Marissa Explains it All #34 – Coping With Loss

For those of you who have followed me long enough to have heard Inciting Incident #30, pre-transition and all, you’ll know that I’ve had a long history with suicide in my life. I wrote a movie about it in 2015, and that was the first of many times I’d use the song “I Believe.”

18. 18 people. That’s how many I’ve known since the first time I lost an acquaintance that way in ninth grade. An ex-neighbor, a co-worker, a friend, a tag team partner, an ex-girlfriend, and so many others make up the rest of that list. However, this one was probably the toughest one I’ve ever had to deal with; not just because it was someone I’d known for 14 years, not just because of the family he left behind, but because thinking about it made me realize how much of an influence this guy had in my life.

Brian and I went back to 2003, when I first started hanging out with new people again. At that point in my life, I’d made the mistake of returning from Florida so soon because I was homesick. Or rather, friendsick. What else could you expect from someone who was supposed to be in their junior year of high school but had graduated instead?

Brian was one of many I met at another Brian’s birthday party. The other Brian had been my friend since sixth grade and went through junior high with me. However, he’d gone to the Catholic high school in our area as opposed to mine, and therefore had found a completely new circle of friends. With me having returned, he brought me into that circle, which included this Brian.

He and I became close a few months later, when I went to the junior prom with them, and attended the YMCA lock-in afterward. I remember well how he and I sat against a wall talking while his date slept on him. He was the first of many friends with whom I had a lot in common personality-wise, but were extremely different in philosophy and life experience. It made for interesting conversations, disagreements, and even fallings out at several points in our lives.

As I’ve been slowly remembering different ways he was involved in my life, I’ve been struggling with tensions in many places. He introduced me to my favorite band, among many others, could do a dead-on Denis Leary impression, shared many sleepovers and events, was in my first wedding, and also capitulated my first serious relationship ending.

That’s been my biggest point of struggle: remembering that things were far from copacetic over the years we knew each other. We mended fences a few years ago, and I’m grateful for that especially now, but I’ve been feeling guilty for the fact that at two distinct points in my life, he did a terrible thing to me. I don’t need to go into what they were, because that’s not the point of this column, but I’ve been fighting the guilt demon for also thinking about those points in our time together.

At funerals and times of remembrance, you’re supposed to talk about the good things and reflect on the person fondly, right? Especially under these circumstances, with leaving a little girl behind and a grieving family, isn’t it a disservice to remember that he also betrayed your trust?

It’s also true though that those friendships that go through some struggle and issues are the ones that become stronger in the end. Did that happen with ours? Possibly. I can’t say for sure, but I do know we came to a new point of understanding before our friendship met its untimely end last week.

My relationship with this friend was tumultuous longer than it was stable. We were co-workers, roommates, and close friends; but at points, we were also in arguments, disagreements, betrayals, blow-ups, and periods of silence.

That’s life though. More relationships you have will have unpleasant parts than not. But it doesn’t resolve the feeling of guilt when remembering those times when they pass away, especially in such a manner and under such circumstances. Intellectually, you know there’s nothing you could’ve done. Logically, you know there’s nothing you could’ve done.

But then you remember that the last time you saw each other, you promised to catch up. You remember that you could’ve reached out at a couple points, and somehow missed each other. You find out that there was a lot going on that you missed because of your travel schedule and other engagements, and feel like the worst friend on the planet for having no idea of what was transpiring.

Such is the untimely loss of a friend.

Tonight, I’ll be attending his viewing. There’s a lot of religiosity and conservatism in this family, and the funeral tomorrow will be a full Catholic service. Those things would make me uncomfortable before I transitioned, but right now, with the way things are and the atmosphere in which we live, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not somewhat uneasy knowing how I might be received since almost no one attending this service will have seen me since I started transitioning.

It’s not about me, and I’m not going for them. The same as I know I couldn’t have changed the outcome, even if he had reached out. But that doesn’t change the guilt I feel, the heartbreak I’m experiencing, and the fear of facing those that either didn’t know or don’t agree with it. I don’t feel that’s unreasonable. It’s acknowledging that while good things may take place, and there will certainly be those, potentially bad things may also occur. It’s not pessimistic, it’s realistic to consider both sides of the equation.

Just the same as you have to do with a friendship when it comes to an end in such fashion. It’s not unfair to the person who passed if you remember the bad times along with the good, because that’s how they’re a person. To gloss over that is to disregard part of your story together. Just because it’s come to an end doesn’t mean you tear that chapter out of the book.

