Sometimes I find myself in corners, seemingly with no way out. I ask questions that preclude solution, and I write about them, because I want to lay out my pain, and I want it witnessed and understood and acknowledged. Writing helps me to process and sort through my feelings. I have had existential questions since the first time I contemplated suicide, but lately they have been gender-related.
What do I do if I can no longer live in my assigned gender but I cannot transition because there is nothing to transition to
How do I live in a world that will never read me as my gender and has no space for me
Who will love me
The correct answer is: “yeah that sucks, I have no answers, maybe you should kill yourself”, because these are real concerns, and to dismiss them is to refuse to acknowledge pain. If there were easy answers I would not have these questions.
But I am learning to live in the contradictions. Yes the only solution is suicide, but then in that case it doesn’t matter if you do that immediately or not right? Might as well eat a bit more ramen before you go; it’ll never be too late to kill yourself. And then somehow, in the weeks and months and years in between, the questions become less pressing. I am learning that I don’t have to figure out How To Live right now, or ever. I just have to figure out what to have for lunch today, and then the next day, and then the next and the next and the next.
That’s what life is, right? If we knew exactly how it was going to go there would be no point. Don’t worry about the end so much that you never allow yourself to begin. The fun is in bringing a brick and watching the cathedral form.
Billions of people before me have lived full and happy lives in the face of existential meaninglessness. Maybe Sisyphus is happy. Frequently I am happy, and that’s good enough.