expressions into secret corners…
My father was a recovering
alcoholic through his stumbled
journey with sobriety he had not
quite mastered taming his rage.
of my identity and community within. As a teenager, however, it
was slowly revealed to me that I was definitely not straight.
I found a new home in musical theatre.
I was applauded for behavior that
would have gotten me in serious
trouble at home.
I was discovering my voice in many ways. I came across a book of Anne
Sexton’s poetry at a thrift store, and my confused angst found solace.
I wrote dark confessions,
however clouded in riddles
of poetic metaphors. There
were some things too difficult
to even admit to myself.
and the gender ascribed to it.
I was in the throes of
depression, and PTSD. I learned
to cope in ways that masked
and evaded the problems at
hand: I starved myself
and exercised compulsively,
drank excessively and
about how to process trauma than it did about muscles – Did I begin to
acknowledge the abuse I had forgone as a child. The vault door to
repressed emotion and memory had been opened.
However messy and
uncomfortable it was. I came out
as non-binary and
became translucent about
my struggles and triumphs with
as a call to action. I write to explore my own internal landscape and to
offer others possible tools for their own introspection and healing.