That being said, it’s going to be hard to read through that chapter when you pick up that book again, no matter how much you know that it doesn’t make you a bad person for doing so. The only thing you can really do is make the best of the situation, and try to be there for those who are hurting worse than you are.

But this one hurts. Badly. Damn, man. I wish I knew you were feeling such pain.

Help Brian’s Family – https://www.gofundme.com/brian-johns-memorial-fund
Brian’s Obit – http://cumberlink.com/lifestyles/announcements/obituaries/brian-michael-johns/article_d9234ffa-2c1d-57ac-9c73-2c37ae1fc063.html
Permanent Solution (2015) – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DosOKXMvpk

Marissa Explains it All #33 – Outside Looking In

I’ve been on several podcasts in the last week discussing Mormonism with Bryce Blankenagel and Molly Un-Mormon on both Doubting Dogma and Inciting Incident. It’s been culture shock to say the least, even in what I’ve already heard about what it’s like. The fact that there’s this insular “world within a world” that is barely, if at all, known outside of a certain part of the country is endlessly fascinating to me.

But when the fascination subsides, all that’s left is anger and disbelief. There’s such incredulity between the worlds that how horrific some of these things are often slips through the cracks. Something that is horrifying to me when I hear about it from the first time is almost shrugged off with a “that’s just what we grew up with,” and I get it on some level. I’m sure there’s no aspect of anyone’s life that they grew up with that wouldn’t be somewhat horrifying in another part of the country to someone else.

But then, I still can’t process the church’s welfare system, even within the context of American Christianity. At least when I grew up, I wasn’t a part of the church, but from what I could see, when they did charity work, it was… you know… charity. I think that Jesus guy was fond of that. Maybe there’s the invisible other side of it like in this situation, but hearing these new stories from a different place is incredible.

What I’ve been told, and verified from those who were there, is that the Mormon church brags about their charity work as being among the highest. But there’s attachments to it that I didn’t realize. Molly’s story told about someone who needed assistance, and they had to sit down with a (likely affluent) bishop with their entire finances, have it gone over with a microscope, and then beg their families for help first. The ten percent tithing they’re required to pay is supposed to go to exactly this, but they have this first gatekeeping block to it.

Then, if they still need to take food to feed their families, that they, you know, paid for with their tithing… they are suggested to work for what the food costs in free labor at the cannery. And, once again, still pay their ten percent tithing.

Doesn’t that come out to charity net zero?

This church has enough money to make prosperity pastors blush, and politically influence things like prop 8. Yet, they can’t afford to not make people pay their ten percent that they’re making people work off for free to do something crazy like feed their families in a time of need, which is supposed to, again, be what tithing is for?!

How the hell is this not indentured servitude?

But it’s legal because “religion.” Or right above in Idaho, where treatable illnesses in children are given prayer instead of medicine, and what would be negligence anywhere else is dismissed with “sincerely-held religious beliefs.” 

So these places take ten percent off the top of their members to help the charity work, that they make those in need pay for anyway, and pay no taxes but are able to buy off and influence public law and opinion? 

How in the everloving radiant flying rhinoceros FUCK is this anything but bullshit?! 

It’s true, I’m not used to it. It’s true, I didn’t grow up with it. It’s true, I’m on the outside looking in, both in terms of proximity and philosophy. However, isn’t there a point when respecting beliefs is overridden by the lack of relativity for absolute profit-driven shitcannery?!

Anthropology teaches that they want to get you as close to cultural relativism, as opposed to xenophobia, but that no one can ever be completely relativist, because that would be to have no personal agency or values at all. 

I think I found the place where I’m willing to say, “I don’t care if that’s their religion or culture or belief, that is fucking stupid.”

Marissa Explains It All #32 – Gratitude

Sometimes I feel like I don’t express the gratitude that I feel others deserve enough. Overcompensation ends up becoming a big, and probably annoying, part of my personality, because I never want anyone to think that I’m taking them for granted.

The work that I do has afforded me opportunities that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. From traveling to Flint and standing with indigenous folk from Standing Rock to being given a platform on which to speak, and even better, for others to listen… The transformation was so quick that it still amazes me when I’m reminded that someone actually knows who I am. My brain hasn’t quite reconciled this yet.

