Going There, Going Back

I’m avoiding Halloween this year. 

It’s not because I don’t want to go there.  I do, oh yes indeed I do.

It’s because I dont want to go there and then have to come back.

One step forward, two steps back is a familar dance for trannies.  The cost of having to pull back, having used precious resources and not gotten much return is very familiar, leaving us, to merge metaphors, behind the eight ball.

Coming back has costs, like refolding a piece of newspaper to put it away one more and realizing it is beginning to crack and fray at the folds.   Opening Pandora’s Box is hard, but having to put it away again is another myth altogether.  It takes a lot of denial and discipline.

I have felt people slip away and then have had to win them back, get over their skittishness, and that’s a cost. 

If I can’t get to a freedom point, can’t get to expression that is potent, can’t get the kind of connection I need, and then still have to retreat, well, that’s shit, shit to eat.

Of all the Halloween events since I have been here, the most memorable is standing at the broken stones of the Erie Canal aqueduct torn down around 1920 and scooping up figid Mohawk river water to wash my face before returning.  The next year I carried makeup wipes, and stripped off my tights in the tiny park across the river.

The climb is one thing, but the falling back, slipping and sliding and being banged by the sharp rocks on the backslope, well, that is another thing altogether.  And that is the one thing I can’t handle.

When my parents return, the hardest thing is having to pack everything away again into the big plastic tubs and stow them under the back deck, to pack myself away again and stow myself under the back deck.  So, so, so hard.

I’m not resisting the going.   I’m resisting the seemingly inevitable going back.

And as anyone who has lived with the stigma can tell you, it’s not having your heart expand that’s hard, it’s having your heart expand and then having it crushed once more.  Only so much of that one can tolerate.

So Happy Halloween to you.  As for me, I’ll just buy a bottle of cheap whiskey for the Kiki who lives behind this beard, and try not to cry loud enough to bother anyone enough that they try to shut me up.

The promised land is there for you, I believe this for you.  Go there.

Just don’t come back, OK?