The more I gain insight into myself, the more I realize who my readers should be.
Because I write for my concerns, discrimination, and disregard.
Who would read Bludi and feel connected?
Who would say I am the half elf? Just because you look at me as different doesn’t mean I can’t do everything that’s expected. Your assumptions are wrong.
… Well… That actually would work for literally everyone facing off against discrimination. That’s the basic level. The pretend “I don’t hate you, but…”
My writing will suit those who are hit with my discrimination best. The ones who suffer similar to me.
Yet… I don’t feel as if I’m enough to gain access to those groups.
I’m queer. I don’t feel wrong with the statement. I’ve never fit the definitions society said were required of me. And trying to fit them left me in tears more often than not.
Yet… The gatekeepers… “Queer is a slur.” “You need to label.” “Asexual isn’t acceptable.” “At least you’re white.”
I may not tell many, but I do have a label that feels close. Pan-grey-sexual/ pan-demi-romantic. It’s close, but there is a level of difference. Why pansexual? Because your gender has nothing to do with it. My gender changes. And with it’s change, my interests would be deemed different. I have interests all over the field anyway. I wouldn’t say polysexual or bisexual because that still leans on the other person’s gender not mine.
Genderfluid is not the gender I was given at birth. The doctor stared at my crotch and said, “Girl. Congrats.” I was given a gender that doesn’t suit. It has left me feeling misplaced more often than not. I’ve had dysphoria. I’ve managed euphoria.
There are gatekeepers who will take trans gender from me. Because I won’t change anything about me. I can’t. Not right now. My health is under risk. And I move far enough into female randomly that I’d only be hurting myself on different days.
The biggest group I feel as if on the outskirts of and yet would make the biggest impact is the autistics. I cannot get any medical review to prove it. I can’t even manage to get a physical review at all. Finding a safe doctor who’ll listen and not judge? It’s impossible. I can’t do it. It’s not about wanting to or not. I’ve put forth efforts. Only to lose the strength to try. Seeking help is hard. Knowing that the bulk of the “help” refuses to believe anything you say?
I was always told I was mentally ill but none of the psych doctors could find anything actually wrong with me.
I’m not mentally ill. I’m struggling with a horrible existence under difficult conditions.
It looks like mental illness because I’m autistic. I look back at all the events… The shut downs. The meltdowns. The freak outs. I can’t handle lots of noise or lights or… I pick up weird details. I’m empathic.
I had a friend say I wasn’t empathic. That I don’t get people.
No. I don’t get small talk. I don’t get sarcasm more often than not. I don’t get stupid jokes about stupid things. I get the hard stuff. I can tell when someone needs a hand. That doesn’t mean I know how to answer the internal cry for help.
Gatekeepers deny me because I self diagnosed.
It doesn’t matter if I finally found people understand. It doesn’t matter that I’m starting to notice it in others. None of that matters because I didn’t get a doctor to actually listen to me.
I’ve never gotten a doctor to listen to me. Never. Not once. Not when I almost died. Not when I lost total control of my body. I have always had seizures! Never once even a suggestion of epilepsy by a doctor. Even when it was obvious.
You guys don’t understand how hard finding a doctor who treats you as someone who deserves existence. All they did was mark me psychologically unstable. That’s it. That’s been my life. As if I was joking about every single thing that ever happened. That black outs and such are normal. That passing out for no fucking reason is normal. “It’s all in your head.” Bullshit.
I’m not strong enough to claim my own classifications. I’m only aware I belong there. I am finding others like me. I feel at home. But if someone asks…
I can’t proudly state.
Not because I’m not proud.
But because they’re going to say, “You’re too pretty to be ______.” Like always. Because my genetic luck means nothing can be wrong with me.
These are the thoughts I wake up to.
I’m going to be crying today. Don’t mind.
FYI: Cyro is definitely genderfluid and autistic. They’re still figuring out attraction and interest. We went over many of the options already. Just Cyro’s only 11. Sexual attraction is new. Romantic attraction isn’t understood yet.