Nearly every day, whether through Facebook, email, or other means, I receive messages and letters from people who ascribe such meaningful platitudes to things I’ve done or said, and I feel incredulous. I’ve looked into the eyes of people to whom I’m speaking and seen tears form because I know I’m reaching them.

I’ve also seen the hate in the eyes of people who consider me subhuman. I’ve seen the ire that the mere mention of the word “transgender” draws, across the spectrum from “kill them all” to “you’re not really women.” It’s easier to take some days than others. When I was speaking in Flint, I was interrupted by a guy who yelled at all of us about insulting the military, when none of our presentation had even mentioned it, and yet I stood calm and trying to understand him where I could’ve yelled and been righteous and nobody would’ve blamed me.

The point is, unless someone directly gets aggressive with me, I want to be open, calm, and understanding. I want to learn from others. I want to hear their stories. I want to see the passion opening up in their eyes as they talk about something they love. What I do has given me the chance to see that with so many people that I wouldn’t know if I didn’t travel to see them. The community farmer outside of Flint whose daughter dressed in pink My Little Pony tights with purple socks and a giant hat. The Standing Rock cast-offs who for some reason wanted to hear what I had to say. The trans kid in the closet who is only out to me. The parent of a queer kid who wants to learn but doesn’t quite understand it.

I don’t know why people listen to me. Many times, I don’t know why I’m speaking in these places. I feel like I should be the one listening to the stories from Flint, or from Atlanta, or from wherever it is I’ve gone. So many people feel unheard, uncared about, unworthy of love that it breaks my heart. People thank me for what I do, but I want them to know that how they feel matters, and their lives are not without value. What they care about and love matters. What makes them happy matters. Their passion, whether it’s growing vegetables or watching Doctor Who, it matters! I can have no clue what you’re talking about, but seeing the passion in your face and body language makes any subject worth it! Unless it’s white supremacy, why Jesus commands you to kill the gays, or something like that, but I think that goes without saying.

The point is, the last few months especially have had me traveling to every corner of this country, and I’m still not used to it. I’m not used to being recognized while walking around a city. I’m not used to strangers asking to take me to lunch or have a picture with me. I’m not used to someone I didn’t already know reading or listening to my bullshit. Even though in some capacity I’ve had that since 2011, The PC Lie, no doubt, brought a lot of eyes to my work that weren’t there before, and I can’t express enough gratitude for anyone who doesn’t have the previous bias of knowing me.

On July 14th, my fourth book since coming out will be published. Noah Lugeons, who contributed an essay to it, read his work on Patreon for his subscribers, and interviewed me for this week’s Scathing Atheist. On that same day, I talked to my cohost Molly about the validation of fears and anxiety, and was on Gaytheist Manifesto talking about self-harm, and hearing the other guest’s voice fall into silence for periods of time that were haunting. What have I done that makes me worthy of being in all these places with such immensely talented people? What have I done that when I travel to Flint, Michigan, which still doesn’t have clean drinking water, that they give me time to speak to them instead of the other way around? I don’t deserve it, and I feel ashamed. They shared two water bottles with me. I’m still having trouble reconciling all of these things, but I also know I need to keep working.

For all the people who aren’t being heard, I try to remind them that even though I’ve been given time to speak, I hear them. Every single email that isn’t filled with slurs and shittiness, it matters to me. I constantly get surprised reactions when I respond to them, and that breaks my heart that so many people out there are being reached out to, and can’t respond. I know how that feels, and I do my best to make sure it doesn’t happen. So many voices are crying out in what they feel is the darkness, an unheard void not being regarded by the rest of the world, but to me, the most powerful tool I can use is my attention. People often ask me how to be a better ally, and I try to take the same advice I always give: Listen.

Sometimes people just need to know that they’re being heard, if not even understood. To see the response of someone nodding or saying that they are valid, it’s so valuable. Even in the world of instant communication and social media, so many feel alone. Try not to take it for granted that someone in your life knows you love them. It’s better to remind them too often than not enough.

I love all of you. I hope none of you ever feel like you’re completely alone. If you’re reading these words, you’re not.

Marissa Explains it All #31 – Screamed At For Existing

For those of you who don’t already know, I am pansexual and polyamorous. I have a husband and two girlfriends, and one of my girlfriends is trans like me. As I’d already been invited to Utah Pride by another podcast, and seeing as she’s from there, I invited her to come spend the time with me before we move in together with my family in St. Paul.

