The things I’ve lost

There is loss in transition. Sometimes I feel like I should not speak these words, or type them, or put them to paper. I know that if I do, they will be used against myself and others. There are people waiting, circling like vultures, desperate for any sign that we regret who we are and what we have become.

“Look,” they say as they pounce. “Look at what they are, and how they feel. This is why they must be stopped.”

Should I let hate deter me from telling the truth? Should I let fear that my words might be twisted prevent me from allowing those words to leave the safety of my mind? No. I have been afraid before. I will be afraid again. I have never stopped writing or speaking. I will never stop, no matter what it costs me. Once we stop, we allow our stories to be erased. I will not be erased. I am small, a tiny part of the world. But I am something, I am someone. If I hide, will I be anyone at all?

So this is the truth of my life. There is loss in transition. A loss of safety and security most of all. Will people who knew me before care to know me now? Can I set foot in places I used to walk with ease, or should I find a new path to walk, one that is less familiar, less comforting, but where I know I am secure.

Will I ever feel someone else’s fingers intertwined with mine? Will I ever wake up beside another person? Will I ever share the day-to-day responsibilities of keeping a home with someone else, or are these responsibilities mine alone, forever. Are these dreams, of loving and being loved in return, something which I must carefully shut away; should I lock them in a box somewhere safe, somewhere cherished. Should I find new dreams now?

I have lost certainty in transition. I did not know what my life would hold before, none of us do. But I walked a path that led me to a career and one day to a partner. I couldn’t know that it would work out that way, but I believed that it might. I don’t know what I believe anymore. I am worthy of love but loving someone like me is risky. There will be people who laugh or act surprised. They will try and hold it in, but there is something in their face that says the words they do not. “But why would you love someone like that?” And then there are the insults. The slurs. The disgust. The mockery. It is a lot for anyone to bear. I should know. It is something that I face every day. I wouldn’t blame someone for choosing not to face it beside me.

There is loss in transition. Not because of what or who I am, but because of a world that does not want to love and protect people like me. But there is also love. The love of friends. The love of a sibling. Of family, both family by blood and by choice. I have lost certainty and safety and security, but I have gained the knowledge that there are people who choose to stand with me, even when it is hard.

I don’t know whether I must find new dreams now. There is so much I don’t know, so many questions I am still asking myself. All I know is that I will keep on writing, keep on moving, always moving forward, to see what I will find.