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…



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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Rainfall 4th of July Extra: Trans

Happy 4th, those of you that celebrate it!

I figured this would be as good a time as any to unveil a story that just kind of came out of the ether.  As with most of the tales I envision, this one popped up when I was doing something completely unrelated.  I whipped out a post it, jotted it down, and continued about my business.  It was clearly a Rainfall kind of story, but it doesn’t really have a numerical place in the progression of things.

The Feel

I’m not quite sure I’ve nailed the feel I was going for in this one, but rather than front load your experience with all that I believe I have gotten wrong, I’d rather explain where I was coming from with this.  This is not a generalized story.  What I mean is: I, in no way, think that this is how a conversation of this sort goes every time the topic comes up.  Frankly, I never think that about anything I write.  I write the experiences of the characters that I envision.  I see how they feel, think, and act.  The only true story this is based upon, is the one playing out in my head.  So please don’t come at me because you see this as some rash generalization.  Again, in this fictional world, with these fictional people, this is how it went.

The Concept

I guess, at some point, I started to grow curious about whether a relationship could survive such a truth being shared.  I began wondering about the true dynamics of a relationship, and the dynamics of attraction.  How much of your attraction to someone (your crush, your lover, your spouse) is based on their gender?  How much is it based on their mind?  Would it matter to you if their gender suddenly changed, in a supernatural sense?  They would still be them, but would you shun them regardless?  How much does it matter that- to follow through with being yourself as a trans human being- you do have to make the choice to push forward?  The choice to push through everything telling you no, while your entire being is saying yes!  Is it a betrayal of your partner to be yourself, if your true self is not exactly the same- physically- as the person they met and fell in love with?

All questions that are constantly on my mind.  Being the way that I am, I don’t really have the typical stance with regard to these issues.  Gender isn’t an issue to me when it comes to a potential partner, so all I can really do is wonder while using my particular viewpoint to explore these topics through my writing.

May I Present…

So, here is what I came up with: the tale of a lovers quarrel over something completely inconsequential as far as their relationship is concerned.  Or is it the most important issue their relationship has faced since its beginning?  Your guess is as good as mine.  People are people, and experience is subjective.  Enjoy.

Next: Fittest

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[anchorite]hope | | @tgki_hope | T.G.K.I on IRC

The Grounded Kite and The Evolution of Hope

Gazing on the Hope Well

a poem

I stand there staring vacantly,

wobbling, and savoring,

uncertainty is flavoring the precipice of hope;

 I see her staring back at me,

not judging, only questioning,

her face mirrors my longing to embrace my precious hope;

I stumble, disappointingly,

falling back and wondering,

how long must I be parted from my one and only hope?

And then I realized, sheepishly,

suddenly, stupendously,

she’s always been here with me, oh my shining ray of hope;

I wish to love her endlessly,

fully, unabashedly,

and rush to her resplendently- seek comfort in my hope;

I dive into her recklessly,

the vacancy envelopes me,

I fall alone through saccharine truth, embraced by bitter hope.

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[anchorite]hope | | @TGKI_Hope