When you live in the East, you often hear combinations of cliches about flyover states, but Utah in particular is associated with the Mormons; people who have a reputation for being overly friendly, but also holding some incredibly bigoted and backward views. I’ve had to live-read the book with Molly Un-Mormon, I’ve read this shit!

But there’s always the promise that in a metropolitan city that hosts a huge Pride festival, it won’t be as bad as, say, having it in a rural area with a bad reputation. The cities are always safer for people like us, right?

The crassness, arrogance, ugliness, and deliberateness of the people in this area surprised me, and I’ve spent the last four years in Philadelphia, the city known to respond to its reputation for being assholes with “At least we’re not as bad as New York!” This was a different beast though.

We weren’t sure where the festival was being held, and we ended up taking an unintentional several mile hike around the city. As people who love each other tend to do when they’re doing something together, we held hands… something you can only find gross or inappropriate if you hold queer people to a different standard than you would anyone else. Apparently, this was the latter.

Slurs were shouted at us from car windows. People passing by made remarks. From all types, from all directions, we were shouted at endlessly for having the nerve to walk on a sidewalk while being trans. And of course we were holding hands, which is like third base in Mormon, so there was also that.

In Philly, someone might shout something at you, but it won’t be an epithet. They’ll tell you to go fuck yourself, but it’ll be for taking a parking space, not for existing. They’ll punch you in the face, but it’ll be for wearing a Cowboys jersey, not for being a minority. That’s the difference I’ve noticed in all my traveling: People are assholes everywhere, but it’s why they choose to be assholes that marks the difference for me.

Even when I was in Lexington, Kentucky, the South, people stared and made remarks under their breath. But to be this verbose and deliberate about it was something different for me, and I held up a little better than she did by returning it with my signature snark, but I can only hold up for so long. We’re human, after all.

It takes a lot of energy to wear armor. It takes the emotional battery to try to shield others from hatred, and no matter how strong you are, sometimes you have to put the shield on the charger and close your eyes and cry. After that, being called “sir” after four times of saying “I’m not a sir,” after being treated like shit in the Staples, and after some of the worst hotel service I’ve ever experienced, I felt drained, apathetic, and just needed to be held in my girlfriend’s arms. The world got too loud.

But as I calmed down, I had to reflect on some other things. Our time that we spent together here was magical, whether it was alone or with friends. Daily messages of admiration and appreciation for what it is that I do keep me going, and I’ll take one of those for every hundred bigots that call me a slur. The memory of those will remain long after the pain from being catcalled has faded.

To spend a night with friends who are genuinely curious about your story and share theirs with you… To learn from new friends, meet their families, and divulge experiences that we may have explained a thousand times, but ears and faces are willing to receive them, that was magical. And even though I had to leave the room several times because the noise got to be too much, the love and support from the friends far outweighs the multitudes of assholes.

Plus I got to meet Misty K. Snow, the first transperson to run for Senate. Or, as Felicia put it, “she wants to meet you.” I still haven’t reached that level of dissonance where I understand that, especially when it’s someone who has done far more in this world than I could ever hope to. I feel like a phony, a fraud, when I stand next to someone like that and people regard us in the same sentence. But they do. I don’t get it, but they do.

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Then, as I awoke this morning, I recalled the Wells Fargo teller who responded to me correcting her use of my name with a compliment. I remembered the affirmative messages that a dozen people sent this weekend. And I saw the look in my girlfriend’s eyes as she woke up next to me and we were still here, still strong, still together, and still ready to fight, even as much as it hurts. I wrote a poem about that moment that I’ll put at the bottom of the page. It was a transcendental moment, no pun intended, and even with all that’s happened, I’m truly grateful for this experience.

I may not have spent a second at Pride, but I still have reasons to celebrate. Sunday, I’ll have my first event as a featured speaker in Allentown, Pennsylvania, and I just got booked at another in Flint, Michigan. I repeat that I don’t know why people want to hear what I have to say, but the best I can do is try not to let them down, especially in these times.

I got a tattoo of the Against Me! lyric/motto/attitude: “True Trans Soul Rebel.” It means that even in the worst of times, when everyone wants us gone or dead, we defy them by continuing to live our lives outside of the closet. We will be loud, we will be defiant, we will express our love without apology, and we will continue to fight against this ugliness and bigotry so that others don’t have to. People like Misty, who ran as a transperson in freaking Utah, help me remember that. If we can take heat off those who are coming out now or in a few years, it’s all worth it.

