"These videos [reek] of transphobia!"

This is a blog post I wrote on my Tumblr blog on March 7th, 2013:

This was a comment posted to the video about “What Lesbians Think About Penises” on facebook.

This comment illustrates my frustration with the LGBT community. Everything, and I mean everything, is hyper-scrutinized. If it is not inclusive of every single type of person, it is labeled as -phobic.

I understand that trans and intersex folk are the most marginalized people in the entire acronym of LGBTIQQA. I know that they are almost always left out of the rhetoric of civil rights, bullying or any other LGBT issue. While gays and lesbians are continuing to make huge strides in society, trans people are being left behind. I understand this. I agree that this is most definitely happening.

What I dont understand is, why would someone think a video featuring lesbians talking about penises transphobic?

I could see it maybe being slightly androphobic (fear of men). Even then, the few comments that were negative were only mildly so. 

The context of the video was a group of people discussing something that they hadn’t had a lot of experience with, for the purpose of humor. 

I think sometimes members (or allies) of the LGBT community are so on the defense, that they lose sight of what is actually harmful. We cannot scrutinize and attack everything we might perceive as homophobic, transphobic, or simply non-inclusive.

It hurts our cause. Plain and simple.

Too often we are quick to jump down someones throat in order to defend ourselves and our LGBT friends. That ultimately creates an extremely negative impression of our community.

Why not educate? Why not calmly explain why what someone said was offensive or demeaning to an already marginalized group of people?

Attacking back is such a natural reaction for people who have been under attack for so long. It is understandable for a someone who was subject to bullying and violence for being who they are, to then fight back with the same fervor. 

What I am asking is to take a step back.
Take a step back and consider what is happening in the bigger picture.

Maybe that person calling bisexuals promiscuous or just undecided has never met a person who is legitimately attracted to both genders. 

Maybe that person who just used the wrong pronoun for a trans person doesn’t realize how important that pronoun is. Or, maybe they dont know that the trans person in particular identifies as another gender.

Maybe a bunch of lesbians commenting on penises are only referring to the ones attached to a cis-male body, and the humor that was used was not meant to exclude or demean transgender people.

Look at situations from a different perspective.

Jumping to anger is by no means an efficient way to get a point across.

I know how difficult this can be. There are so many hateful motherf****rs out there that I know we’d all like to just sock in the face. This fact unfortunately primes us to react the same way to every ignorant statement. Lets not assume that every person is hateful, and assume that they are just simply ignorant. 

Ignorance can be cured.
That is not always the case for hate.

Take a deep breath.
Take a step back.

If we are understanding of others they will do the same for us.

We’re going in the right direction. Have faith in that.

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panic attack.

It begins with a thought.

Usually.

Sometimes there's just a feeling without palpable origin. However, I assume it emits from the depths of the iceberg that is my subconscious.

At this point, there's a 50/50 chance it'll bubble there for a bit and then dissolve. Not disappearing, but becoming more manageable bits of a whole.

For this next part, I want you to think of a clothes dryer. Like one of those fancy ones that is metallic red or blue, and plays a sweet little jingle when its done, but more importantly has a window. 

A t-shirt gets thrown in, and begins to tumble around. Around and around it goes... not very quickly, but its environment insists that it continue. 

Then, a few more t-shirts, some socks, a sweatshirt, etc.... It's beginning to get hot. But its not the dryer that produces the increasingly scorching temperature, no. It's the items tumbling around... faster and faster. Rolling over of one another... again and again and again... As they bounce around intermittently, the combinations change... but the tumbling continues...

God, its getting so hot... another few shirts, shoes, shorts... Jesus, there was already enough rolling around.... faster... 

Capacity seemed to have been reached a few shirts ago, but the rolling and bouncing continues as the dryer itself begins to rumble uncontrollably....

There would be a scream if not for the vice around my lungs. The only pathetic breaths that can be released come in rapid uneven intervals. Pacing failed to deliver relief, so the knees are now hugged tightly to my chest. Rocking happens automatically, the body must now act on its own, for the mind is preoccupied with the demon dryer. 

Everything was getting blurry, but now theres a white hot light, piercing and blinding although the eyelids remain tightly shut. 

Dying.

The mind is not able to articulate much, but that is its one conclusion.

This body will cease to function soon, the mind is sure of it. The body cannot bear any more of this, it will have no choice, but to stop completely.

As this certainty reaches its peak, the vice loosens its grip, oxygen enters the lungs at a higher capacity, and the eyelids crack open...

