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The structure of my assault and trauma was such that I did not know how to write for myself anymore. I still do not know how. I am writing for a space in between humanity and death that needs no recognition because I struggle to speak directly my truth. In one context I am clear, direct, bold. In another, I am falling apart, pandering, wondering. This is the trauma of this type of existence. To fight to be a strong face while also being an honest face. I have been hurt. My pain does not have to pretty or palatable.

I write like seeds. I do not know how to hold words only for myself. My trauma does not change the needs I have. Yet my trauma is weaponized against me, as another excuse to steal agency.

Only when I am whole and treated as whole, will the healing process be able to move forward. I feel stagnant. I have bowed out of polite society to tend to myself and I still do not know how to return to the rest of you, how I can I fit back into situations that will inevitably cause me more trauma when I do not have the strength of my identity feeling like it is no longer on trial. The trial ends when I am able to get the top surgery I want (a single mastectomy) and am able to live in my body as myself.

I got my hypermobility disorder diagnosed. I got my autism diagnosed. I did not do these for me. I did them for you, even though I had to endure visiting multiple dehumanizing & misgendering doctors to get my body assessed. I did this despite trauma so that I could speak with “validity” on what I already knew to be true: I am disabled. I hurt myself to be believed. As for autism, this was an even more dehumanizing process. I am too exhausted to submit the ethics complaint I wanted against the person who accessed me for how they treated and approached diagnosis, even as they relented that there is some likelyhood of me being on the autism spectrum and my psychatrist having read the report, understands why I was upset by the process and agrees that I do meet the criteria. A criteria that says I shouldn’t even be able to talk, yet I do.

I did and didn’t do this for me. I did this to undo years of gaslighting myself and being gaslit about my own experiences and validity, to find the fire of my own confidence. I have had to put asside different parts of me to get each offending puzzle piece in order, to be able to see and say, this is the deck of cards I play with in life, so that I may hold them with pride as part of who I am.

Now how do I say for my gender, there is no appeasement in a society that erases and treats Non-Binary as strange. I have done all these other things in terms of diagnosis for other people to believe me and to see me, I have been right each time. I have proven myself to be a reliable source of insight on myself, something I shouldn’t have to prove. This next thing is something I need to do for myself, to feel whole. I should be granted this dignity.

6 years I have said who I am. 4 years I have seen doctors for my mental health & gender. 3 years I have been open about my surgery desires. I have support. Still it is hoops & games I am exhausted by, I am begging to exist. Please support my fundraiser.

Written by

polygender witch, survivor, disabled, neurodivergent, artist, ptsd (he/him or they/them). My story, my pace. Poetry, awkwardly.

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