All the difference

I guess you could call this my “guilty pleasure” edition of the Trans Configuration—though the term, “guilty pleasure” doesn’t seem sufficient or entirely appropriate to describe what I’m going to share with you today. This is an email featured on the Post Secret website (http://postsecret.blogspot.com/):

Tonight I was at Artomatic. On the metro ride home, there was a girl - quite beautiful - with dyed hair and heavy eye makeup but not enough to cover up that something was the matter. She was eying her wrists then looking around. I wish I knew her story. I wish I could help. So on a card I wrote
‘Dear Friend, though this is cliché, it has helped me to think the night is darkest just before the dawn.’
As she was getting off the metro she dropped a little PRIDE flag and as I picked it up, handed it to her and said, "I think you dropped something." I handed her the card.

I’m choosing to assume that the author of this email was NOT a presumptuous asshole; instead, I like to believe the situation was exactly as he presumed. If, indeed, this girl was thinking what she appeared to be thinking, then this single act restores a lot of my faith in humanity. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I was suicidal for the majority of the last three years. I used to cut my arms—the scars are now covered with a gorgeous tattoo—and I remember, now, all the people who made those years livable. My eyes started tearing up when I read this email, remembering how much like this girl I was.

It’s something I should probably do a blog post about: this fall into depression, self injury, suicide, etc. that can often accompany transitioning. It’s not something many people talk about, and maybe that’s because it’s not something everyone experiences; however, it’s an all-too common occurrence for those of us who transition without really trying to get all the psychological transitioning down. I don’t mean that to sound so pathological, but there’s a huge change that comes along with transitioning, and to transition without self acceptance and self love is very difficult (Granted, having been isolated in the Palouse didn’t help matters any). But I’m not going to delve into that right now. Instead, I’ll close with that image of a lost girl, eyeing her wrists, thinking how it will feel to drag her kitchen knife across her skin, and knowing that one sentence on one measly card could have made all the difference.