It turns out that I didn't go into more later, as I got so deep in a fight or flight rabbit hole that I had lost touch with a lot of my interests, such as this website, but also the shitty music I would make, the walks I would go on, and the personal stream-of-conciousness writings I would do. It was bad, but it's better now.
What had happened was that I got so frightened about the political situation in the United States. I got scared of my personal situation of how I would be able to survive in the conditions that seemed to be building walls around me to keep me in. I lost my nerve and wanted to flee or find some other way to keep my personal agency, to feel like I had control of my body, the life I would lead, and the future I had planned out for me. I heard how the historical presedent relates to today, and when you get so deep into this feeliing that you don't have control of your life like you thought you did, and you find that the powers above you are the ones giving you this afliction, you (or me, in this case) find that commiting crimes doesn't seem that much of a moral wrong--just a thing you have to be sneaky about.
And that's where I was. In my fear, I had decided that shuffling around the normal systems of, say, making money or crossing borders was going to be the way I would get out of this. I never did, thankfully, but I now carry a new respect for the people who do. The people who fraud, who steal from corporations, who deal drugs, are alright by me. And if that seems cold to you, I ask you to really really think about why people who commit crimes commit crimes. Why do you see these people swap bags on the street? Why do you see people affiliate themselves in gangs? Why do people commit terrorism? Truly ask yourselves these questions.
When I had decided that this was the way to go, I went where any self-respecting criminal would go: the dark web. I had done all of the research, found out all the ways I could keep safe. I adopted a persona of someone I wasn't, and I poked around looking for ways I could most easily make under-the-table cash for myself to feel more financially stable. I considered counterfeiting, fraud, drug dealing, whoring myself. I made connections with many people who were very successful in all of these ways, and all of them were willing to mentor me to do the same. And I considered it. I really did.
I didn't though. I never made a fake check, I never stole credit card info, I never dealt any drugs, I never had sex for money. What I did do, though, is find a community of people who were, at the end of the day, trying their best. Leagues of honest people doing dishonest work to stay afloat, live happily, provide for their families. I had several people, after I had told them what risks I was taking using analagous situations to my persona, tell me NOT to commit crimes in this way, that I had too much to lose, that I could get out of this the legal way--that I didn't have to be like them.
It was touching, in a strange way. There was a real sense of community there, that they had accepted me into. Many had given me step-by-steps to steal card info, promising me its effectiveness--and while they had every reason to see me for the vulnerable, scared girl I was, and profit out of my misery (as I had come to expect from the likes of fully legal, fully powerful corporations)--they instead showed me compassion and true, human guidance. It was fascinating. It strangely reminded me what was most important to me. It wasn't money, it wasn't financial stability, it was people. It was people who help one another, who influence each others lives for the better, who live as authentically as they can. And I know that's such a cliche, but for me, its got me writing again, its got me out of my hole, its got me clear-headed enough to formulate the plan to leave if need be.
I will survive this. I will be okay. I will live to be old. I promise.
I will go into this more later, but I am prepping for the worst. Plans are being made. Papers are getting put together. Money is being saved. I will survive this. I will not be a victim of this. I will be okay. I will live to be old. I promise.
Welp. Welp, welp, welp. This sucks, yeah? I'm not making that up, this sucks? The American election that this. American Fascism on the rise, queer and trans people are now in front of the cannons once again, and I, feeling every emotion between fear and the raging fire to resist, am sick and tired of living through "unprecedented" history. Even evoking that word--unprecedented--its been said or heard so much it's lost its meaning. By now, it's just something news articles add to a headline to make you care more.
So here I am, planning, fast tracking changing the gender marker on my IDs and my passports before I can't, writing down my HRT regimen and getting together resources to source it myself (I'll homebrew it if I have to), thinking of all the art I could make to get these feelings out, comforting myself that this is somehow resisting--making art--and that I will somehow be some part of a whole that will make a difference somehow. Here I am, among so many, plotting to fight to survive, not against any larger figure or system, but against barriers. Literally words on papers with a single signature on it that turns it somehow into law; this is my goliath, my dragon hoarding my gold, my life, my happiness, all of it held on some thin string while a country trusts a literal convict, a rapist, a racist to hold onto the scissors instead of a woman. The only thing America hates more than racists, rapists, convicts, is women. Isn't that fucking insane?
Anyway, this is all to say that I'm tired. Really fucking tired. So unbelievably tired. I have all this optimism for what the world could be, and the ability of the people to organize and construct something truly beautiful and based entirely on compassion. But alas, I live on Earth. But alas, I live in America. But alas, I live where the rich are powerful.
All we can do is hope, yeah? Hope and fight and make art and do what we can to live tomorrow? Hope. I hope soon, someday, there'll be more we can do than hope. But now, currently, all I can do as an individual is hope. Doesn't that suck?
May God Bless America. May God Bless the United States. What bullshit.
What they pray for--May God may blind the masses to the poor.
Welcome to the journal! This (the website) is a lot for me, one of the bigger personal projects I've worked on. Most of the art I make is collaborative, teams of a couple dozen people. This, being something I am making by myself, is unusual for me. I'm such a collaborative/communal person. I don't even watch movies by myself. So to have a piece of art take me many many total weeks of time (I'm doing this from absolute scrap), is such a thing for me. This is considered art, right?
I just love doing these things. Projects purely for joy. Projects that don't translate to real-world resposibility. Projects that don't pertain to long-standing mystery.
The world is so full of mystery and it is used to punish girls like me. I do a lot. I do a lot a lot. Until I'm not doing much and then I'm doing nothing, but that's not what this is about. I'm twenty one. I'm in college, junior, theatre arts, scenic design. Even I know it's a longshot. It's so much of a longshot that it seems like I'm branching out to every artform in my ability set in some effort to claw at ANY chance that I can make a career out of one of them. I find photography to be the most likely. Theatre is a stretch but fabrication? Maybe! The many scene shops I've worked in make me believe that I have the build to where I could work in logistics if everything falls through. That makes decent money, right? Now lets hope logistics companies are nice to trans women. Or safe for trans women. God knows I've lied on a few applications.
The point is that I steeled myself up for a longshot career while also still being the smallest and most frightened baby on the fact that I want to enjoy my life in the long run and I don't want to, like, disappoint everyone who believed I could, or prove right the people who believed I couldn't. Where I come from, a smaller, rural, intensely American town, being an artist just isn't viable to anybody--a sentiment I'm sure many are familiar with. It's such a tired trope--the artistic underdog wants to prove herself in the world--so tired it makes me gag. Even writing myself here, saying "ooo, look how cool I am, I'm so brave" feels way too self serving.
Yet, here we are. I'm also like every kind of emotion right now, which is why I may be waxing pseudopoetically. Someone I love is next to me, drawing pictures of dogs, and I've cried at one cat and three dogs. Insane to think I used to never cry. Thanks estrogen!
God this isn't organized. I've never really journalled before. I'll get better at it.