Through the Darkness to New Beginnings

“Now I am strong and lapped in sorrow

As in a coat of magic mail and borrow

From Time today...”

-Stevie Smith

I was a precocious child. I had multitudinous interests, mostly of the natural sort, ranging from gardening and hiking to bird-watching and chicken-keeping. The future, it seemed, was laid bare before me—I could see it, practically touch it –and in that future, I was successful, I was enchanted by my work, and, most of all, I was happy. Of course, I would be married, with 2.5 children and a white-picket-fence-house with all the amenities. I would have a dog, and chickens, and perhaps some peafowl and goats. I would garden and I would bird, I would hike and I would rehabilitate wildlife in my spare time— why not? I had all the time in the world. But time, alas, has been a fair-weather friend, and childhood dreams are oft left by the wayside.

When I was seventeen years old, I met a man in my zoology class. He sat in my seat, and the rest, as they say, is history (and history is a cruel thing). I would spend the next eleven years engaged to this man, while he degraded, abused, and otherwise maltreated me. He wouldn’t be the only one. The Christmas and rent money was gambled away in its entirety, while I was derided for buying the cigarettes to which he (quite intentionally) got me addicted. The family he isolated me from— whom he loathed –would withdraw from their retirement fund to bail us out of debt time and again as, by this time, I had already become disabled. No, I shouldn’t word it like that; it’s not as though disability is something that happened to me. It is, in essence, a part of who I am: just like my Autism, my race, my sexuality, my gender, and my chronic illness, none of which are stock and standard, by the bye. In any case, I had barely any work experience, since I began to fall ill at seventeen— that’s when my world fell apart: my magic number. I had never learned to drive. I was poorly socialized. I was mentally ill.

But let’s skip ahead, because eleven years is a long time, and my coping mechanisms during that period were exceptionally poor. I broke up with him when he started surreptitiously applying for home loans we couldn’t afford, because he hated living with my family and wanted a home of his own (the better to sneak from, I suspect). He left, and this time, my family ensured that he didn’t come back. I kept the rescue kitty, though, and I am deeply grateful for that.

I had a brief relapse with him the following year, but his devious activities closed that door with utter finality (in the form of a shotgun wedding on his end, pardon the term). I was devastated. I spent an inordinate amount of time listening to Riverside by Agnes Obel, and The Girl That’s Never Been, by Escape Key. Those two songs were the entirety of my playlist (later on, I got a tattoo from the story the latter song is based upon!).

But then, something marvelous happened. No, I didn’t magically recover: but I began to heal. I still have CPTSD from my time with him. I have Dependent Personality Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and, of course, Autism. My disabilities are probably a large part of the reason he targeted me. Nevertheless, the months passed, I painted my room, started to get my affairs in order little by little, and then, BOOM, my mother got on SSDI and my father retired. We quickly moved down to live with my sister and her burgeoning family. I had lived in the old house for more than 2/3 of my life, so it was quite an adjustment. I couldn’t rely on the old coping mechanisms anymore—I refused to be that kind of influence on her children. It wouldn’t be acceptable.

So I quit smoking. Eventually I quit vaping, too. I stopped hurting myself. And eventually I stopped having suicidal ideation. I needed new coping mechanisms, and fast. I turned first to music (to a far greater degree than before) and video games. Video games were my saving grace during the early periods of my disability, as I was able to hike and run and jump just like I used to do. Music is the beating of my heart, and the lyrics are the thrum of my soul. I would spend hours listening to music while playing World of Warcraft, Diablo 3, Call of Duty, etc.

But still, the anxiety and depression were churning just below the surface. I had picked back up with writing—particularly poetry –and started practicing drawing again. But my tremors have always been a hindrance, and I wasn’t quite able to get the results I desired. It added to my frustrations, despite my progress with the pencil. I turned, instead, to digital art with much greater success. Illustrator, in particular, allows me to practice drawing while smoothing out the lines that my tremulous hands shake and squiggle. I began to work on two novels, as well, and have started on a third. I design tattoos in my spare time (of which I have a great deal, if I’m honest).

