I'm On a Bus With My Feat Up
an essay by Daphne
I'm On a Bus With My Feat Up
an essay by Daphne
I have recently escaped the clutches of insane cisgendered women, who sought most to deny me any trust; by right of their own distrust in themselves. All while I love every person… and women the most, to be clear.
Being a mentally disabled white trans woman is a trip to the street. Folks everywhere cannot help but presume themselves the knowledge keepers of femininity, gender affirming care rights and efficacy, along with psychiatry itself over someone like me. White cisgendered women—in particular—have trouble with either the privilege they desperately need to have less of than me, or something else deep down beneath their surface.
Needing to have less privilege than me from one white woman to another, is an embarrassing expectation, because it's impossible. Holding that torch over me by playing a fiddle for people of color is insane. The most common response to my disengagement from gaslighting tactics seems to be an attempted enforcement of rote psychopathy, and further gaslighting attempts; presumptions to prescribe me as per their whims, never listening, and to demand I do whatever they wish while blaming everything on any element which is most convenient to their egoic victim complex: my medication.
To deny white women that right to demean a white male or white trans woman, and especially with kindness, is to light the flames of their own inner psychosis-pyre to burn the very brightest and smolder through the night.
I’ve had women in that situation try to cuckold me—or withhold support— while rubbing it in my face when I was never hoping to be anything but their friend in the first place, despite the fact I've asked for nothing and couldn’t care less. I could not, you see—could not. If I could, then I would care enough to care less in the future or for a more important matter.
One of these self-imposed white women friendship and femininity dommes of blatant insanity literally had an, ‘I’m not your mommy,’ complex which they cited often despite my complete and utter solitude and refusal to take their most unhelpful help constantly thrust upon me.
I was battling someone's literal inner demons who clearly wanted to, ‘be my mommy,’ and destroy me all the same for their wanting of that and presumption I’d want the same. God forbid I’m disabled and need a helping hand to get around.
Why, you ask, would I associate with such people?
I'm trying my best not to.
As I mentioned, however, I seem to bring this kind of thing out of cisgendered women who have layers beneath their own surface which I naturally coax forward by being a traumatized, completely downtrodden, and familial left-for-dead white trans woman who literally cannot manage her finances appropriately for the brain damage taken and hardened by the abuse of cisgendered women along with my own plant medicine abuse.
It’s hard to be a male born person who is surrounded, and loves by nature, the women of modern cis patriarchal hierarchy who have chained themselves to intersectionality for eclipsing any accountability to their privilege and therefore hate all white people—especially themselves and what they would want if free of self-imposed expectation.
You see, white women are in relationships they detest; they hold close men or women they see their lesser, and far too often in America. It’s a self-perpetuation of intellectual rape to be with anyone you see as less than your equal, and whatever you perpetrate upon yourself unknowingly is perpetrated upon everyone else the same.
What my simple presence draws out is a reflection of all I’ve just mentioned.
You see, I’ve unplugged from the thought paradigm which these white women succumb to, and I do it with an authenticity and simple kindness to boot. When I'm not someone they can intellectually dominate, they attempt to frustrate me. When I'm not someone they can frustrate, they begin consciously raping themselves intellectually before me as if to prove a point about their lack of privilege. Then they hate me for not being bothered enough to be their knight in shining armor.
All the while. I'm just looking for friends who are women…
Sorry, I just got off the bus I had been riding with my feet up on the seat before me.
You see, I'm homeless now because of women deigning to teach me of my privilege. Right in front of me is the first white trans woman I've seen in a long time, apart from myself in my mirror, who is presenting in a binary way. No surprises here… they look embarrassingly tween-girlish and are with a male who is clearly gay.
It’s just an impossibly tough spot to be in—existing as a natural adult trans woman of a binary persuasion which hails from the 90’s. It’s too plainclothes for the queers, too impossibly hot and bothersome for the privilege denying white women of my own generation, and too reflective for the insane conservative class. Most people treat me with respect while simultaneously demonizing me, and it feels exactly like it had while presenting as a white male who was highly sensitive.
Oh, here's my bus…
No leg room on this one, unfortunately.
I'm on my way back from a clothing bank where I met a kindest elderly Christian woman who was treating me with a motherly energy I could not help but appreciate. She was calling me, ‘dear,’ and helping me find long fitting pants for my job interview later today.
Grace be to God, and that kindest giving woman's spirit, and all the people who work at her fine organization, along with whomever donated them—I found a pair of jeans and slacks that are both of my cut in the women's section. That’s a strangest happening at any store, let alone a clothing bank (I’m a tall slim lady with longest legs).
I'm still having shoe problems, but the interview I went to get these pants for is only for a part-time cashier job at Lowes. It’s just to help me get settled in low-budget housing before long while I look for other work. I’m eyeing a nearby veterinary clinic and thinking I can find work in reception or administrative duties somewhere which feels a bit more wholesome to my spirit than a hardware store.
Still, a job is a job. A home is a home. And until I get my psychiatric diagnosis and the social security this fight which I’m making alone for rightness will afford me… it's time I grind it out.
My grind will be easier than people of color to climb from the bottom. I expect to get hired today. Part of that has to do with my competency in English and computer skills… but a part of my competency in English is the fact I speak with an anglo vernacular.
I'm not in great shape emotionally, and I'm still getting used to life as a homeless person who has no support except the failing systems of Washington State. But good people everywhere are fighting for the people fighting for themselves… unless they are privileged white women and you're their less privileged male or trans peers. Those people are here to teach us what insanity truly means.
FYI - Don't do meth, heroine, or crack if you want my respect. I've never done those because I'm not an idiot and that’s the big problem with homeless people who cannot find a job—they’re hardcore drug addicts and it shows.
Daphne
