The Burden of Proof in a Pile of Salt (or America: Land of the Free, if You Behave)

Howdy ya’ll.

I’ve been feeling the need to exorcise a lump of bitterness that has been steadily growing within me.  So prepare for some heaping helpings of salt…

In 3…

2…

1…


So, I post on here as anchoritehope, but my chosen name is Indira.  I am a, not-so-proud, transgender woman.  I started my transition back in December of last year.  My life before beginning said endeavor was fraught with severe depression, near suicide attempts, and over all bad times.  I made a habit of running from myself, however futile the endeavor.  My aimlessness eventually landed me where I am now, rural Pennsylvania.

I find it funny how I wound up in one of the worst possible places to be anything but a straight, cis-gender, white, male, not too long before realizing the full truth of my situation.  I lament, on occasion, just how different my life would have been if I had known what transgender was back when I was still a child, and just how much closer I would have been to my ideal me by now.  This isn’t about my regrets though.  At least, not overtly…

So, regardless of how I got here, here I sit, on my pile of salt.

I am also black (yes, I use black,) so even before my transition, things were not easy on me living in such a place.  I have never been the type to be offended by anything.  I’ve always simply allowed the looks, comments, and jokes slide right off of my back.  You have no idea how much easier going through life in this place has been thanks to that.  It seemed as if, as long as I ignored how inherently racist everyone was, I could always get on their good sides.  I tell you, there is nothing a racist person likes more than a black person they can tell racist jokes to (simple minds, simple pleasures 😉 .)

I had issues gaining employment, but once I was in, I was in.  My first long-term job in this area saw me as the single, solitary, ethnic employee.  I try not to think about it even now.  I never like to see the people I get along with in a negative light, and not-so-deep-down we are all racist, and not even a little bit.  We are all a lot racist.  It’s fine.  Everything went downhill once I stopped being the black guy though.


It’s funny just how many people feel the need to announce that they are on your side when you make any kind of major change in your life.  The thing about that is: you can never truly know.  I learned this working my second long-term job in the area, at a factory.  I had no shortage of people who called themselves my friends, and the number only increased when I began presenting as female full-time.  As you may well guess, most of these were not truly friends.

My friends grilled me on my sexual proclivities, anatomy, and practically my entire history on a regular basis (and being as agreeable as I am I would, and do, answer their questions whilst adding them to my mental shit-list.)  Since when has it been acceptable to call yourself a strangers friend so that you can ask them what is in their pants…?

And that’s not all, folks!

  • They referred to me as a man, with impunity and extreme prejudice
  • Ignored me when I needed help
  • Inquired about- and to see- certain parts of my body (Who does that?  Swine, that’s who)
  • They not only refrained from telling me about nasty rumors circulating about me, but went as far as to start new rumors themselves
  • I’ve had verbal exclamations of disapproval regarding my very existence

Even when presented with evidence to the contrary, I see people as better than they are because I expect more.  Probably because I expect more from myself.  Even now I feel as if I am in the wrong.  I feel that all of these things (and much more that have gone unlisted) are part of some fever dream, cooked up by a brain that has been overclocked for far too long.  I left my last job because it all became far too much for me to handle, and It wasn’t until my latest job that I was finally convinced that there wasn’t a place for me here.

(*Of course, not everyone to call themselves my friends were this way, but it was a bit soul shattering once I realized just how many were…)


What did brown do for me?

My latest endeavor was the first job I had ever gone out for as a trans woman.  Things seemed as if they were going great, and on the surface, everyone involved appeared very open-minded and courteous.  I was even hired!  Apparently, being hired is no guarantee of employment in the United States though…

I was hired as a seasonal driver helper, and I have yet to see a single day of work.  Soon after being hired, the route I was meant to assist with was given to someone hired after me.  This occurred after weeks of being strung along by the company, as if they were soon to have work for me.  I realize now that they were stalling, all the while keeping to themselves the fact that the driver, who I feel had no right to be forewarned about me as if I were some kind of threat, had refused to ride with me.

I am an agreeable person.  A majority of the people who meet me, end up liking me because I can’t help but be agreeable, even with the most repulsive of human beings.  Would they have forewarned this driver if I had simply been a black cis-male?  Maybe.  What if I was a white cis-woman?  Probably, to keep any male drivers from acting like pigs (because being a pig is very common around here as far as the men are concerned.)  How about if I were a white cis-male…?

I only ever feel cheated when I’m not even given a chance to fight for myself.  If I had been permitted to ride with the driver at least once, they would not have had a problem with me.  I present myself in the best way possible in order to move through life smoothly.  At least, I did.  I spent a majority of my life as a chameleon because I didn’t know how else to continue living with myself, and even after my transition began I held fast to these beliefs because it made life easier.

Here’s a question though: Just how much must I be forced to compromise in order to simply continue living in this god awful world?

Why do I have to pretend to be someone else in order to attain employment?  I know life isn’t fair, but why does it have to be so damned unfair that I have to go out of the house as token black guy to be able to work in this state?

The worst part is, there is no protection against this.  There is some, very minuscule, protection against employment discrimination with regards to non-white, disabled, veteran, female workers (and so on,) but nothing that truly protects trans workers.  I can’t pursue any grievances because there’s no way to prove that I have been discriminated against, and even if I could, I have no money to fight this fight.  Sure there are laws, and bills, and so on and so forth, but it’s near impossible for anyone in my position to actually take advantage of our so-called “civil rights” when the game is so-very-rigged against us.

I don’t want a hand out.  I just want to be able to live in peace whist also being able to make a living.  There are things that I need as a trans woman, and with every day those goals seem further and further away.  I have suffered severe depression since before I can remember, and while on my hormone replacement therapy, it was becoming manageable.  Unfortunately, nothing but desolation is free in this world, so not only has my depression come back full force, but now it is worse than it has ever been.

