dope. I tend to default to this when speaking, in place of “man” or “dude.”
Fun Fact: My VTuber persona uses px/px… like in pixel. I’m a nerdy thing.
Honorifics
“Per.,” (as in, “Person”), and it sounds like purr. Cute!
“Mx.” also works in a pinch.
“Captain” has also been used here and there. I enjoy the ring of it.
Expression
There is little precedent for fat androgyny. Generally our androgynous icons are svelte and lacking in secondary sex characteristics. David Bowie, Tilda Swinton, Katherine Hepburn; these small-bodied, predominately white figures of androgyny have created an aesthetic with little room for deviation. This means that for those of us with bodies that do not conform to traditional standards of androgyny, we are often misread and misunderstood, even in queer spaces.
Clothes have no inherent gender to me. If I like how it looks, I’ll wear it and break a few fashion laws in the process. My ideal is "neither," but I’ll settle for Confusing the Cishets. At any rate, I don’t have to bind my breasts and dress masculine and baggy in order to be neutral; deal with it. I also ain’t gotta be skinny af. Judasmyheart said, "FEMME AS FUCK IS MY ANDROGYNOUS," and I felt that.
Yet Another Binary
I take note when y’all just trade one binary for another. Instead of "man or woman" it’s "masculine or feminine" or "butch or femme." I’m stubborn and refuse to fully subscribe to those, as well; understand that "nah" or "whatever" is a valid expression. My personality isn’t inherently masculine or feminine and my traits are just… traits. While the butch/femme dichotomy doesn’t piss me off as much due to its queer roots…. tread lightly anyway.
Language
"Person" does just fine if you’ve just met me– when in doubt, stay neutral. However, my reaction to most of them is context-dependent. "Girl"/"girl friend" has specific Black culture/AAVE context, and I grew up in the South so most just roll off my back– a lot of it is terms of endearment, after all. I’m also amused at the occasional "sir– I mean– ma’am."
Connections
While pansexual is one of my oldest labels, bisexual fits me as well! It isn’t inherently transphobic and the current working definition is a bit more evolved from what people assume: attracted to more than one gender. In short: for the pedantic "Bi means Two!" crowd, I’m glib and say that I’m attracted to people with and without genders– that’s two things, isn’t it?
We should also consider adding "diamoric" to our dictionaries. Because if you’re into me, you ain’t straight. 😉
Diamoric is an intentionally flexible, loose term that describes a personal identity or a relationship (sexual, romantic, platonic etc.) that is neither “straight” nor “gay” due to the presence of one or more non-binary people.
Dysphoria and Misgendering
Body dysphoria does happen, but not nearly as often as the social dysphoria. It can either piss me off to death, or reduce me to an anxious wreck. You can say "Other" and "neutral" options are a requirement for me. Do you know what else is a requirement? Respecting my fucking pronouns!
I exist. I am here. Acknowledge this with your words and actions.
Other Thoughts
I hate it when the shit I do is gendered/coded male/masculine. I should not have to be "like a dude" to receive praise, especially if it’s a positive trait in men, but not in women.
“When I am assertive, I’m a bitch. When a man is assertive, he’s a boss. He bossed up. No negative connotation behind ‘bossed up.’ But lots of negative connotation behind being a bitch.”
Nicki Minaj
Patriarchy and toxic/fragile masculinity ruins every damn thing it touches. Masculinity needs to be deconstructed, reclaimed, and put back together. And not at the expense of femininity.
I decided that my masculinity would not be seeped in irrational entitlement; it would not be rooted in asserting power or control over women or femme folks. I wanted to create a kind of manhood that creates a safe space for women and femme identified people, so that everyone can be autonomous, carefree in their bodies, desire, and identity. This masculinity doesn’t assume any rank over anyone because they aren’t men or masculine.
Black femininity is amazing. Black femme is amazing. I’ve been trying to put to words how growing up as a black woman has and still influences me, but currently failing. It certainly isn’t something I wish to put in a box and away because I’m enby. This is also the reasoning behind my demifemme label.
I was also keenly aware that my recent ancestors were never granted the right to be seen as feminine, so avoiding femininity made me feel guilty. I felt like I was throwing away something precious.
