I am one with my queerness and my queerness is with me

a photo of many lit candles in the dark

cw: violence against queer bodies, especially trans bodies


NOTE: if the title of this post is confusing, you may not have watched Rogue One and that’s okay, just know that the quote I’m ruining is “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.


It’s Pride month in 2023 and I must confess that I am wary and, at times, terrified. My siblings are facing erasure and genocide across this country and in parts of the world, and while it has never been completely safe to be queer — I don’t think, I could be wrong — it feels especially and ominously bad this year.

So I don’t know what to say. What do I say? Take a brick with you to any Pride march you attend? No cops at Pride? Be prepared for violence against yourself and everyone you love? I don’t want to have to say any of those things. None of those things should have to be said.

Maybe I’ll have some shining thought that needs to be written down, later this month. But in lieu of that, the following is a selection of links to the writing on Queerness that I am most proud of, from oldest to newest. These are meant to be link embeds, but if they don’t show up for you, the links themselves should be there. You know, hopefully.


queer people deserve deathcare

I want to love Pride month

TDOR: our safe spaces become violent

I dream of disappointing my mother

fight like hell for the living

In our darkest hour, the faintest light shines brightly.

In our deepest despair, one hand to hold can be enough.

By our deaths, we add fuel to the fire of justice.

By our living, we exist as a beautiful reminder that not all hope is lost.

I love you, my siblings. My family. My dearest friends.

Nix

featured image is a photo by Mike Labrum on Unsplash

fragments of self

a three dimensional web of green rope against a clay colored background

cw: existential meandering including dread, brief implication of suicidal ideation


A while ago when the social media internet was young, a lot of us tried to find ways to cross-post something from one service to other services; we wanted to either automatically share or easily manually share a post in one place at another place. Like putting your Flickr photo update in your Facebook feed, or sharing your Instagram image post to Twitter. It was ridiculously difficult because none of the services talked to each other, and most of them were — at least at that time — not just a walled garden for users, but walled off from one another as well.

Now, Meta owns both Instagram and Facebook, so it’s not so difficult to share one thing in two places. Some services are adding a simple ability to share content across to a Mastodon account as well, since Mastodon is currently the most talked-about ‘new’ social media, even though it’s one of many ways to access and create content in the Fediverse. (Not to confuse the hell out of you but I migrated my account to a Calckey instance, but it’s almost like using a Proton email account instead of a Gmail account, but there’s no interruption in service because everything forwards to the new account)

The thing that happens after things become temporarily easier because of corporations merging, is that cross-platform censorship eventually results. People do have the capacity to suck in all kinds of ways and in all sorts of places, including ruining nice things for everyone else. For example: today I wanted to post a song from Spotify to an Instagram story — a fairly routine thing that’s easy to do between both services — but found out that I wasn’t allowed to post or interact with anyone else’s content unless I removed the link in my bio. The link in question is a cute little links page that I built on glitch.me, but for whatever reason, whether spammers ruined it, or heavier state censorship ruined it, it’s no longer an approved link and so I had to take it out of my Instagram bio.

y’all, I hate this.

We left Twitter (well, almost everyone that could, did) and chose different types of new social media to try out and decided what to keep. I started on Mastodon and after I got used to how the Fediverse is meant to work, I felt comfortable branching out and trying new services. And I discovered something that made me incredibly happy — all the services that are using the ActivityPub protocol, i.e. the thing that most of the Fediverse uses, are able to interface seamlessly with one another. So I have an account at a Bookwyrm instance that I’m updating instead of my old Goodreads profile, and since I’ve followed my Bookwyrm account, I can see my book updates and share them to my main account. I have an account at a Pixelfed instance that I’m using to post photos and images, and since I’ve followed that account as well, I can see my photo updates and share them to my main account.