My prospects for the future are dwindling, and if their goal was to see me dead, then they may very well have done it.

Every day, all I can think about is how far I had come and just how little that matters now.  My hope for the future is shattered, and the woman I had set out to become is now forever beyond my reach.  At best, I’ll be dead within a few months, at worst, I’ll end up homeless and performing sex acts for meals, and only to be beaten to death shortly after, given this area.  Frankly, I don’t see a life for myself anymore.  I screwed it up.  I stupidly believed that I would be treated the same way I was before.  I thought the world was better than it actually is.  I though there was a place for me, and I was wrong.

I’m severely depressed.

I’m extremely introverted.

I suffer social anxiety to the point where stepping out the door seems impossible most days.

I have always had trouble seeing any value in my existence

I hate being alive, and feel as if I always have.

Oh right…  I also happen to be transgender.

So why is it that humans, even now, find a way to base their judgements of others solely on that which they can see?  We all deserve to be destroyed, and I sincerely wish that it would happen now so I don’t have to kill myself.

 

RANT OVER.  Please write down any comments or complaints and direct them to your nearest disposal unit.

 


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The Indomitable Spirit, and the Hard Reset


Hello again, and also for the first time.  I spend most, if not all, of my time thinking.  Throughout the course of this endeavor, I realized that anchorite hope literature needed to go.

Why?

For many reasons, not the least of which being that it had no focus.  No true purpose.  A.H. Literature turned out to be little more than a learning exercise.  Of course, there is nothing wrong with that (it helped me to discover a focus,) but that name/ image would not survive the torrential brainstorm which fueled this new endeavor.

The Grounded Kite Initiative

More than an endeavor, TGKI represents a new and better way of thinking.  Better for me, and better for my peace of mind.

Back in junior high, there was one class project which captured my heart and my imagination like no other: building a kite in shop class.  I was so excited.  More than anything, I simply wanted my kite to fly.  It didn’t have to be the best, or the prettiest, it just needed to fly.  Unfortunately, it was not meant to be.

After completing our kites, we were gifted multiple class periods to simply go outside and fly them.  That was the hardest part for me.  It didn’t fly that first day, and so I did what I could to correct my silly mistake so that it would fly the second day.  It did not fly the second day, or the third, or however many days we wound up spending in that field behind the school.  Even so, I never stopped trying to fix that kite, and I never stopped trying to get it aloft.

I call this the indomitable spirit, and it has made my life very difficult.  Frankly, it never occurs to me to give up on a project, no matter how miserable it makes me.  Even if I sink to the furthest depths, I never drown.  After a time, that demonic spirit of mine regenerates and I am ready to fail yet again.  I see myself as pathetic, worthless, talent-less, and even so I can’t seem to make myself stop- at least, not by any of the methods I have attempted thus far.  There’s always another idea with me, and there is always something to fix.

The Hard Reset

My inability to give in to reason has led to a few new things, and possibly a means by which to succor my aching heart:

  • A new image and new mantra for the site.  I have embraced my inability to create anything that is not inherently, and irredeemably, flawed.  This site is now nothing more than a home for all those grounded kites that I have made, and those I will construct well into the future.

 

  • A new mentality as it comes to the distribution and value of my works.  I have always seen my writing as having no value to anyone other than myself, and there are others that have told me I am incorrect in assuming this.  I have no idea which of us is right, and thus I have come up with a compromise.  Everything I write will be available for free from now on, but only through this site.  If I truly have any value as a writer, the site will get some traffic.  In the future, perhaps I will reboot the patreon page so that it is available for those who also feel my work has some value, but I won’t hold my breath.  I really just desire for someone other that myself to read that which I have written.  Though, sometimes, even a humble wish is one more than you are permitted.

 

  • I have deleted the @anchoritehope twitter, as well as the ahliterature facebook page, as well as the smashwords page all to tighten the focus of this new… thing.  It makes me very tired to pretend that I am an extrovert when I am- so clearly- something completely else.  It will be hard enough for me to keep this going, let alone build up some online persona more worthless than that which I was born with.

 

  • The site has been severely streamlined. In the interest of making the purpose of this place clear, everything nonessential has been done away with.  No more modus vivendi posts.  No more hope of growing it as a brand to aid other indies (can’t even help my damn self…)  The proofing idea had already been scrapped and it will not be returning.  No more art gallery- only that which you will see in posts.  The twitch streaming idea is sidelined until it stops being a stupid idea.  The only pages, aside from the main page, will be the library, and the works in progress page.  The latter of which will remain locked until such a time as the patreon idea ceases to be stupid.

 

  • Content-wise, there will be no more reviews of any kind.  I would much rather enjoy my entertainment media quietly than attempt to indoctrinate others.  I may mention the things I am currently enjoying in passing, but there will never be another post on this site dedicated to some other creators work.  Updates regarding the progress of my own work will be present in Grounded Kite Initiative posts.  The Indomitable Spirit will continue on as a place for random poetry drops, and sharing my latest misadventures as a freak that can’t seem to give up.  The first real TIS post will probably be about the time I almost drowned, and how I was totally okay with it.

 

I think that’s all I’ve got for now.  If you’ve read this far, I thank you for taking the time.  It really did give me a boost every time I saw that someone even glanced at a post I made on this site, and every comment- I don’t even know.  I don’t expect that anyone will ever read this.  I really don’t expect anyone to care, but that is what The Grounded Kite Initiative is about.  It’s about wanting to be loved even if you don’t deserve it.  It’s about wanted to be recognized even if you’re worthless.

 

It’s about pushing on, though you’re inherently flawed and leaving a trail of broken pieces in your wake.

 

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