My femme identity is a purposeful reclamation of femininity from the white supremacist classist heteronormative cis-patriarchy …it an act of resistance. Femme is a chosen, rather than assigned femininity. Femme is taking all the toxic representations of femininity that have scarred us our whole lifetimes, cutting out the rotting parts of shame, and finding a way to celebrate what we liked in the first place. …Femme is fat-positive, poor and working-class-positive, brown-positive, sex-positive, queer-positive femininity.
THE HOLIDAY KWANZAA is a product of creative cultural synthesis. That is to say, it is the product of critical selection and judicious mixture on several levels. First, Kwanzaa is a synthesis of both Continental African and Diasporanl (sic) African cultural elements. … Secondly, the Continental African components of Kwanzaa are a synthesis of various cultural values and practices from different Continental African peoples. … And finally, Kwanzaa is a synthesis in the sense that it is based, in both conception and self-conscious commitment, on tradition and reason.
https://www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org
KuchuQwanzaa is in large part based on the traditional Kwanzaa holiday, but seeks to infuse queer ideology, principles, and values to establish a space for Black LGBTQIA+ folks to celebrate our unique culture, history, and contributions. In the spirit of inclusivity, we invite anyone who shares the core principles of KuchuQwanzaa to celebrate it.
https://www.kuchuqwanzaa.com/about
So after Christmas, we go straight into Kwanzaa. It begins on the 26th of December and it ends on New Year’s Day. Kwanzaa is a holiday created by a Black American man in order to celebrate our heritage, culture, and ancestors. In addition, KuchuQwanzaa was created with these same goals in mind, but to also honor our Black LGBTQ expression. Both incorporate libations, candles, gift giving and food.
For these seven days I reflect on the principles of Kwanzaa and KuchuQwanzaa. I think about what each means to me and how it manifests in my life, and how I can keep them in mind for the future.
(I have also tooted daily via Mastodon; you can check out the #AlbisKQwanzaa tag for the topmost posts for the longer threads.)
The First Day
Umoja
“Unity,” the Principle for the first day of Kwanzaa. This was an “easy” one to reflect on, and an excellent start to this holiday (considering how online I tend to be)… my immediate thought was BlackMastodon, BlackTwitter, BlackFediverse. We find each other and support each other, pushing back against the typical whiteness of most online platforms. As Twitter burns, it has been uplifting to see so many of us on Mastodon. I may stick around this time.
Imani
KuchuQwanza has two Principles on the first day: in addition to Umoja, it also has Imani, or “Faith.” My initial thought was to assume faith meant the religious sort, and I believe my initial thought to be erroneous. And if not, well– I’m not the religious sort anyway; I strive to at least be spiritual despite my casual relationship to it for the moment.
I have faith in myself (I generally do the right thing), my people (though, cynic that I am, my faith in people takes a hit when confronted with misogynoir and queerphobia– but is generally restored when it is called out and abolished), and the natural world. I also hope to honor my ancestors in how they interpreted the forces of nature and their gods, be it observing the holidays or practicing herbalism.
The Second Day
Kujichagulia
“Self-Determination,” or why I hate the “we don’t need labels!” or “we’re all human!” rhetoric. Our differences make us who we are, and labels can further define yourself on your own terms. I am Black, Queer, Transgender. Some labels are “given,” but I have chosen the rest.
I also reflect on the representation of our people, and not just us being mere “tokens.” I am here, and I exist, and you will hear me. Everyone contains multitudes and different aspects of themselves; Black people not a monolith. When Whoopi Goldberg saw Nichelle Nichols as Uhura on the screen, it opened so many possibilities for her. We can also be “these things,” despite the overculture trying to tell us otherwise. And that is still important today.
AFYA
The world is tough enough as it is, so we also have to take care of our bodies and mental health. I’m glad to see that the stigma for therapy and medication is waning– but we can still work on this. The queer community is still recovering from the AIDS crisis, and I still hear negative comments about getting help for what’s ailing your brain.
