pain – GenderTerror

Going Home

Alexander heard one word inside himself over all the pain and guilt and uncertainty. One simple word, a name he’d since forgotten. Joshua.

There was nothing left aside from the void of absolute nothingness. It had all faded away to black. The rust, the blood, tears and muck, had all slid away like sewage down a storm drain. It was all gone save for Alexander, left alone on the frigid floor to question and cry foul for the rest of what may as well become eternity. What happened to it all? To the quiet evil and lumbering oppressive heat all around him, the murky blackness taken tangible form. What brought him to this moment of utter and definitive nothingness?

Nowhere as a concept always comes across in an abstract or even in most cases strictly metaphorical way, and yet that’s where he was. The physical space no better described than the simple noun of ”Nowhere.” Darkness stretches out in every visible direction with no foreseeable end to its emptiness, not that Alexander was going anywhere. His body felt heavy, weighed down by the hopelessness of sitting in the middle of expansive nothingness. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been sitting there in the dark, if there even was a before making this supposed afterward. The only thing remaining inside him beyond the hopelessness was a virulent feeling of guilt, the knowledge of doing wrong without recalling what it was. It was at constant odds with the hopelessness within, trying to push him out of utter apathy and into self loathing bitterness. His mind felt split in two pulling itself perpetually back and forth.

Then the light came. The nothingness was purged by its introduction, swiftly whisked away in an unbridled fury. Alexander thought he felt the weight lifting off of his being, but it was still there burrowing deeper inside as he was carried up by the light into its brilliance. There was no safety nor security in this brilliance, just uncertainty. It became it’s own brand of nothingness stretching upward instead of outward, pulling him into the light. He wondered if this was his absolution at last, a merciful hand outstretched freeing him from the pain of uncertain guilt and hopeless apathy. He was wrong.

The light disappeared as swiftly as it came, taking Alexander’s newfound hope with it. He laid outstretched on a cold surface akin to the one he sat on before, his appendages bound and secured by an unseen force beyond his recognition or understanding. He had found yet another nothingness filling him with the toxic uncertainty, only left to obsess over his equally uncertain guilt. Alexander feared this new nothingness, but this fear was short-lived and replaced with pain. The pain began and never ceased. Every nerve ending of every corner of every section of every part of his body screamed, never in unison but at countless unpredictable intervals. There was no more apathy nor uncertainty, only the pain. The pain and the guilt buried within, clawing at his insides as furiously as the pain did his outsides. At what seemed like the peak of it all, the culmination of physical and metaphorical pains twisting his body and mind beyond their respective limits, he had an epiphany. Alexander heard one word inside himself over all the pain and guilt and uncertainty. One simple word, a name he’d since forgotten. Joshua.

And with that remembrance came his true absolution, Alexander’s liberation from this hellish nothingness of pain. Fury, his only weapon and only option. Pulling himself free from his invisible restraints, Alexander makes out blurred grey figures swarming around him. The figures shout and converse in a seemingly unintelligible way, as if they all spoke a language he did not. Instead he heard the name chanting in his head, Joshua, Joshua, Joshua, Joshua. He raised his fist to the air as his true weapon manifested. His guilt and pain processed into physical form, an unyielding slab born of his hopelessness. Alexander swung the slab without effort, cleaving through the small varied figures, their chattering replaced with sounds of terror. More and more figures came and more and more were cut down by Alexander’s newfound fury. Still he heard the name in his head, louder and louder the more it repeated.

Then the light returned, pushing and pulling against him. He struggled to maintain his footing as he slashed and swung wildly all around him, figures now scattering in attempts at escape. Within the light around him came a hole, a hole to something else. Something that felt strangely familiar. Before long he felt himself being pulled towards the hole with incredible force, his footing swept out from beneath him. He resigned himself to this force, no longer holding onto the fear of hopeless uncertainty, barreling toward whatever laid beyond. A manic smile spread across his face.

The hole passed and Alexander continued forward, a burning sensation building all over his body. The flames felt like pin pricks compared to the pain of the table, only spurring him forward towards familiarity. As the flames grew his remaining uncertain worry waned, releasing him from all that held him back. The pulling force turned to plummeting as Alexander realized what this familiarity was. He wasn’t just being drawn back through the hole, he was falling back to the depths he once sat in. The frozen floor replaced with scalding steel surface, the blackness given way to the oppressive heat once again. He collided with the surface leaving a scar in the space of his re-entry. The blood and rust had returned filling Alexander with the heat of his newfound purpose. He screamed toward whence he came the name he had so fervently chanted inside his mind.

Alexander pulled himself up within the smoking crater, emerging from the scar reborn. Steam hissed and gears groaned as he marched forward, dragging the ferocious slab behind him as he went. To most it would sound as tho nails were scraping against steel but to him it was clarity given audibility. With this and the myriad of other sounds following and guiding him as he marched he felt more and more sure of his newfound purpose. No longer shackled metaphorically nor physically, Alexander found joy in it, this purpose.

The way he saw it, They did this to them. It was They who cast them aside as if they were trash. It was They who tried to erase him, to purge him and those who mattered. It was only right They suffer as well, and who better to deliver said suffering other than he?

So onward he marched, jubilant and focused. Ready to inflict on Them every monstrous act he had endured. He had found bliss in this state, this twisted notion of right born from unparalleled abuse at the hands of the monstrous.