I didn’t want the social media structures we all built together to be ruined, but that’s what is happening to them; or at least, that’s what is happening for me. I’m unhappy that Instagram (Meta, really) made me take out a link, an innocuous enough thing that most people have in their bio. I’m unhappy that I’ve been putting my finite effort into building relationships and community across social media outposts that are no longer usable for me. I’m unhappy that there isn’t an easy way to share the song I’m listening to with the people who might see it on Instagram. I’m unhappy that I had to make a personal ethical choice about using Substack and can’t take advantage of a service that was set up in a way that made it easier to do some of the tricky bits of publishing one’s writing. I’m unhappy that it’s been a while since I stopped using Facebook but so many of my people are still there and I can’t connect with them the way I used to.

to put it bluntly, the self that exists in meatspace and on the internet has become fragmented in a way that deeply upsets me.

I’m not just a queer person, I’m a queer trans person. I’m in danger in most places. There are states in this country that I can absolutely never go back to until history rolls back toward justice, and the timing of that keeps getting pushed further and further out because it’s getting worse and worse here.

I’m also a chronically ill person with a compromised immune system. To manage some of my chronic sicknesses, I had to take a medication that is a chemotherapy drug, so it completely changed what my body was doing. I made fewer white blood cells, and my doctor and I ran right up to the line with that med and then I had to stop taking it because it was making me differently sick. And now my immune system is going to be effectively ineffective for the next three to five years.

The fact that there is a common virus now that is so easy to catch that many people catch it multiple times, and it results in a whole set of chronic life-long conditions, makes it even less likely that I can safely go anywhere for just about any reason.

Building and existing in community matters a great deal to me, but I have to take so many safety measures for myself that I am often alone. During the summer, the complex conditions that include pollen, air quality, UV index, heat, and humidity, mean that I can rarely go outside and when I do go outside, I need to wear a mask. I was wearing a mask before it was cool (ha ha ha cryface dot gif). I don’t attend any of the conventions that I used to be involved in. I don’t go see live music any more. I don’t eat at restaurants. I don’t go for strolls through downtown areas. I don’t drive during the daytime.

So I do my best to look for and nurture community in the places I can still go; with my chosen family here in my house, and with people that interact with me on ye olde internet. Even in my house, I have to stay in my room a lot of the time, with the door shut so my air purifier can do its job, because I’m exposed to simple things like pollen since it sticks to everything and everyone if they go outside at all — which they should all be able to do without worrying about me. Even having a window open is asking for several sick days, which often means I have a sick tummy and can’t eat, my joints subluxate, and I feel like I have a cold with a sore throat and headache and fatigue. It has gotten stupidly, ridiculously complicated for me to exist, and a lot of people in my position would question whether it’s worth it at all.

With the degradation and outright censorship of all the places I used to hang out online, I’ve lost touch with so many people I care about. It’s not as difficult for me to adopt a new service or way of interfacing with the internet and other people, which means I’m often in a new place with none of my old friends, so I need to make new friends. I don’t know if it’s obvious, but I’m fucking neurodivergent, and I don’t know HOW to make friends.

The more I try to show up, the more I have to abandon the spaces I used to be found in. It used to be relatively easy to find me if you wanted to talk to me; I imagine that it’s probably overly complicated to do that now, at least for most people who don’t have the same hyperfixation that I do about learning how to use new software.

to change, things must first break down.

I know this. I know that change means upheaval, on a spectrum from uncomfortable to goddamn difficult. I know that we will all respond differently to change, that we’ll be making choices according to what we think is best for us, and that this means we won’t all end up in the same place as everyone else.

But I miss what we used to have and I’m sitting in my room wishing it was different.

But also? Seize the means of production, my friends. Giant corporations don’t give a fuck about us and will grind us to dust. Know that I’m cheering you on even if you can’t hear me.

Nix

featured image is a photo by Clint Adair on Unsplash

great, this again.

a POV looking downward at two feet on a sidewalk. the pavement is painted on the right with yellow arrows pointing downward, and scratched into the pavement above the feet is the phrase 'i tried'

cw: mental health

I had absolutely one of the most uncomfortable epiphanies yesterday while I was journaling to get my feelings out.