Get tested, and often, especially if you have multiple partners. Eat your vegetables, take walks, turn off the news and stop doomscrolling when it becomes too much. All these are things that I do within the KuchuQwanzaa Principle of AFYA, or “Health.”
The Third Day
Ujima
“Collective work and responsibility.” I’ll be very blunt here: If your pro-Blackness dehumanizes the further marginalized, it’s fucking trash. I also found it fitting that this was the day I discovered KuchuQwanzaa– LGBTQ voices and celebrations must be uplifted. This is our work, and our responsibility.
Nyumba
It literally means “house,” and houses, to me, mean family and community. Our relationships to each other help sustain us, past and present. Every interaction accumulates to a “I see you:” from The Nod as you walk past a stranger, to commenting support on a post, to giving your mom a call and (not maliciously!) pestering your sibling.
The Fourth Day
Ujamaa
Black Capitalism ain’t gonna save us– it’s still Capitalism. If we’re still trampling each other to make money, that is the capitalism machine working just as intended. Buy Black (sites like Miiriya makes this easier!), participate in mutual aid, gas up your friend’s Etsy shop!
Elima
I did not know about KuchuQwanzaa until this year! So, I found it fitting to mention that on the fourth day of this holiday– the Principle is Elimu, or Education. In a world where LGBTQ folks are still being persecuted, I find it very important to highlight not just our struggles, but to celebrate our contributions to communities and culture.
The Fifth Day
Nia
“Purpose.” I am reflecting on– what is my purpose in life? To be supportive, confounding, to call out bullshit, and eat cookies and cream ice cream, and to exist. It sounds pretty simple, but I’ve mostly made peace with the fact that I don’t need something grand for my day-to-day. And that is enough.
“Just existing” in each of our varied truths may not sound much for a purpose, but for Queer people it is the whole world. We have lives beyond someone else’s moral lesson, or a tragic Netflix movie, or a sensational headline.
I’ve also personal projects and yeah, that is purposeful. I have my writing and poetry– a good purpose, indeed! I am trying to get into more VTubing and gaming, too.
The Sixth Day
Kuumba
I’ll take this moment to talk about some of my favorite creative works.
Creativity begets more creativity and inspiration, and there’s something special about holding The Memory Librarian in my hands after the last word was read.
As I’ve mentioned in length in the post about my vtubing, I am a huge fan of Janelle Monae. Some other musicians that I have on repeat are:
Breezewax
Flying Lotus
Lalah Hathaway
Lil Nas X
Mega Ran
Princess Nokia
Sammus
And a lot of stuff from Back in the Day, like Living Color, The Isley Brothers, Toni Braxton, TLC…
And some of my favorite books are:
Anything by Nnedi Okorafor; her Binti series was my first read into her work.
How to be Black by Baratunde Thurston
Falling in Love with Hominids by Nalo Hopkinson
The Lilith’s Brood (aka Xenogenesis) series, also by Octavia E. Butler
Mind of my Mind (2nd in the Patternist series), also by Butler
Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor
SLAY by Brittney Morris (psst, you can play the game!)
TRIGGER by Venus Selenite
While we’re on the subject of books, The StoryGraph has Nadia Odunayo, a Black woman, as founder and CEO!
Sistah SciFi highlights science fiction from Black and Indigenous people.
I also have several pieces of art from GDBEE hanging around my room.
The Seventh Day
Dhidi Chuki and Kiasiasa Utambulisho
For Kwanzaa’s final day of celebration and reflection, we have Imani. Since I’ve reflected on it previously, I will focus on the two final principles for KuchuQwanzaa: “Against Hate” and “Politicized Identity.”
I walk into a room and I am assumed I’m “political” for just existing. So I might as well own that. Yup, I exist and I’m proud. AND WE’RE GONNA TALK ABOUT MY POLITICS ALL DAY, BABY. And hurt the feelings of Nazis and well-meaning allies in the process. Hate comes in all sorts of forms. Some are REALLY OBVIOUS, while others are more insidious and subtle. The ally that tells me to not be one of “those f-slurs?” They get binned. And the other one who shushes me when I say I’m Black and I’m Proud? Binned and set on fire.