Alexander was home.

***

Blaine is a 25 y.o. Non-Binary/Trans Gender-Fluid writer who loves all kinds of media, especially video games and cartoons.

Support Blaine and other GenderTerror creators by becoming a part of our Patreon! Every dollar counts.

Dysphoric Reality

TW: Suicide (potentially), dysphoria

People talk about dysphoria as if its a monster. This looming beast who lurches over us, slowly pressing its weight into our bodies. This creature that lurks around every corner, in every shadow. This Blood Mary who waits in our mirrors to strike if we dare to catch a glimpse. Dysphoria is described as dark and monstrous, something ready to rip out hearts and minds out the moment we dare to acknowledge it, feeding on the small triumphs to bring us back down. Those watchful eyes that never leave, that phantom breath down our necks.

What if I were to tell you that for some, dysphoria really is a monster. It really is a creature lurking in the shadows, sucking on happiness and leaving a hollow shell. What if I were to tell you that it may kill me soon and is just waiting for the right moment to strike with blade sharp fangs and claws? If the hushed ways we speak of these feelings manifests. It twists. It warps. It becomes real. Welcome to my world. I do not only have to deal with dysphoria, I have to live with it.

Continue reading “Dysphoric Reality”

Dysphoria Not Required

There is this running idea that what ties trans people together is their dysphoria, their mutual disdain for certain parts of their bodies (which is usually assumed to be genitals). Yet, there are trans people who exist without any pain caused by their bodies. They love their bodies. They embrace them. Are they trans then? Of course they are. Trans is not about dysphoria. This is a common misconception, even in the trans community. Trans is about identifying as something other than what was assumed at your birth.

The origins of this idea, date back to when being trans was first medicalized. They needed a set of definitions in order to treat trans people. Among the need for dysphoria, was also the need for trans women to be feminine and heterosexual. Trans men were to be masculine as well as heterosexual. If a trans person was not straight, their identities were considered to be fetish (for trans women), or just confused straight women with penis envy (for trans men). Non-binary people did not exist, nor did queer binary people, according to the old standards. Definitions and standards created by cis people.

Continue reading “Dysphoria Not Required”

The Families We Create

Blood is thicker than water is something we are taught from birth. We are taught that our families are made of blood as opposed to the relationships that we form with those closest to us. For many queer people, we know the reality of this statement. Blood is just as thin as water, if not thinner. Families may cut ties at the drop of a hat due to a child or relative coming out. If they do not immediately cut the relative out, they may harass, assault, abuse, the person mentally, physically, and even sexually in an attempt to change them or chase them from the family.

Often our families are those who support and love us for who we are. If there is one thing queer people know about, its how to make families from scratch. We create our families from the friends who accept up after we have seemingly lost everything for simply existing. We make patchwork families, held together by legitimate love, something that may be lacking from our family of origin, whether they are truly related by blood, legal documents, or formalities. Among these families we create, we create safety and comfort.

Continue reading “The Families We Create”

Fire Fighting Fire

Fire is destructive. Fire is consuming. Fire is all encompassing. Fire utterly destroys and devastates. When you complain about people fighting fire with fire, you are complaining that people are fighting destructive forces. It implies that, like the fire we are fighting, it consumes and destroys. It implies that the fire we are using has the power to utterly destroy at a massive scale. It doesn’t. At most, you get a burnt fingertip, like when you snub out a candle with your fingers, or you touch a too hot tea cup. We are not fighting fire with fire, we are fighting a blazing inferno named society with lawn sprinklers, the kind kids play in.

We are using these sprinklers to clear out whatever small semblance of safety we can claw together for a brief time, because as fire does, it intrudes and forces its way back in, only to engulf that space once more. We are clawing through the ash in an attempt to make a small comfortable bed among the rubble. It’s us trying to make this burning building somewhat comfortable for a mere second. Even if we all grabbed buckets and pails, fighting this fire together, our numbers would not be enough. Our efforts are but small and useless in comparison to the raging inferno we are facing. You don’t try to put out high rise with buckets and pails. You need more force, you need more power.

Continue reading “Fire Fighting Fire”

Misgendering is Violence

Violence. The act of intentionally causing harm to someone. Violence exists in all kinds of forms, not just physical violence. Violence can be enacted against a person with words. It can be enacted against the very psyche and being of someone without ever laying a hand on them. This is the type of violence that happens when someone intentionally misgenders a trans* person. The act of intentionally misgendering a trans* person is enacting violence upon them. Misgendering is an act of malice when done intentionally. It is meant to attack the very being of a person, their very identity and soul.

What is the first thing someone does when they intend to harm a trans* person? They usually do not quietly pick up arms and physically attack. No, they first deconstruct the very person they are attacking. They misgender, ungender, and dehumanize the victim. They use slurs. What happens when people cannot physically assault a person? They yell slurs and misgender/ungender. When people wish to attack trans* people, even on the most basic level, the first thing these people resort to is intentional misgendering. This is violence. This is an attack onto a person because this is one of the worst things they can do, deconstruct and erase their identity. Even the media jumps on this bandwagon of violence. Since they cannot get to us, they attack us with words.

Continue reading “Misgendering is Violence”