My palms are chilled as sweat evaporates from them and blood slowly rushes back to them. Looking around, my eyes feel like they have a soft focus filter on them - like I'm living in an 80's soap opera. I gradually gain awareness of my limbs, allowing them to unclench muscle by muscle. I rub at my increasingly tear soaked eyes.

I survived. Again.

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Mountain Crest.

The following is typed out copy of a journal entry I wrote during my last night at Mountain Crest Behavioral Health Center. Unfortunately, it was my only entry during my four day stay, but I am grateful for the last minute burst of inspiration. I sat at my tiny nightstand and I wrote it out on a piece of blank printer paper like an itch I was finally able to scratch. I was able to absorb so much while I was there. Not only about myself, but about the other people sharing the experience with me. To express it, was a relief.

Note: This is a word for word copy of my journal entry as an effort to maintain its authenticity and a genuine nature. All edits made are simply for clarity's sake. Also, all names have been changed to protect their identities.


Monday, June 16th 2014   10:11pm

Last fucking night in this place. It was the best possible thing to happen to me, but I won't pretend it wasn't awful. I'll probably regret not journaling the entire experience, but for perspective, I wasn't exactly able or willing to do much.

"I'm officially crazy now." - I told Katie that today. She laughed. It is true though, isn't it? I was detained for three four days in a mental health facility. My god, how much more official do you get? (I'm sure it does, but I'm at least on that first level.)

Speaking of days, I honestly had no clue how long I had been here til I counted. All of the days blurred. Same thing, same routine, every day. Feels like weeks. I didn't go outside. Not once. I would sometimes sit by the window, just to feel the goddamn sun. 

I had a 59 year old bi-polar roommate who wigged the fuck out one night and suddenly stopped sleeping in here. (Although she doesn't mind coming in to swear at the shower at 5am.)

There's the religious vegan guy who has supposedly been here for a month. He barely speaks, moves, or does anything for that matter, with the exception of his constant eating the strangest combination of foods. (Like BBQ sauce on apples, for instance.)

The man with down syndrome whose favorite thing is singing heavy metal, has screaming meltdowns about every day.

Kevin is the brain damaged and heart broken aspiring tattoo artist, whose sad eyes make me forget how vulgar and crude he can be.

Finally, there's Malcolm - he explained within the first five minutes of meeting me, that he had decided to end his life based on the idea that there was no "empirical meaning to life. A man who is quite possibly on the autism spectrum (and on the homosexual one, but we won't go there), tries to understand life as objectively as he can. However, his innate capacity for compassion is always sabotaging him. 

He so desperately wishes for the world to be black and white. He wants emotions to be as relative as math - "2+2=4 for me as it does for you." His brilliant mind will be his greatest strength and his most horrible enemy. He once drew me a venn diagram for me to explain how humans are essentially "meat robots," with the only difference being organic matter. 

He denies feeling any kind of fear at all, but I am willing to guess that he is most definitely terrified. Afraid of a world he may never completely be able to quantify and qualify. He told me today that he is 70% sure he will not kill himself. I told him that was a good percentage. You see, saying things like "I'm happy for you" or "think about all the people who love you..." - that shit does not compute. Logic at my highest capacity is the only thing I can give him that he will value.

I hope I've had a positive influence on him since being here. "Your mind would be a terrible thing to waste," I tell him. I wonder what my last words will be to him tomorrow. Probably something sarcastic.

I'm getting out of here just in the nick of time. It just got on a whole different level of crazy in here. People left as quickly as they came in. And holy fuck. We had one group session with the new patients and I felt suicidal again (just kidding, just a mental patient joke.) It makes me realize how lucky I was with the group of people I was here with. I mean, jesus, if I was stuck with this new lot for three days, my mental state would not have gotten better. This place is already fucking shitty.

Lets go over it briefly, shall we?:

• no internet whatsoever
• no going outside
• the gym consisted of one basketball hoop on a pathetic carpeted court
• no privacy - there were even cameras in the bedrooms
• the shower functions based on a sensor and would turn off when ever it liked
• add in the crazies....

Malcolm and Kevin are the only two left from the original group I came in with. The end of my night was spent chatting with them at the puzzle table in the middle of the "dayroom." The conversation consisted of shaving animals, dead babies, suicide, the concept of friends and lesbian porn. That's how it is here. We're all fucked up. Out of our goddamn minds. There's something exceptionally comforting about it, even serene.

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