The place where light is absent.
I am going to broach a difficult subject. It's as difficult to write as it is to read I'm sure, but it seems it needs to be addressed. The issue is suicide in the transgender community.
Lately two trans-women took this step in my community, and I have been watching the response to this news. The general consensus is "we need to do something," but my response is "really? And just what the hell do you think YOU can do?" Our automatic, conditioned response is to see this as a tragedy, and every tragedy must therefore have a way to be stopped. I'm not sure that this is an easy-enough problem to be solved in that way. You see, the problem is, in my eyes, much to large to be solved so easily... speeches, therapists, group hugs in our community... won't even begin to scratch the surface in my experience.
Yes, I said "experience." I've been there. March 1, 2009 I took thirty-two Vicodins I had been saving up and drank a bottle of Jim Bean. Somehow I woke up the next morning. I don't know how, but I do know why.
A lot of people asked me why I did it, and there is a list of reasons. It was the perfect storm of reasons really. My girlfriend had just left me, and I really loved this one... which made it really difficult because I did not think that I would ever find another like her. You see, she accepted me... or so it seemed while we were together. Was my trans identity the reason she left, or at least part of it? Probably. But that wasn't all... My job has openly discriminated against me for years... and yet, I cannot leave because I do not know how I would ever find another one with my condition. My family at the time had disowned me... pretty much completely. My finances were in a ruins, my education had stalled... in other words, my life was a shambles. And yes, it was a shambles because of who and what I was.
The simple truth is that I was tired. I was tired of fighting every day to find a place in a society that would never accept me. I was tired of working harder then everyone else to prove my worth only to get treated as if I was a criminal. I was tired of watching lovers walk away because I was too difficult for them. I was tired of losing friends. I was tired of the constant unknown of the future. I was tired of being reduced to a label and having to live down to a stereotype. I was tired... of my fucking life.
And, at that time... it's hard to remember. It was so dark. I was absolutely alone. Yes, I had friends... but they seemed so far away. The entire rest of humanity seemed far, far away. I was all alone and it was dark and I didn't know how to get back. So I lay down and planned on sinking into that dark, velvety silence and never come back... because I didn't know if there was a way back... I was lost and alone and tired, oh so very tired.
I reached out to a few people, but only to tell them good-bye. One of the things that really bothered me was that I was going to hurt those around me... even though they seemed far, far away (and would have seemed far away even if they had been standing right next to me). I really don't think anyone could have saved me at that point... I wouldn't have heard them.
Yes, I've been to therapy. The funny thing about therapy is that when you are a Trans person therapy exists not to comfort you and help you find your way through life, but as a means to reinforce that you are flawed, you have a "condition" that they work with you to validate. A therapist is not there to help you, they exist to guard the gates to transition and the perceived wonders that that brings. They are, in short, the enemy.
The world was a cruel, vicious place and I was tired of fear, and seeing the sickness in the world and... well, no-one could have saved me.
What I experienced is a deeply personal thing. But I really do believe that it was the single most crucial and abrupt turning point in my life. March 1, 2009 will always be for me something of a birthday for me. Something in me died, but something much better was reborn. My experiences during that night taught me so much and completely and fundamentally changed who I am as a person.
There was light... not a tunnel some vision of heaven... but a room of light... it was a soft, blinding brightness. The closest I can come to describing it is a white room absolutely suffused with light, not from a source but like the air itself was light... and it was beautiful in its own way. And there was a voice. A warm, contralto, soft voice that came from everywhere just as the light did... and it talked to me and told me things that I wish I could remember... but it all made so much sense... it was all so clear. And I remember crying because I had not done what I was supposed to do while I was alive, and the voice soothed me and told me things and made me see how this had led to that and if this had not happened then this could not have happened and so on and so on. And I knew what I was meant to do... and I was desperate to be able to do it... to have one more chance... to be able to go back and accomplish what I was given this life to...
And then I was coming to, and it hurt... badly. Not only physically, which was the worst pain I could ever imagine, but emotionally. I felt some kind of joy at having another chance, but I also missed that voice... that soothing, loving voice that totally understood me and loved me... and then I awoke to find myself paralyzed and I felt a whole new fear... but eventually the muscles started working again, shakily, stutteringly, haltingly, and I spent the rest of the day with a couple of friends that I called projectile vomiting, sweating and shaking and trying to get my muscles to respond to commands. It was a hellish day.
And not long after that I realized that I had forgotten what my mission was. It had faded along with the voice as I came to again. I was frantic. I tried to recover it from my memory... nothing. I went to see a psychic... nothing. I prayed and meditated and... nothing.
It took me months... and one day I remembered. I know what I am here to do now and I am working at it... well, it's not working -- it is the greatest joy of my life. And if you think it is something grand... some sort of wonderful special purpose... you would be sadly dissapointed. But it is huge in its own small way... and it is the same mission for us all... it is just something that one has to find in their own way.
But the point of this all is, I get it when my sisters and brothers do this. I get it when anyone decides that they cannot go on and makes their escape in the only way they know how. I no longer fear death. It is not a horrible thing. It is actually pretty wonderful. Well, it is a wonderful experience for the person who dies... for those left behind it is not so much. And we have been trained in our society to fear and hate death, and so we also fear and hate life because death is a part of life. How I see death now is as a chrysallis that takes us to our next stage... I know -- I'll spare you the Buddist beliefs... but I do believe that we are here to accomplish learning and to do something for others, and when our job is done we move on to our next life. And yet, somehow we hate that process in our Western culture.
