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“Listen. Maybe we could get together some time. Maybe next weekend? Wait, no. Wait. How about—” “No. No more waiting. I’m not a middle schooler anymore, waiting on the stoop for a car that never comes.” Shit. I said it. When you lose someone, you learn to say what needs to be said before you don’t get the chance again. SIGH-lence on his end.
I love that line, "when you lose someone, you learn to say what needs to be said before you don't get the chance again."
should be humiliated at how I act. How I lose control. I should be embarrassed. I once took a selfie of myself pulling out my hair so I could shame myself into stopping. But shame isn’t a cure for anything.
"But shame isn't a cure for anything." Again, loving these important sentences just thrown in--sentences that make me stop and re-read.
From the time I left for school to the time I jumped in Baldwin’s car, I’ve shrunk and grown, aged and regressed. I am square in the eye with the woman I used to look up to. I’m naked with the woman who taught me to dress. I’m all messed up feeling like I’ve outgrown this house, but I still want so freakin bad to fit inside.
I stare at the cross, at the being who is 100 percent human and 100 percent divine at the same time. The being who is at least three things at once in the Holy Trinity. So all of us sitting here accept transubstantiation, but we can’t accept that a kid can be transgender?
Like Padre said, it all comes down to decisions. My mother decided to not trust my judgment. Decided who I should be and who I should love. My mother decided I’m not good. Funny how homophobic people think being gay or transgender leads to misery but never consider that they’re the ones who cause it. Never consider that they are the ones who separate God from their kids. Hell is now. Saying it happens later is a power play.