This is a repost of something I wrote in my first two weeks of starting this blog. It was not widely read and I feel it is a good intro to a post I will be doing next week. So if you are one of the four people who read this the first time, feel free to skip or read again.
I struggle fighting with this monster I hate inside me. Sometimes I try, more or less metaphorically, cutting her out.
There are better ways to do this but I can’t try those ways yet.
I am trying the only ways I know how. Today it will be a blog post, and a metaphor.
I try to read Natalie Reed’s blog every day. It is new to me but fuck is it good. I find myself just lost in a cathartic sea of powerful words that make me think hard about my own biases in this world.
Recently she did a series of posts about closets, four in all and each epic in their own way. The series resonated heavily with my personal struggle with closets. While Reed explains why the closet metaphor is not exactly accurate for a trans experience, I realized why it is a perfect metaphor for mine.
I am in a coat closet which feels stuffed to the brim with heavy winter coats brought by attendees to my holiday party. Some of these winter coats are my own, leathery and intimidating. Some of these jackets belong to my guests at the party. Those tend to be a bit fluffier. The remaining come from party crashers, those I didn’t invite, but found their way inside my home anyway. Amidst all these coats, I am cowering away from the party in the back corner of my closet.
Sometimes I want to come out but I get lost in the denseness of my prison. Other times I seem to be content making a tiny breathing hole and laying down on my fluffy and crowded bed of winter wear. And sometimes I manage to convince a guest or two to remove their jackets and give me a little more room. I can’t be so lucky with the party crasher coats. Those persist despite my best efforts to remove them. My own coats should be the easiest to remove, but as I mentioned they are leathery and intimidating. Rather than donating the old, well-worn ones, I hold on to them and end up buying more to keep them company as soon as a little space opens up.
It’s a problem. I keep trying to drown myself in this labyrinth of batting and fabric. My breaths get harder and harder to take. I have maxed out my credit card and I am afraid I will suffocate on the spoils.
And I don’t know how to fix it. I owe it to many people not to try and at least find a way to breathe in this closet even if I never find a way out.
I would say I owe it to myself as well but there is a jacket obscuring that point right now.