Lately two trans-women took this step in my community, and I have been watching the response to this news. The general consensus is "we need to do something," but my response is "really? And just what the hell do you think YOU can do?" Our automatic, conditioned response is to see this as a tragedy, and every tragedy must therefore have a way to be stopped. I'm not sure that this is an easy-enough problem to be solved in that way. You see, the problem is, in my eyes, much to large to be solved so easily... speeches, therapists, group hugs in our community... won't even begin to scratch the surface in my experience.
Yes, I said "experience." I've been there. March 1, 2009 I took thirty-two Vicodins I had been saving up and drank a bottle of Jim Bean. Somehow I woke up the next morning. I don't know how, but I do know why.
A lot of people asked me why I did it, and there is a list of reasons. It was the perfect storm of reasons really. My girlfriend had just left me, and I really loved this one... which made it really difficult because I did not think that I would ever find another like her. You see, she accepted me... or so it seemed while we were together. Was my trans identity the reason she left, or at least part of it? Probably. But that wasn't all... My job has openly discriminated against me for years... and yet, I cannot leave because I do not know how I would ever find another one with my condition. My family at the time had disowned me... pretty much completely. My finances were in a ruins, my education had stalled... in other words, my life was a shambles. And yes, it was a shambles because of who and what I was.
The simple truth is that I was tired. I was tired of fighting every day to find a place in a society that would never accept me. I was tired of working harder then everyone else to prove my worth only to get treated as if I was a criminal. I was tired of watching lovers walk away because I was too difficult for them. I was tired of losing friends. I was tired of the constant unknown of the future. I was tired of being reduced to a label and having to live down to a stereotype. I was tired... of my fucking life.
And, at that time... it's hard to remember. It was so dark. I was absolutely alone. Yes, I had friends... but they seemed so far away. The entire rest of humanity seemed far, far away. I was all alone and it was dark and I didn't know how to get back. So I lay down and planned on sinking into that dark, velvety silence and never come back... because I didn't know if there was a way back... I was lost and alone and tired, oh so very tired.
I reached out to a few people, but only to tell them good-bye. One of the things that really bothered me was that I was going to hurt those around me... even though they seemed far, far away (and would have seemed far away even if they had been standing right next to me). I really don't think anyone could have saved me at that point... I wouldn't have heard them.
Yes, I've been to therapy. The funny thing about therapy is that when you are a Trans person therapy exists not to comfort you and help you find your way through life, but as a means to reinforce that you are flawed, you have a "condition" that they work with you to validate. A therapist is not there to help you, they exist to guard the gates to transition and the perceived wonders that that brings. They are, in short, the enemy.
The world was a cruel, vicious place and I was tired of fear, and seeing the sickness in the world and... well, no-one could have saved me.
What I experienced is a deeply personal thing. But I really do believe that it was the single most crucial and abrupt turning point in my life. March 1, 2009 will always be for me something of a birthday for me. Something in me died, but something much better was reborn. My experiences during that night taught me so much and completely and fundamentally changed who I am as a person.
There was light... not a tunnel some vision of heaven... but a room of light... it was a soft, blinding brightness. The closest I can come to describing it is a white room absolutely suffused with light, not from a source but like the air itself was light... and it was beautiful in its own way. And there was a voice. A warm, contralto, soft voice that came from everywhere just as the light did... and it talked to me and told me things that I wish I could remember... but it all made so much sense... it was all so clear. And I remember crying because I had not done what I was supposed to do while I was alive, and the voice soothed me and told me things and made me see how this had led to that and if this had not happened then this could not have happened and so on and so on. And I knew what I was meant to do... and I was desperate to be able to do it... to have one more chance... to be able to go back and accomplish what I was given this life to...
And then I was coming to, and it hurt... badly. Not only physically, which was the worst pain I could ever imagine, but emotionally. I felt some kind of joy at having another chance, but I also missed that voice... that soothing, loving voice that totally understood me and loved me... and then I awoke to find myself paralyzed and I felt a whole new fear... but eventually the muscles started working again, shakily, stutteringly, haltingly, and I spent the rest of the day with a couple of friends that I called projectile vomiting, sweating and shaking and trying to get my muscles to respond to commands. It was a hellish day.
And not long after that I realized that I had forgotten what my mission was. It had faded along with the voice as I came to again. I was frantic. I tried to recover it from my memory... nothing. I went to see a psychic... nothing. I prayed and meditated and... nothing.
It took me months... and one day I remembered. I know what I am here to do now and I am working at it... well, it's not working -- it is the greatest joy of my life. And if you think it is something grand... some sort of wonderful special purpose... you would be sadly dissapointed. But it is huge in its own small way... and it is the same mission for us all... it is just something that one has to find in their own way.
But the point of this all is, I get it when my sisters and brothers do this. I get it when anyone decides that they cannot go on and makes their escape in the only way they know how. I no longer fear death. It is not a horrible thing. It is actually pretty wonderful. Well, it is a wonderful experience for the person who dies... for those left behind it is not so much. And we have been trained in our society to fear and hate death, and so we also fear and hate life because death is a part of life. How I see death now is as a chrysallis that takes us to our next stage... I know -- I'll spare you the Buddist beliefs... but I do believe that we are here to accomplish learning and to do something for others, and when our job is done we move on to our next life. And yet, somehow we hate that process in our Western culture.