I may not have much choice in how I’m politicalized, but I’ll be damned if someone thinks I’m “doing it wrong” and treat my existence as an inconvenience.
And that is all for my reflections for last year’s Kwanzaa and KuchuQwanzaa. I’d like to do the same for this year, and reflect again to see where I stand.
I came out once, on Facebook, a few years ago. Under a filter to people I felt would accept me. I still miscalculated.
I lost a friend.
It could’ve been way worse, but it still hurts a little. She was dear to me.
Here’s everything I couldn’t say in response to her last message to me… because she needed the last word so badly I was blocked. (You can infer what she said).
A little cleaned up, of course. But not by much.
Funny thing, about silence. It’s like an empty spot on a Mad Libs sheet. You can fill it in with whatever you like. But let’s set the record straight: I did not unfriend you out of jealousy.
I left quietly, because I’ve not a lot to say. We cannot go back to what we once were; I cannot continue our superficial banter, and you’ve proven to me that I cannot open up to you. I’ve tried, for what’s another acquaintance on the kiddie pool? But I’m older, and I grow weary of too much of that. I left silently, because I’ve little nice to say about people who can’t see beyond what 4chan and Reddit hate. I was silent because out of all the options, shutting my mouth was the kindest. Better you think we just grew apart and were a casualty of my biyearly FB cleaning, as it happens sometimes. And I remained silent because if you actually gave a shit, you would’ve asked how I was without the unfriending to kick your voyeurism into overdrive.
Another thing about silence is…
sooner or later, someone will start babbling to break it. Then you’ll
know how they really are.
And you just had to be a _________. (Put whatever you like, there. I love Mad Libs!)
My initial thought was “Was that fucking necessary?!” But… You know what? I’ll let you have that. It’s on me for forgetting the maxim “hurt people hurt people.” And while I was merely taking a break from FB, I also guessed that you not knowing what I was up to would’ve driven you nuts. So I’ll own that.
Clearly, I struck a nerve. And I’ll no longer commend you for your maneuver; looking back now it was just straight-up pathetic, though calculated:
You really are that shallow, using superficial insults against the people that stood up for me. And you knew that any slights against the people I care about, no matter how grade-school level, is one of the quickest ways to get a rise out of me.
In addition to said shallowness, you managed to land a critical hit. All I’ll say is I’m not on a trajectory that’ll not pass people’s rigged expectations of me, and I’ve yet to de-condition myself of comparing my life to others. You really know how to twist the knife in one’s insecurities!
You’re the very troll you accuse my friends of being. Try not to choke on the irony; now that my anger is largely dissipated I actually want you to live.
Despite all of your warnings, turns out that the person that has done the most damage to me was you. You broke my heart. Even [name redacted] could not have accomplished that on her most destructive day… and no one else ever could. So take solace in that.
I assume I’m not giving you too much credit– you’re fuckin’ smart. But I gotta dock points from your final score for unoriginality. Oh goodness, sizism/lookism and a line borrowed from /r/TumblrInAction? Haven’t heard that before!
I’m just… reeling over the fact that someone so talented, so beautiful, and so capable of good things can be so… needlessly ugly and hopelessly shallow.
I guess we’ve mutually disappointed one another. I’m fine with that.
I’m not jealous. I pity you. As you continue to stagnate, only growing in your circlejerk of a sheltered pond, you’ll hurt more people like me and sabotage any potential happiness you may have with others because they’ll fail your narrow and short-sighted criteria.
And I’ll keep doin’ me, whatever the fuck that is.
There’s no point in wishing ill will, or gunning for friends. Besides, that’s not my style; I tend to default to the classics.
I’ll do better than you and wish the opposite: be well. Have a nice life– and you will. People like you always do, anyway.
But you can also go fuck yourself.
(I gave her a 7/10, by the way. She got me to reply. And I still think about it sometimes.)
I’ll write a more recent coming-out post this week. A happier one. Later I’ll reflect more on the positives:
I learned who my true friends were and realized what tangible support I needed, going forward. And I know that if people can’t accept me, I must lose them no matter what we’ve gone through together; it’ll hurt for a while but that is fine. And sometimes closure doesn’t happen and I have to accept that.
