Finding tear-soaked pieces of myself on the floor, broken and scattered, with light so scarce

Published December 13, 2024

Hours after my dad died 44 years ago, we went to the church and the funeral home to make arrangements. The drive to and from was maybe the most surreal experience I’d ever had.

People were going about their business as if everything was normal. Walking. Talking. Driving. Laughing.

It reminded me of the Skeeter Davis song “The End of the World” for reasons other than the song’s heartbreaking romantic context.

Why does the sun go on shining?

Why does the sea rush to shore?

Don’t they know …

Why do the birds go on singing?

Why do the stars glow above?

Don’t they know …

I couldn’t understand how life could just … go on.

For the past five weeks, as I’ve tried to peel myself off the floor and function, there’s a similar feeling. People are just going about their business. Don’t they know what the election will mean for me and people like me? Don’t they care?

Yesterday crushed me a little bit more

The list of people who allegedly care about me who haven’t bothered to check on me in the wake of the election is longer than I ever imagined it would be. I suppose they don’t know what to say. Or is it possible they haven’t been paying attention and don’t know what’s going to happen to us?

The other list, of people who immediately checked on me, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

As I told my therapist Tuesday, I wonder how many people who call themselves allies voted against protecting us. Later, I went for a short walk in the afternoon sun. I’ve been hiding here in the dark for so long that it took my eyes a few hours to settle down when I got home.

It’s scary to be out in the world increasingly having to wonder who loathes your existence.

I’m still not sure people understand what’s been happening and what will happen, and I blame most of that on the news media from left to right, but my heart knows. It’s breaking still, a remarkable thing in that I didn’t think there was anything left of it to break.

Yesterday reduced me to the tears of an ugly cry. I don’t see good outcomes ahead. Not just for me, but for so many vulnerable, marginalized people.

We can’t have candles where I live, but I dug up photos and videos and had a version of a funeral to mourn what I thought the end of my life would be like after beginning my transition in 2017. Other people seem more hopeful, but I don’t see whatever it is that fuels their hope.

Oh, there’s good news

As I was writing this, I received an email telling me my credit score had gone up 40 points.

Yay?

Such absurd news, as if that means anything.

I’m expecting a tiny purple Christmas tree today or tomorrow, plus a string of battery-powered white lights. I’ll put them between my kitchen and coffee and tea nook, both newly made over with lilac and lavender and purple accents.

I don’t know why I told you that. Maybe to end this on a less gloomy note. The holiday season is upon us.

Yay?

If you appreciate what you find here and are feeling generous, you can check out the Tip Jar. Thank you for reading. Here’s a purple butterfly for you.

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Photo of candles by Smileus via Shutterstock.

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