“Survivor” is the “special needs” of victimhood. If I say I have survived, I’m fooling nobody. I didn’t. My friends—those who have seen me change over the past five years, seen my body alter from the effects of hormones, and seen me get better at doing my makeup and appearing more confident in how I walk through the world—call me fierce, and I hate the word, partly because it’s such a stupid, drag queen cliché, but also because I know just how much it is a lie.
