I forget sometimes. Sometimes, I forget. There are whole chunks of time where it slips my mind and I don’t really think much about it. I exist. I am myself and I live my life. It’s ok. Everything’s OK.

But then…

I remember. I am reminded. The truth of matter cuts into my life. Truth is sharp (with a very fine edge). So much so that it is only after you see the blood that you understand that truth has cut you.

What I’ve forgotten. What I need to remember. What so many of my fellow helpful humans – wielding knives of truth – do is help me remember. They remind me. It is because of them I’ll never be allowed to forget.

My sometimes forgotten truth is this: i am a monster. people fear me. they are disgusted by my grotesque, unnatural body.

Leaning close and whisper shouting she asks, “are you a woman?”

The laser tech whose seen me in my underwear, says to her colleague, “we need to book him an appointment”.

In the lobby of my appartment building a man is saying, “No, that’s a man, I’m telling you”.

Then I remember. I remember what it is that I was trying to forget.

(i also remember how when i was blossoming into myself, every always attributed me existing as an attempt to get attention. i wonder if these ppl realize that the attention i received then and the attention i receive now is why i frequently need lorazapam to leave the house. too many knives out there and too many people happy to use them. )