And this has all been worth it.

I’ll leave you with the aforementioned poem I wrote this morning. Hope to see some of you in Allentown, Flint, and at my live show in July. Thank you.

SMALL MOMENTS BLUES
By Marissa Alexa McCool

The sun peers in from the bay window. The curtains gently unfold ever so slightly, allowing the light of a new day to envelop the darkness. Short breaths, signs of the unseen and subconscious haunting reality slowly dissipate among the new morning rising.

The stacks of books make way for trains of thought, chugging through the heavy slog of the weight of minor sorrows. To compare the slurs and hatred against the affirmations and encouragement, it brings us all to an examination of the balance.

The hatefulness pricks harder, but the love remains long after the sharp stings of ignorance penetrate our armor. Your hand, my hand, united and defiant against what we’re supposed to be, committing revolution by knowing what we’ll face from the public, and choosing to be visible anyway.

Not all life needs to be a fight, this is true. But in finding happiness in simplicity, peacefulness in serenity, we defy the wishes of those who would harm us by smiling to ourselves and each other.

You can call us dykes. You can call us trannies. You can call us queers. You can fight to eliminate us from public life. But every time that we smile at each other and kiss despite you, we’re winning the war.

Marissa Explains it All – #30 – Reflections on Family and Memorial Day

I have trouble with Memorial Day.

Truthfully, I have trouble with all holidays, but this one has an extra few levels of confusion. I’ve never been able to process feeling a certain way just because society or tradition says I’m supposed to. I don’t have that association with tradition; I feel how I feel because that’s how I feel, not because it’s a day and that’s when I’m supposed to feel that way.

Every year, Memorial Day trots out what I like to call the “guilt-trip meme.” It will show soldiers saluting a coffin with a flag draped over it, or a small child being handed a flag, and the caption will say some variation of “just in case you thought it was National BBQ Day.”

That seems rather insulting to our intelligence, especially in a country that puts the military on an untouchable pedestal and no matter how much of the budget is put in defense, one side of the aisle will constantly say that they’re underfunded and underappreciated. Nevermind that they turn around and slash the VA, slash benefits for citizens that include veterans, do nothing to help the homeless and only reference homeless veterans when trying to force a case of moral superiority about taking in refugees… The military itself seems to be regarded as a single entity, through which no member can be criticized, and doing so is somehow the equivalent of treason or supporting the enemy. I was a teenager when the Iraq War started; I remember the rhetoric that surrounded it. Never mind things like “Facts”, if you didn’t have a yellow ribbon on your car, that meant that you supported 9/11 and were un-American.

I’ve always seen things like yellow ribbons as purely symbolic. They have their purpose and I don’t mind that, but when their purpose is “look how much better of a person I am than you,” it loses that original intent, doesn’t it? Saying “support the troops” and carrying that yellow ribbon doesn’t mean a thing if that’s the extent to which you supposedly support the troops. And it’s so often used as a blanket phrase that those who participate in it are dehumanized the basis of arguments of morality and self-righteousness.

You can’t exist in America for five minutes without knowing that Memorial Day is about the military. Nobody in the world thinks that it’s National BBQ Day. We know that we’re supposed to remember the fallen veterans on this day, but some of the freedoms for which they fought, that we’re supposed to remember them for, include having BBQs on an off-work day. Are we instead to stay somber the entire time? Then people will say “no, don’t be sad, celebrate the freedoms that those who fell protected for you.” Then we begin the whole vicious circle again. Can I have a BBQ but only if I’m sad? How long do I have to be sad? Is it just a BBQ that is disrespectful to what the day means, or do pig roasts get included too? I’m just trying to understand this as someone who wants to show the proper appreciation that, as I said in the beginning, I will never understand how to portray just because I’m supposed to.

I respect anyone who could give up years of their life in service to their country, and sacrifice their youth, family, and private lives in order to represent their country, believing in honor, service, respect, and dedication. I get that. I nearly enlisted myself, and I didn’t stop until just before the swearing-in ceremony, mostly because I was told to lie and I couldn’t live with that, and because it also hit me at that moment that: holy shit, this is the kind of social grouping that will destroy me inside. I don’t respond well to being yelled at, I’m not able to do things just because someone asked/demanded me to. It’s not for me, and by that I mean no disrespect to anyone for whom it works. That’s just not the way my brain processes things.

