Sep. 26th, 2011 12:54 am
Army of me
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
textualdevianceSometimes I wonder why, if so many things I want in my life are in place, or at least close to it, I'm still so unhappy much of the time.
Then I remember: There are still millions of people out there who would love to see me dead (or at least wouldn't care if I was) because I'm not the right kind of person, according to them. I still, pretty much every day, encounter at least one person who considers me less than human. Less deserving of basic respect. Less deserving of support, of success, of even breathing.
And what's awful is that there's no guarantee that even folks who'd support me on one aspect would support me on the others. I can't guarantee that fellow queer folk aren't fatphobic, for instance. Or that fellow fat folk wouldn't have a problem with me being atheist. Which means that I don't easily have a refuge--a safe haven--I can run to when I'm under attack. The person I trust to save my ass from $hater1 may actually be $hater2 when a different aspect shows up.
This is part of why I'm so obnoxiously out about my various oddities. I don't want to be closeted about any of them so I can more easily filter for the folks who'd be horrid about one bit of it or another. I don't trumpet these things because I think being an oddball makes me special and interesting or edgy or whatever. I do so because it's critically necessary asshole repellent. It's how I stay safe, and keep from getting close to people who might be inclined to hurt me.
Of course, everyone's hated by someone. There's always some crank out there who thinks you should die because you have attached earlobes or a three-syllable last name. But most people can disregard all that because they know that plenty of other people have their back. No need to be scared of one nitwit with a cap gun when you have a thousand-strong army behind you.
If I knew that--if I knew for sure that I'd be protected if I was under direct attack--I could get by. I could blow off those people who want to eliminate me because I'd know they had no chance of actually doing so. But I don't know that. And so even with all the other good things in my life, I can't ever fully rest and relax and enjoy what I have. Every morning's hope is always tempered with dread. I'm always looking over my shoulder, wondering when that bullet's going to fly.
But maybe that's the secret to unlocking my happiness: knowing that someday, that bullet will come. And instead of fighting it and fearing it and desperately looking around for that army I need to protect me from it, I can just know that when it comes, it'll come, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
I've never had a fear of flying. Not because I trust those tin cans to never fall out of the sky, but because if the one I'm in does happen to do so, there isn't a damned thing I would have done wrong to make that happen, nor could I do anything to stop it. Same goes for living in the shadow of a dormant volcano. Will it puke all over me someday? Maybe. Can I do anything about it? Nope. And anywhere else I'd move would have its own natural disaster risks, too. May as well live somewhere beautiful while I'm waiting for Mama Nature to do her thing.
My chances of suffering something terrible at the hands of someone who hates me are much higher than the average muggle (and I have, to be sure, suffered quite a lot already.) But it's not like I can just stop being who and what I am. It's not like hiding those things would keep me safe. And, I'm finding, it's not like I can easily drum up my own personal squadron of bodyguards, either. So, the best, smartest thing I can do, I suppose, is to accept that fate's going to get me at some point, and stop agonizing about it until then.
They say that terrorists win when we change our lives in fear of another attack. And the same is true of the social terrorists who have been bombing my life since I was a chubby little tomboy who got sick a lot. There are, undoubtedly, more bombs waiting for me. But holing up and refusing to live my life isn't going to help. They win when I die inside as well as out.
Then I remember: There are still millions of people out there who would love to see me dead (or at least wouldn't care if I was) because I'm not the right kind of person, according to them. I still, pretty much every day, encounter at least one person who considers me less than human. Less deserving of basic respect. Less deserving of support, of success, of even breathing.
And what's awful is that there's no guarantee that even folks who'd support me on one aspect would support me on the others. I can't guarantee that fellow queer folk aren't fatphobic, for instance. Or that fellow fat folk wouldn't have a problem with me being atheist. Which means that I don't easily have a refuge--a safe haven--I can run to when I'm under attack. The person I trust to save my ass from $hater1 may actually be $hater2 when a different aspect shows up.
This is part of why I'm so obnoxiously out about my various oddities. I don't want to be closeted about any of them so I can more easily filter for the folks who'd be horrid about one bit of it or another. I don't trumpet these things because I think being an oddball makes me special and interesting or edgy or whatever. I do so because it's critically necessary asshole repellent. It's how I stay safe, and keep from getting close to people who might be inclined to hurt me.
Of course, everyone's hated by someone. There's always some crank out there who thinks you should die because you have attached earlobes or a three-syllable last name. But most people can disregard all that because they know that plenty of other people have their back. No need to be scared of one nitwit with a cap gun when you have a thousand-strong army behind you.
If I knew that--if I knew for sure that I'd be protected if I was under direct attack--I could get by. I could blow off those people who want to eliminate me because I'd know they had no chance of actually doing so. But I don't know that. And so even with all the other good things in my life, I can't ever fully rest and relax and enjoy what I have. Every morning's hope is always tempered with dread. I'm always looking over my shoulder, wondering when that bullet's going to fly.
But maybe that's the secret to unlocking my happiness: knowing that someday, that bullet will come. And instead of fighting it and fearing it and desperately looking around for that army I need to protect me from it, I can just know that when it comes, it'll come, and there's nothing I can do to change that.
I've never had a fear of flying. Not because I trust those tin cans to never fall out of the sky, but because if the one I'm in does happen to do so, there isn't a damned thing I would have done wrong to make that happen, nor could I do anything to stop it. Same goes for living in the shadow of a dormant volcano. Will it puke all over me someday? Maybe. Can I do anything about it? Nope. And anywhere else I'd move would have its own natural disaster risks, too. May as well live somewhere beautiful while I'm waiting for Mama Nature to do her thing.
My chances of suffering something terrible at the hands of someone who hates me are much higher than the average muggle (and I have, to be sure, suffered quite a lot already.) But it's not like I can just stop being who and what I am. It's not like hiding those things would keep me safe. And, I'm finding, it's not like I can easily drum up my own personal squadron of bodyguards, either. So, the best, smartest thing I can do, I suppose, is to accept that fate's going to get me at some point, and stop agonizing about it until then.
They say that terrorists win when we change our lives in fear of another attack. And the same is true of the social terrorists who have been bombing my life since I was a chubby little tomboy who got sick a lot. There are, undoubtedly, more bombs waiting for me. But holing up and refusing to live my life isn't going to help. They win when I die inside as well as out.
Tags: