Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Deadly Sympathy: A Rant

Mine is the shoulder that gets cried on.  Mine is the advice that is solicited.  I am the one woken up at odd hours to incoherent weeping over the telephone.  I am the one dragging my ass at work because I stayed up late helping someone help themself with their problem(s).

It might be my compassionate point of view that they desired.  It might be my bullshit goggles.  It might be my empathy.  It might be the way I trained my knee not to jerk.  It might be my sympathy.  It might be that I'm such an odd duck that I may have experienced whatever their problem is.  It might be because I'm openly trans and seem comfortable with it and with other people.  Or it might be because I care and they can sense that.

I don't do it to score points on some imaginary scorecard.  I don't do it to make me seem like a better person.  I don't do it for Heaven, Nirvana, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

I do it for the good feeling that I get.  I am gluttony.
I do it for aesthetic purposes; smiles are much more beautiful than frowns.  I am vanity.
I do it because I hate to see someone hurting and must get my revenge on the hurt.  I am wrath.
I do it because I am too lazy to pass it off on someone else.
I am sloth.
I do it because I know that the person may come to me again in the future.  I am greed.
I do it because I know that I can relate to anyone.  I am pride.
I do it because I care about them.  I am lust.

For fuck's sake, **RETURN THE FAVOR!**  At the very least, show me some open-minded sympathy in general.  I hurt, I bleed, I weep.  I'm trans and being transgender isn't just a walk in the park.  Speaking of walks in the park, try taking a walk through Central Park with tits and a dick.

I've been raped, ridiculed, bullied, tormented, denied appropriate medical care, denied employment, and oppressed in other ways.  This doesn't include the many ways I've oppressed **myself**.  Guilt, fear, low self-esteem, low self-confidence and self-worth, anxiety, depression, and dumpsters full of neurotic thoughts.  Through a lot of introspection and self-analysis, I've come to not only accept, but to love who I am.  I'm pretty damn amazing.

I can be a bitch.  There are times that I am insensitive.  I've been a grouchy asshole.  I am not perfect, but I am fucking awesome.

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