Safer in Solitude and Silence

It’s the day after the parade

And I slowly feel my identity fading away.

The smiles and appreciation of those around us

quickly silence back into the world of binaries and

Everyone in between and beyond those binaries is voiceless.

For one month, my voice is heard.

And in that time

I can be loud. And proud. And true to who I am.

But that loudness and proudness…

Is that really even me? When for 11 months,

I have to be who they want

To avoid the taunting

Or even worse, the ignoring?

Eleven. 11 months of silence. 11 months of pretending. 11 months of a ghost.

11 haunts me and all I can do is haunt the world back.

I was 11 when I first started shouting and no one heard.

A small child being assaulted by a classmate and begging for help.

Hear me. Protect me. Validate me.

They didn’t.

You didn’t.

Three years came and went

Before anyone listened or believed me.

Three years of silence etched on my developing mind.

Every day, he did things to me when I asked him to stop.

Every day, he disregarded my words, my thoughts, my feelings.

Every day, the adults around me ignored my cries for help

So eventually, I stopped crying.

It hurt less to be ignored because I was silent

Than to be ignored when I pleaded for help

Because when you add in intention-

actively rejecting my requests-

you add in malice.

(And that is the malice that society often brings to our queerness.)

If they couldn’t see me… couldn’t hear me… then maybe it was all just a mistake.

So I stopped asking for help.

But one day, I let it slip

And, to my surprise, someone heard me.

And instantly,

The boys in blue came blaring in,

“To protect and serve” this victim…

But in this world, victims are treated as only that:

The interrogations were relentless

As I was dragged from class and escorted down the halls by officers for months,

As my classmates looked on- enthralled by the concept that I might be the criminal after all.

Especially as one of the few outwardly queer people in an

all-girls,

private,

Catholic

high school

Because who else could be the sinner other than the queer who is already damned to Hell?

Society won- I lost myself,

And who I really was

No longer mattered.

A call slip to the office would appear

and my new identity became apparent

Or transparent

Or translucent

As I sank into my chair and my peers watched the blood drain from my face

Until I was nothing more than a ghost,

Unable to speak or interact

But a terrified witness to all.

That ghostliness is where I learned to live-

No color. No voice. No me.

Just a silent witness to the chaos of the world.

Doomed to relive my trauma forever without being seen.

Although a ghost also shouldn’t be able to be hurt.

I guess my mistake was trying to corporealize-

to interact with the living,

Because every time,

My victimhood came screeching to the front-

A banshee ready to overcompensate for the years of silence.

And those who harm were always ready and waiting to take my physical body

And maintain ownership over it just like those who silence us.

22. A second chance at 11.

I thought I had stabilized and tried to live as my most authentic self

But that learned helplessness, that silence, that ghostliness is all I knew.

What she did?

It wasn’t physical at first. “Just” some yelling and swearing. Some controlling. Some threatening.

But I was just a ghost as I shrank into myself as the abuse escalated.

For eight years- I stayed silent

And for eight years- she had control.

But I couldn’t tell

Because people didn’t like that we were gay

And I couldn’t let them know that gay people were just as manipulative

Just as abusive

Just as capable of harm.

Because then they would hate us more.

So I continued to not live- to be a ghost, unable to participate, to contribute, to speak.

Until one day, someone heard me and amplified my voice.

They strengthened me and calmed my banshee and protected my body when I wanted to live.

With her, I was able to be me. To be loud. To be proud. To be safe.

To be gay. To be genderqueer. To be a survivor. To matter.

To be heard.

But having them hear me… just gave me hope and the awareness that I deserve to be heard.

Which leads to anger when others don’t. When they silence me.

Hope leads to disappointment.

Disappointment leads to silence.

And then I lost her and had no option but to retreat back into my ghostly self,

Trapped in a realm that doesn’t see me and where I can do no good.

Floating purposelessly.

And maybe pride is really just a time and a place

To let my banshee scream-

To wear my rainbows

And squeeze into my binder

To break the silence and the binaries of the world run by the NOT-MEs of life.

Until July hits and the silence comes back harder than before.

Each time, I believe that my voice matters

And each time, my voice is stripped away.

Hope leads to disappointment.

Disappointment leads to silence.

I was 11 when I learned to be silent.

I became the ghost the world created.

When I corporealize, those who do harm are ready to take over the body that has never actually been mine.

So maybe it’s better to just stay silent and translucent-

Safer in solitude and silence.

I am just a ghost. No color. No voice. No me.

But

I have found how to do good

By giving voices to others.

I’ll be 33 soon-

That’s 11 three times.

Third time’s the charm

To undo the harm of my cursed number 11.

I may never have justice for how I’ve been harmed

And that keeps me a ghost- silent, unseen.

But I’ve learned to amplify others

Like she did for me.

And this is where my true pride lives.

I’ve begun my journey as an advocate

For survivors of

Sexual assault

Human trafficking

And domestic violence.

It’s close to home:

Within them actually.

And for you, the survivors,

I am proud.

Proud of you for surviving.

Proud of you for speaking.

Proud of you for being.

The highest rates of SA, HT, and DV happen to those who are queer.

Why? Because we live in silence

And shame

And those who harm know

That our bodies aren’t ours,

That our voices aren’t heard.

So, my darlings, speak to me.

I will hear you as I was once heard

And I will no longer be translucent;

Instead, I will be your sounding board,

Reflecting, validating, and amplifying your voice and your story.

Because you matter and I hear you.

And maybe we can heal and be proud

Together.

Because that is the pride that should last beyond the parade.