Wednesday, October 16, 2019

Memory Quest—Episode 4

At this point if I skip a night I'll be able to say I lost my writing streak. 

This day. So long, too long. My afterlife was hijacked before I took my first breath. Indoctrination is a curiously powerful practice. 

I'm queer. I had a difficult time trying to keep it all hidden before I WD-40ed the closet door. So there's no backtracking now. 

My culture's god would break me to the point of self-destruction, would rob me of my firstborn trans son, would devour the trans woman who has and does create space for me where I can heal. There is no space for me in my culture's hereafter. 

I choose to keep and show my love. I choose to stand by my queer children just as I sacrifice for the two that are straight. I am tired of being judged. I know my faults, where my guilt is still thick black pitch. I've got things to fix. 

My moral dilemma is this: Do I resign, finally, if only to be free of the connection? Or do I stay covert, a nonparticipant, who benefits from all sorts of genealogical resources and freebies by keeping my name on the records? Those are factors weighing on me. 

I've said for the longest time that if they wanted me out they'd have to find me and excommunicate my unbreakable ass, but maybe once was enough. My partner says stay for the sake of using the system. She thinks I'd make a great mole.

I cried to my therapist for half my session. You don't know how much a piece of your identity means to you until you're being told that your culture's God is more concerned that it be rooted out than, say, doing something meaningful in the realms of eliminating poverty, hunger, and homelessness.

I glory in my Jesus, and I'm hard pressed to find him these days in "The Church of."

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