Memories of the Journey

Pulling together thoughts for my story in the Transgender Monologues next week.
I sit and reread the poems I’ve written over the last five years.

Dozens and dozens of poems, thousands and thousands of words scratched on paper in the moment, all to mark the joy and heartache of this journey.

The purpose of this event is to share the stories of trans people to help make us into real people; they say you might be less likely to want to murder us if you think we’re human.

So I sit and write an outline of what I wish to say.

I know my story, I’ve recounted a practiced narrative many times, but these words are different, they carry the blood and tears of that moment. They contain the churning stomach, the shaking hands the nervous laughter. They recall the days I couldn’t imagine being happier and those that I barely lived through.

They summon the dreams I’ve dreamed, now dimmer after five years of simply living. They have also released the emotions I have kept under wraps and have turned this simple writing exercise into a seriously ugly cry.

That simple lines on a page can transport me almost physically to the moment of their creation is beyond understanding. It is as if all those places, all those moments still exist on some other plane, just waiting for me to visit.

I’m astounded by the ability of my simple words to add so much color, so much spice to memories that have obviously become shadows of their former selves.

That’s enough for one evening, although I wonder what awaits when I close my eyes tonight, but I will make it a point to visit this repository more often, it does contain after all the myriad bits of who I’ve become.

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