Sometimes I wonder if empathy is something that lives in the stardust that built my bones or if it was planted the first time that I wanted to die and then watered every time trauma interrupted my dragging feet. People tell me they admire how happy I always am, which is silly because I have lived with depression most of my life and happy is a word I buried when I was seven years old, probably before that. Coming out may have been the worst decision of my life, but it was necessary to keep me alive. People find it hard to understand that. I think they have an idea that coming out makes life easier, but I would say it is just a different kind of hard. Now I exist in the world that I think has no place for me, and that is okay because I do not like the idea of being stationary anyway. If I keep moving maybe, I will forget that I do not belong. The queer community is the closest thing to home. Being a drag king lets me be part of something bigger than myself. They have always welcomed me and allowed me to exist without explanation.
Rainbow aka Eat. Breathe. Gay.
Bow ties make me feel good.
Chest binder aka I can not breathe.