There’s a long line of military history in my family. My mother’s side is descended directly from the Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry of the Flagship Niagara, for whom there is a Perry named in every generation, my son included. My grandfather and his brother both served, and I learned a lot about the service, history of that era, and nuclear science because of him. I probably shouldn’t have been allowed to see some of the things I did, but I was ten and who I was I going to tell? His brother served in early Vietnam. We were told never to ask about it.

I have a fan who served on the USS Paul Hamilton and wrote me letters about my column keeping him connected to home while he was away at sea. I’ve received letters from military wives who thank me for distracting them from that empty spot in the bed, some of which will never be filled again. I see the WWE, who back up what they say, and go there and perform for the troops in person, bringing a little bit of home to them as they’re separated by worlds, cultures, and duty. I’ve been sent tokens and items from those in the military who felt that what I wrote somehow mattered to them in that time, and I have no idea how some bullshit I put on the internet can do that, but it means the world all the same. I’m not speaking on these issues as someone completely disconnected from this reality.

One of my best friends is a veteran who is bisexual, and often has to deal with people from veteran groups sexually harassing her or denying her right to be recognized for who she is. I know several trans people online who struggle every day with their right to exist, despite having served their country, which is supposed to be something that the people criticizing them see as the ultimate good deed. Out of the other side of the same mouths, they still hear the same shitty arguments that are used against transpeople everywhere in order to remind them of their place in society.

My grandfather is the one who told me more about his experience than anyone else. And even still, he managed to remain distant and vague about certain things, which were his rights to do so. I’m owed no one’s experience or stories, but I’m grateful when I do. We lost him in 2015, and I gave the eulogy at his military service funeral where he was interred. The majesty, specificity, and ceremony were something I’ve never experienced anywhere else, and to see my grandfather honored in such a way is still awe-inspiring. I have his military picture and dog tags placed appropriately in a mini-shrine in my collection of special moments and autographs, complete with the obituary and a picture of us from the 1995 World Series. I loved my grandfather, and I remember him every day, not just today because that’s when I’m supposed to. I understand that holidays hold that significance of reminders and duty, but it doesn’t process for me. I hold it against no one for observing in that way, it’s just not for me.

“Support the troops” though, something always bothered me about that. Much in the same way that “thoughts and prayers” are a vague platitude that sometimes represent a substitute for any actual effort, supporting them in the ways they’re used in guilt-trip and moral superiority arguments is really just that: “I’m a better person than you because I do this more selflessly or actively think well of X conflict and you don’t.”

I want to support the troops by making sure they have access to the medical care they deserve, and that is not exclusive from the rights of anyone else to have healthcare. We’ve somehow gotten to a point in this country where healthcare is seen as a privilege, and if we are going to thump our chests about how much we love the military, can we at least also make an effort not to forget about them the second they get home? Can we do more than say “thank you for your service” and actually show gratitude? How about we not get into more stupid conflicts where they get killed? False pretenses, assets, whatever other bullshit reason politicians decide to use the military rather than do anything themselves, can we do all we can to not have to put them in that danger? I often think those in the 40’s get the title “greatest generation” because they answered the call and were conscripted during a time of international war, and it’s amazing how much gets left out of that story so that we can feel proud about how awesome we are. The shirt I’ve seen that shows an American flag with the title : Back-to-Back World War Champions just reeks of a willful, ethnocentric misunderstanding of a global conflict, where the Russians were the ones who got to Berlin, we only got involved when it was us attacked, before which we were chummy with Hitler and turned away Jewish refugees, and World War I barely involved us at all, but we get to take carte blanche credit and brag about our country’s untouchable superiority? And anyone who doesn’t say that is somehow taking the side of the enemy?

Much the same way as gender, sexuality, identity, neurodivergence, politics, and many other aspects of life are not as binaried as the “leave it be” status quo would like it, it is not traitorous to acknowledge that we aren’t the only people in the world. It’s not traitorous or disrespectful to the military to not want to see them go into yet another war where they have to die when they shouldn’t have to.

