I woke up from this dream where I had found a community that was trans-supportive and moved there, happy to be somewhere positive.
I started going around town and people would tell me what I needed to to do, what I needed to change to be happy. All this advice was about fitting in, getting more surgery, being more like everyone else.
I eventually traced all this back to a mental health practice in town where a group of women MSWs were selling this pap, and met the man at the center of it.
He tried to convince me I was wrong, but when I was strong, steadfast and smart, he started to seethe, still smiling.
I got back to my new place and found my belongings packed up, as I was being evicted. The trannies thought it was a good thing, too, zombies all.
I just read a post about a transperson who was around medicos and disclosed and found them to be supportive. Maybe that’s where this is from, that mixed with my life-myth, that I am just too hip for the room.
Maybe that therapist who offered me a lobotomy for the same HMO visit fee I was paying was right. Right, in that he knew that I couldn’t really trade awareness for community.