Shortly after the move, I got on SSI. That did wonders for improving my health and autonomy. Not long after that, I was diagnosed with gender dysphoria. In one year, I came out as demisexual, panromantic (although I trend Achillean), and transgender. Roughly two years later, and I’ve begun my transition. Being on Testosterone is a boon. It’s strange, having known so many transgender women from group therapy and heard how negatively the hormone affected them, to feel so completely and radically different in my experience.

Remember those 2.5 kids? Well, I never found my life partner, and now I’m accepting the fact that I may never encounter them (though I won’t complain if I happen to). I tried my luck with intrauterine insemination, more than I could afford thanks to the generosity of relatives, and let me just say, female hormones do not agree with me. It was a hectic time, but I wanted to give it all a try before starting T and, though it may seem like a waste of time and money to some, I’m now going into my transition with a clean conscience and a sense of finality that I otherwise would have lacked. I still have my ups and downs, but on the whole I’m doing amazing.

I’m on medication for my depression and anxiety, as well as my chronic illness. I’m working on living more independently. I’m writing more and more (and now I’m involved with Vocal, which has seen my writing productivity increase dramatically, due to motivation!), I’m illustrating again, and I’m still playing video games. It’s mostly Cozy Grove, Minion Masters, and Fortnite these days. I’m always listening to music, and am vaguely convinced Hozier is both a Forest Cryptid and a fallen angel, and Tumblr needs to learn that these two things are not mutually exclusive.

I’m making attempts at increasing diversity and inclusivity in my writing, as well as behaving more mindfully in my daily life. You wouldn’t believe how unintentionally cruel and ignorant I was, in my youth, when it came to such topics. I’ve made a great deal of progress now, and although I make mistakes, I’m doing my best to keep from causing undue pain or discomfort to others. I’m better at understanding just how essential it is to see oneself represented in media; transmasculine folx are massively underrepresented, and it makes me melancholic. Autistic folx are generally presented via functioning labels and savant stereotypes, which make the rest of us feel pretty awful and underachieving, honestly. And for the record, functioning labels are lose-lose: you’re either represented as too “low-functioning” to speak for yourself, or too “high-functioning” to speak for others. Instead, it’s easier to refer to our abilities and actual functioning, e.g. (I’m ASD level 2) I am able to speak without AAC, but I’m not able to live fully independently or without help from my family. I still can’t drive, cook more than a cup of ramen, or participate in overmuch self care. I like routine, I stim for comfort and because it makes me happy, the same four songs live rent-free in my brain, and my activities vary little from day to day. But let’s be honest: when people think about functioning levels, they’re really only thinking about a few, fairly personal things; can you talk, can you use the bathroom independently, do you have meltdowns, do you stim. Depending on the day, these things can change, all in one individual!

If you can tell, I’m passionate about the topics of disability, sexuality, gender identity, and domestic violence/abuse, as I have a personal history with them and know the pain of having my rights violated or infringed upon. That’s a big part of why writing inclusively is so very, very important to me. We need Auties, transgender folx, queer folx, and disabled people to be shown in media, not only as superheroes, tragedies, motivations for the betterment of cishet abled-bodied folx, or inspiration, but just as ordinary people living ordinary lives, with ordinary difficulties that are resolved through ordinary triumphs, just like mine were. For how else can we conceive of breaking free of our negative cycles and painful experiences, if we don’t see that it can be done by people like us? From a young age, most white cishet abled-bodied people see precisely that. But for the marginalized, the oppressed, the abused, the victimized— it’s so much rarer. We’re more likely to see our identities being played for political gain or out of genuine naivety than we are to see ourselves represented in any positive light. And that has to change! For all the kids out there that desperately need to see hope, we can still give it to them. That is in our power— that future is in our hands. And I have no intention of squandering it.

Oh, and I may be transmasc, but that doesn’t stop me from loving to play (or hearing my best friend play) otoge games. Keep ‘em coming, my friends! Maybe someday I’ll join you: I was a game design major before my ex spent all my foolishly withdrawn (and shared) external loans and I had to quit school!

Psst, I’m in love with Saeki from Collar x Malice, and Lupin from Code: Realize, and I haven’t even played these games. Yup!