The Pain of Perseverance

The world has long since held me down and forced me to instill myself with the notion that I am worthless.

I am not.

Or am I?

Each passing day it seems that more and more of the world is screaming at me; shattering my windows and breaking my doors down, aching to run me through with a pitchfork and cleanse the world of my rancid oddness. 

Girls can’t like girls! It’s a sin!

Don’t come in here, you’ll shatter all the mirrors!

Are you a girl or a boy? 

You [redacted] [slur]!

Why are you so weird? Would it kill you to act normal?

Haha, you’re so [redacted] ugly! Not even makeup could fix you!

It’s not like you’d know, because, well, you know, you’re not even a girl!

Don’t be an [redacted]. You’re not even a boy, you [redacted] [slur].

I hate [plural slur] so much. I’m going to get a restraining order on that [slur].

I love people. 

With all the sincerity in my heart, I love humanity. I think humans are worth fighting for. I firmly believe that everyone deserves equal, equitable rights, and I believe that everyone deserves to be treated with respect.

So why is it that so few feel the same way about me? 

All I ever did was dare to breathe. 

So why has my very existence become the topic of controversy? Why is my right to breathe debated on national television? Why am I dehumanized to the point that my characteristics are chanted with terrifying vehemence?

Why? 

Why? 

Why?

I wish I could say it’s incomprehensible how we’ve reached this point. But I cannot. 

I understand fear. I understand hate. I understand how we’ve reached this point. I understand the need to be relevant. The need to have power. The way that desperation can eat men alive until they’re nothing more than greedy husks.

And yet. I wonder how I could be so terrifying that people who don’t know I exist can be so fervently against my very being. 

I feel that my fear is valid. I have been attacked for existing, both physically and verbally. Strangers have been killed for sharing my traits. What happens to me, who has each trait that’s so constantly spat out with venom?

My existence is not a controversy. I believe this wholeheartedly.

But I fear that in every time period, I would be subject to abhorrence so vile it could shatter stars. 

I am no stranger to being the scapegoat. I’ve allowed myself to be strapped to the role for a long, long time. 

I do wonder, though. These people, who hate me, who cry heresy and blasphemy—why can’t you see me as human? You preach love and kindness and forgiveness, but when you catch sight of me, you rage and riot if just to see me suffer.

And those who say I’m wrong—that they could never hate me just because they voted for the orange man who spews hate— if I really am wrong, and you really only want to be safe, what am I doing to endanger you?