As a family, we are working on a fairly big project this year and we each have the thing or things we’re doing to help this project stay in motion. One of my jobs is to do some specific stuff, and one of my equally important jobs is to NOT do stuff. You know, hands off the wheel when you’re not the one driving. Let the process process without getting in its way. But as it turns out, not-doing-stuff is upsetting me on a bone-aching level, and thinking about it a lot (a lot) led me to this very rude epiphany:

I have a bedrock-deep belief that I, my self at rest, the natural resting state of the being that is Me, am not capable of doing things that matter. Phrased differently: I fail at doing the thing that would keep me & mine safe and okay. Or: I am incapable of follow-through. Or how about: I don’t deserve to feel what success and ease feel like because I don’t deserve them because I can’t actually accomplish anything that leads to success or ease.

My deepest fear is failing. And what, it turns out, I believe to be so true about myself that I don’t even need sources to believe it, is that failure is inevitable. It will get me eventually and I won’t be able to stop it.

Well fucking ouch, Me. That hurts.

Obviously, it hurts because it feels true. It feels like it is such a deep part of myself that it isn’t something that I could work my way through in six months or a year of regular therapy (context: I’ve been in regular therapy for several years). It’s the foundation underpinning so many other assumptions I make about myself and what I can or cannot do.

So, if half of my job during this period of time is to not-do-stuff, what I’m doing in that time is FEELING TERRIBLE, and feeling upset both that I feel terrible AND that I forgot that feeling terrible is my resting state. That I can’t escape it. That I will take it with me everywhere.

Okay, hear me out. This is what I am wrestling with, mainly in my own mind, although now I’ve written it down and hopefully that doesn’t make it worse.

I promise these things make sense to me so hopefully I can describe them well enough that you can at least follow my logic:

  1. If, as my elder has taught me, a ritual begins as soon as you start thinking about it
  2. and a big project is pretty similar to a ritual because of things I’m probably not qualified to explain
  3. and if part of my job in this project-slash-ritual is to be hands-off
  4. which means, for me in this context, trusting that our gods and ancestors have our backs
  5. and are doing their own work in order to help us do this thing we are doing
  6. but I’m getting distracted by feeling so utterly awful because I’ve discovered I don’t believe that I can do any of the things I’m working on
  7. then how long until I fuck it all up?!

I’m getting so in my head about this that I am pretty sure it’s time to tell my elder I’m feeling like this (which is probably something he already knows because I know he reads the stuff I write).

But the thing I’m afraid of the most is that my resting state really is one of unfixable brokenness. I’ve raised several kids up to adulthood now, and I’ve been working hard on deconstructing the evangelical life I was raised in, and I’ve also gone into ‘oh my god I’m queer’ and then ‘oh my god I’m trans’ — which is its own set of realizations and griefs and epiphanies — and it’s not that I think I can’t change, it’s more that I think I can change how I choose to respond to what happens around me but the core truth of me is that I am a failure and have been at the same time absolutely fooling everyone about it.

I know that doesn’t make sense. I know. But do you ever believe something about yourself so hard that even proof doesn’t change your mind? Why are we so shitty to ourselves?

I must have learned this as a child, which makes sense, I guess, but also: can I be DONE, I mean EVER, unpicking all the trauma and untruth from my childhood? I can’t even remember all of it. The proof I have that bad things happened to me is that I believe awful things about myself. Working on my shit is forever going back to the same tangled-up mess of delicate necklaces that I can’t quite detangle, no matter how good at detangling I happen to be. It always wins and I always need to go back to it because I’m never done.

I don’t want to leave you all depressed and/or feeling sorry for me, so please understand that I am really good at digging into my own mental health as well as finding things to distract me from it until I really do actually need to talk to someone else about it, and then I’ll do that. I can believe I’m unable to do anything right and also tell someone who loves me that I don’t believe I can do anything right. And I’ll do that.

But first I’ll publish this because I’m not perfect and my mental health is ragingly bad right now and maybe this will be a little bit of text a search engine finds that helps someone, somewhere, somewhen.

Nix

featured image is a photo by Umit Y Buz on Unsplash