On the back of some Jeeps, I often see an American flag on the spare tire with the caption: There’s only one. Only one what? Flag? America? Country? Jeep with that cover? Just because it has an American flag doesn’t automatically make it universally understood. And a lot of the same people who regard that flag is the ultimate untouchable symbol that’s been desecrated by queer interlopers and liberals, they also fly the Confederate flag as a symbol of “American heritage,” “state’s rights,” or whatever other bullshit reason they choose to fly a flag that represents white supremacy, the continuation and spread of slavery, and literally committing treason against America. Yet that’s the most patriotic place in the country, and flying a flag that was about separating from it is American heritage? Yeah, okay, and the swastika was just the representation of the German commitment to fair labor practices. For anyone, especially in the North, who flies that flag, especially when it’s ABOVE the American flag, yet lectures me about how much the flag is awesome and should mean X, Y, and Z to me, I will never be able to comprehend the mind pretzel into which you must twist yourself to believe that revisionist, Lost-Cause influenced bullshit. But the Confederates were traitors and fighting for their states’ rights to keep owning slaves, even spreading it into South and Central America. They wanted a white supremacy empire founded completely on the notion of white superiority and slavery as a national institution. To say it had nothing to do with slavery is ignorant, incorrect, and just another bullshit apologetic you’ve used as to not be an asshole.

I know that Memorial Day is about the military. Same for Veteran’s Day. Add in the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Flag Day, Armed Services Day, Opening Day, and many others that are militarized, one would have to be willfully ignorant to think otherwise. I just want to know what the appropriate way to regard it is so that I don’t have to read those memes anymore, because I don’t think having a BBQ on Memorial Day is the same thing as “thinking that’s what it’s about entirely.” We know better than that, or at least we should.

I miss you, Grandpa Jack. I miss everything you taught me about the military and history, and there is a part of my life I’ll never get back because you told stories in a way that seeing them in a book just can’t match. I haven’t seen you since I unexpectedly walked into a room where you had just passed, and every single day, I regret not traveling more to see you, or calling you to hear more stories, or appreciating the time I had with you more than I did. You probably wouldn’t understand me right now, and we’d have crossed that bridge when we came to it, but there’s nothing in my life that will ever replace the spot you had in it. I’m lucky to have had so many years of my life without losing a grandparent, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Thank you to anyone who made that choice to serve, regardless of the circumstances, and I hope none of you feel disrespected by any of these sentiments. If I have, please tell me how I can correct my behavior, as long as it’s not the exact empty platitudes and symbols I’ve already explained. Thank you.

Marissa Explains It All – Blog #29 – The Representative Letter

Name change. This name has been requested for a podcast, but given how many of those I already have, I thought I’d use this one instead. So, here we go…

Let’s see if I can answer some genuine concern as to why LGBTQ people have such a problem with Allies insisting on being included, represented, etc.

Imagine if every time someone spoke about black rights, a bunch of white people stood up and said “hey, this is about us too, right?”

Imagine if every time charities were trying to help the impoverished, some rich people came along and said, “hey, don’t forget about us. We struggle too!”

Imagine if every time immigrants tried to assert their own rights in the midst of deportation, born-citizens interrupted them to say, “but what about we feel about our jobs and such?”

It’s not a matter of us not loving, appreciating, wanting, or acknowledging you. It’s the fact that almost every time a queer person tries to tell their story, assert their identity, or explain their experience, someone comes along to remind us “not all…” or “what do you mean by…” or even worse, explain what our experience/identity/sexuality really is, how they see it…

It’s the fact that some people who have been so long considered the societal default cannot accept that something isn’t about them, and they do all they can to change that. And if you’re only an ally or a friend to us because you want to be given a special ally cookie or told how awesome you are for being a decent fucking person, you’re not really an ally and you’re focusing on the wrong issue.

Your gender isn’t being questioned. You aren’t being told your labels are made up. You aren’t being told you can’t use the bathroom. You aren’t being told how you love is an abomination. Be an ally to us by stepping up and beside us, not in front of us to make sure that we don’t forget about you too.
We love you, but it isn’t about you, and that’s okay. Okay?

NOTE: Ehhh, not after that last line… I already know what you’re going to say. Just save it and pretend we agreed to disagree on how I’m a loser who needs to get a life despite the fact that I just graduated with three degrees with honors from an Ivy League school and am somehow also lazy and not contributing anything to society and whatever other bullshit insult you’re going to come up with to explain why you like my wrestling blogs but not this one. At this point, just stick to the wrestling one and ignore it if you hate it so much and leave me the hell alone. Kay? Kay.

