As much as I’d like to write about the amazing landscapes I’ve seen or the warmth of the people I’ve met, sometimes it rains and sometimes when it rains it really pours. I haven’t seen the sun in almost a week, and it takes a toll. So I’ve decided to write about the storms inside and how to survive the inner deluge.
“We all have rainy days and Mondays sometimes.”
We all have rainy days and Mondays sometimes. They might even last for whole weeks. Or months. If I were to believe my late mother, they could even last a lifetime. When it rains inside, everything you see is tainted, imperfect, cold, and wet. Those inner storms blind us to beauty and to the good things others may do to help us. We dismiss kind words and hugs like broken umbrellas, tossing them aside. How could we be comforted when the world looks so bleak? Why would anyone want to cheer us up when all we want is to curl up and be miserable? In its own twisted way, misery looks more comfortable than facing the winds and showers, than letting the drops soak our skin. Well, it’s not.
I’ve seen the souls of many trans people -including mine- drowned in the downpour of their anguish. Muttering their wish to wither and die when the floods become too overwhelming. Refusing to acknowledge that every squall has an end, and it’s often a rainbow. Their reasons to hurt are valid and unique, but they are never ever worth giving up.
“I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be abused, to be betrayed, and unloved.”
I don’t mean to preach. I know suffering. I was the only child of a broken woman who lived in constant pain -also causing constant pain to anyone who came close, and I was always the closest- and decided to end it under the wheels of a train. I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be abused, to be betrayed, and unloved. I know that sometimes the razor blades feel so inviting, so pure when compared to all the dirt in the world. I know it fucking hurts, and you want it to stop. Suffering is not exclusive of trans people of course. My suicide blonde of a mother was not trans and neither are the myriads of souls that swallow antidepressants as if they were candy or dream about ending it all with a single bullet to the brain or a fall from the highest building. However, most of us are quite acquainted to it. The misgendering, the fear of transitioning, the lack of understanding or visibility, the discrimination, the violence, society seeing us as a joke, the rejections, they fuel the pain and make it (almost) unbearable. But, we can be stronger than we believe. We can -we must- survive and become phoenixes in our own legends.
We are not alone in our struggles. It is okay to cry for help. Hell, it is okay to shout and howl. There will be hands stretching out for us if we allow them to reach us. We have the strength to get through the storm and emerge on the other side of the rainbow. Where there might not be a pot of gold waiting, but a golden sun. And maybe some pot if that’s your medicine of choice. Or a kiss from a friend or lover, or a good book, or a walk in the woods, a song with a good beat, a playful puppy or any of the things that make life worthwhile. So next time it pours, dance in the rain. You won’t melt. You will see that magical time when the rain stops, and everything looks furiously alive. You, especially.