A more standard rant…

Sometimes people come to me and say things like, "Zoe, I don't understand why you're always so unhappy. Why don't you go outside and get to know people? That will make you happy."

With no due respect, fuck you.

But really, you want an insight into why I'm crazy? Okay. From childhood through my early teens, I was physically abused by other kids. Yet all throughout this torture, I had therapists and shrinks tell me "children aren't capable of evil." I've been told to tell the truth by adults, only to be ridiculed for it, so pretty much every lie you tell to children, I knew was a lie right from the start. Because the pretty lies only apply to privileged children.

I grew up and finally broke free of other people by pushing everyone away. I was an asshole in doing it, but I cut every connection and found the strength to change myself. After a blazing fast two year transition and gender surgery, society told me "Congratulations! We're ready to accept you now!" Why? Because I'm pretty, short, and speak with a whiny voice. So long as I smile and don't act like an angry tranny, people want to pull me along, to show how tolerant and open minded they are. They'll still criticize my uglier sisters for not passing, and they'll still let their evil bully children rape and torture the next generation of queers. But so long as I smile and keep my mouth shut, I can ride with the cool kids.

Obviously, I chose to walk away from the cool kids to keep talking about the problems in our world, and since then, I've been asked questions like "Which gender were you when you were raped?" I've had women take me aside and say "This isn't how you get man friends," like I should want to buddy up with the same males who want to "spend five minutes alone" with me. I've had visits to my blog from people telling me that they live in reality, unlike me, and then they proceed to say the most awful things about how they can accept murdering half the planet as collateral damage, or how they can't worry about racism because white people are totally suffering too. Yet, they "live in reality," and I'm the deluded one.

So I finally pop from all of the assholes baiting me, and I start to really write some shit meant ot provoke people and get them talking. Only thing is, the only people talking are morons. The rest of polite society is still pretty much the same pearl-clutching bunch of pansies that I recall from my childhood. If the oppressed underclasses are willing to smile and play nice, you'll invite them to your parties. But if they act up or remind you that your party runs on oppression, then they gotta go.

I really can't win by joining any group. I don't even fit in with other transsexuals, and I got banned from a support group the day after I joined because "some of the members were concerned for their children."

I don't have any real world friends anymore, and because of the actions of my online friends, I no longer view any online acquaintances as true friends because there's just too much risk that they'll turn around and treat me like shit.

My mother is sending me an email once a month, at least, loaded with enough venom to piss me off twice over. In theory, I may have stopped those emails this year, but I thought that after I emailed her and said "I neither want nor need your approval" a week after my surgery. But this time I was more direct in making my opinion of her clear, so maybe she will stay away.

My little brother still hates me and thinks I'm the whore of Satan. He has seduced two girls from out of school, and he's got an arrest record as long as his arm. But he can still be morally superior to me and say that he doesn't want me around his kids. Adding insult to injury, we both thought we were sterile. No, he's got two kids, and I'm the person planning animal adoptions. Why? Because as a result of all the abuse I suffered at the hands of my little brother, I'm now mentally incapable of child rearing. Even if I were more stable, MS makes me physically incapable of the task. So I can't even contemplate adoption.

I rarely get to talk to the family members who I actually do want to hear from. They've all got jobs and kids and real lives going on, and anyway, it's hard sorting out when the right time to chat is. The fault for us not connecting is as much mine as it is theirs, but that's life, and what can you do?

Oh, and hubby still can't have sex, so I'm extremely horny and can't do anything except fap or play with toys. This wouldn't be quite so bad, but during the summer, I had dudes stopping me, young guys from the college up the road, asking, "Do you have the time?" or "Can we take a coffee?" And every time, I held up my hand, pointed to my ring and said, "I'm sorry, but I'm married."

And for all this good behavior, I STILL had someone call me a sexual predator. Not for anything I did, but for some fictional event I wrote.

So, if you've read all of this and STILL need to ask me, "Zoe, why are you always so upset?" you're going to set me off in another explosion. And no, I won't feel bad about being upset. I have my coping mechanisms, and I try to find creative outlets so I can be happy too. But I'm not going to show up on my journal and put on a happy face for you just because you need validation that the world is okay. You won't get that from me anyway. I think the world sucks and that we all need to work to change it. But most folks think someone else should do it for them, and they don't believe they owe each other anything.

I owe you my honesty. I was dishonest enough through my childhood because other people conditioned me to lie and hide to avoid physical and verbal attacks. Society made me, and when I rejected society to become something better than what I was, society still rejected me for saying things they don't want to know about. I've been shouted down over and over, put in my place, and told I'm full of shit so many times, I've lost count.

Do I have reasons to be happy? Sure, I've got a few. I eat well, and I have a good husband who makes me laugh. I've got my video games, and when my hands aren't too sore, I've got a guitar to play with. Sometimes, I even get back into a few moments of writing bliss before I'm reminded that nobody reads my crap.

But I don't have my health because I have multiple sclerosis. I don't have lots of friends to visit and party with. I don't have lots of people to chat online with, family or friends. The only thing I had that perked me up was my writing, and yet I feel consistently misunderstood. It's like even if we all know the same language, the words don't mean the same things to everyone else.

So if we weren't clear before, this is why I'm in a lousy mood so often these days, why I end up being rubbed the wrong way with just one trigger word in Twitter, why I have to avoid everyone for days at a time. I'm actually sparing you from much worst ranting episodes. And my reward for thinking of you is you asking me, "Why can't you be happy?"

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF—! (*>_<) \,|,/