Inciting Incident Blog #28 – Reflections on Pulse

It’s been almost a year since 49 members of our community were needlessly and heartlessly murdered. That event was the impetus of my transition. I read a letter that I’d written “anonymously” on the Inciting Incident episode where we talked about it, and it was only a month later that I secretly went on hormones.
That event made me want to be loud. That event made me want to yell. That event made me want to be visible. No matter what kind of danger it puts me in, because this kinda shit needs to stop, and the douchebros and ignoramuses are not helping.

I know you think it’s totes hilarious to make the “only two genders” joke, like we’ve heard it for the first time, but you’re the ones who get offended when someone other than you exists, or walks down the street holding hands with another transwoman.

I know you think we made all this up and that makes us crazy, but I think that makes you an ableist bigot with an awful lot of lonely nights spent trolling a noncis space on Facebook because you literally have nothing else to do.
I’m tired of having to fight for our humanity. I’m tired of having to fight to be acknowledged as people. I’m tired of having courts decide that crimes against us aren’t hate crimes because Jesus said we shouldn’t be that way or something. Can’t we charge them with hate crimes by making being ourselves even more dangerous than it already is?

I’m tired of having to ask someone to go to the bathroom with me. I’m tired of wondering if the next person to give me the stink eye has a gun. I’m tired of wondering if someone who sees my husband and I together is going to say something in front of my kids. I’m tired of worrying about every single queer and visible friend I have and their safety, because supposed followers of the God who said “love everyone” and those who clamor for the sanctity of life and all lives mattering also love to tell us that that loving God took 49 members of our community away in senseless violence because love, or because we’re all perverts, or because we are the army of darkness, or because purple makes them get flashbacks over titty twisters… Whatever it is, I don’t fucking care, and I’m sick of having to justify our community’s humanity daily to the crowd that is so willing to openly disregard experts in order to continue being an ignorant asshole.
I’ve been attacked recently by both strangers and people I considered friends. I’ve been attacked because I have the nerve to stand up for myself when someone shouts a shitty opinion at me. I’ve been attacked for thinking I know myself better than some stranger who is sure that he knows what gender really is. I’ve been attacked for having a visible show that isn’t about what’s going on in their lives, but instead focuses on our own community cause, you know, we’ve taken over everything and that’s all it is anymore. Look at all our fucking representation, guys. We really should get the cis straight white guys a chance once in a while, right?

Today, I sat and stared at messages. Countless messages, handwritten, on posters, on sidewalks, on rocks… I saw 49 names inscribed, including my own last name as second on the list. I imagined the sounds of that night; the visions, the terror, the fear… And I thought about every single person I heard mocking that event, or using it to promote hatred, or to make a shitty joke because special snowflakes can’t take their sense of humor because we don’t find jokes about the murder of our already-vulnerable community to be fucking funny!
I speak out for them, not the ones who can’t handle everything not being about them. I speak out for the chosen queer family I have, and the ones I don’t know, who have to live day to day, wondering if they’re going to be safe or if their dad is going to acknowledge their existence or if they’re going to have a place to live because of who they are. I became an activist because I am sick and fucking tired of all lives mattering until they found out they might be queer. I’m sick and fucking tired of life being sacred unless Jesus cries when queers kiss. I’m sick and fucking tired of knowledge being power, unless it affirms what we already know about our sexuality and gender, and then some fucking idiot named Todd knows better cause he got a C in eighth grade biology, and that’s pretty much the same thing.

Most of all, we’re sick of having to stop and explain to people outside the community and its allies as to why we can’t just stop and let things be, or wait until it blows over, or wait until times change and we’re accepted. None of us are promised that, and if anyone can’t understand that, it’s hard to move someone so privileged that the status quo doesn’t affect them either way in the first place.

Today I sat by a place where 49 members of our community died, and I became more determined than ever to fight against anyone who would see us harmed or worse. Fuck you for doing that, fuck you to anyone who supports it, fuck you to anyone who tries to justify it, fuck you to anyone who makes jokes about it…
And fuck you to anyone who insists on neutrality whenever it’s convenient for them, but come out with their hands open when it’s safe for their token ally cookie. Our lives are at stake every single day, especially with this fucking xenophobe leading the country, and we don’t have time to stop and consider how you might feel about having your shitty word choice corrected, okay Brenda?
Stand with us. Listen to the stories of those you’ve never been able to understand. Help us prevent something like this ever happening again instead of taking it for granted that it won’t. We don’t have that luxury.