Last night I had a very vivid dream: a stranger (getting on a bus or into an elevator with me) asked me kindly, “Are you male or female? I cannot tell from your voice…”. Their question elated me: it felt like the best thing possible I could get from a stranger, i.e. their not knowing whether I’m male or female — or other…! I also realize the importance of the detail of the stranger in the dream not being able to gender me specifically because of my voice: in fact, I am struggling a bit lately with the disappointment or impatience of my voice not dropping lower (or faster).
Being sickly for so long is very hard for me not only because it’s concerning and boring, but also because it undermines the most important parts of my identity. Being ill & sickly for so long and thus unable to do almost any of my usual activities is alienating for me. It robs me of my “scientist” identity because I’m too fatigued (& getting splitting headaches) to do any work that requires concentration. It robs me of my “mentor/advisor” identity because I’m too ill or tired to supervise my mentee regularly or to go on campus and interact with the students. It robs me of my “athlete” identity because, of course, I cannot exercise — I can hardly go for walks still… In particularly, it robs me of my “climber” identity because I cannot climb, or even hang out with my climbing buddies — and I really miss them. And these losses now are also combined with the loss of my “non-binary/trans-masculine/boy” identity because not being able to see my male climbing buddies and the students on campus effectively robs me of pleasant, affirming male company. For over three weeks now I’ve been interacting (in person) almost exclusively with strangers and my housemate, all of whom see me as a woman, so I’m being constantly misgendered and it feels awful: it’s painful, frustrating, alienating. Moreover, there are the practical aspects that enhance the feeling of being robbed of my “non-binary/trans-masculine/boy” identity because of my illness: I cannot exercise, so I cannot enhance the physical, visual aspect of my masculinity through muscles and physical strength; I cannot go get a haircut, to look more masculine in that sense either; I cannot go get the boyish/manly clothes that I need (I need a new wardrobe for the winter!!!). So I effectively look less masculine even to myself in the mirror and this hurts immensely.
I need to get back that boy, that athlete, that scientist in me ASAP. I need it for my emotional and mental health (on top of physical health).
On the other hand, though, there is a little silver lining to all this forced idleness: I have rediscovered the little artist in me. My “artist” identity has had the opportunity to come up to the surface to breathe and express itself again. And this feels good.
I have started sketching again, including drawing my own second tattoo and the fourth tattoo for my oldest friend (a surprising request that warmed my heart like few other things ever). And yesterday, thanks to another dear friend (who is a real artist!), for the first time ever I submitted three poems of mine to a poetry contest! I didn’t do it for the competition or prize, nor even with the hope of any of my poems being published. And yet it was one of the most relieving and empowering, liberating and exhilarating feelings of my life. A huge affirmation: I am an artist (albeit one with hardly any talent and very moody creativity)!!! But it’s not just that. It goes further, deeper. It’s connected to the act of publicly sharing those poems, those very intimate poems of mine, with other people: with total strangers but also people who have something in common with me since they also, supposedly, write poems themselves and might use this means to express their own feelings, emotions, troubles, fears, joys. Moreover, these three poems of mine are related to, and were inspired by, a very complicated (and in many ways painful) relationship, a situation that I’m still struggling to let go or make sense of. And recently I have had the feeling that if I had the chance of sharing some written form of art more broadly, to tell my story about all that, it would bring me more — and maybe ultimate — healing and peace.
So submitting these poems feels like the closest I can get, at least for now, to that “public yet anonymous act of healing disclosure”. I am not saying “This is how I felt” just to myself or my therapist or my closest friends — which is good in itself but somehow doesn’t feel enough to me. I have gone one step further, taking my courage and vulnerability to stand up and say “This is how I felt” to a whole community of strangers who will read those poems.
The Little Prince and the Fox 