Looking Out: a short story about slipping back in the closet

Warning, I'm a writer, so I'm long-winded aF!

It's been a long year for your girl.

My mother, whom I adore, bought me a subscription makeup service shortly after I came out to her as means of acceptance. I think my sister saved most of it for me. I was living with her when it started shipping. I never updated the shipping address, for a variety of reasons I think only now, as I write these words, am I coming to grips with being far too painful and revealing to possibly recount.

Cool. (￣ー￣)b

Suffice it to say, I lost a lot; almost everything. My brother, who I resented for a very long time, effectively paid my rent. For him, that betrays a kind of patience with me that truly demonstrates love. He kept me from drowning when no one else would. That means something.

Now, it seems, I am lost in myself these days, wondering who I am as a woman, filling in blanks and milestones from decades past, while I maintain a very strenuous work schedule that naturally entails a lot of physical movement and personal interaction.

To be explicit, I am a cook, and one whose skill is above average among my current and admittedly limited peers. And I work two restaurants that tend to be somewhat busy.

I will not give their names, but for my own sake I will say I strongly dislike said names and think they are offensively juvenile. Not in a pearl clutching way, but in a "Shut up, Terry," kind of way. Why do we always bring Terry along anyway? He's such an idiot...

Anyway, If you're imagining any glamor as I mention this career decision, like I'm jiving along with a low-key Ramsey-esque crew of colorful thrill seekers, just stop. I'm basically fry_cook+, version 1.3, with enhanced vegetable and protein recognition software: Now with Sauces! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

But I am in this role... as a man. And basically everyone knows two things about this man [me]; [I am] a recovering alcoholic (which is true, I've been sober for six month), and [I am] gay (which isn't really true, it's way more complicated than that, but let's be honest straight people are like "wuts teh dif lol," anyway)

It's safe and it's honest enough that I feel proud to show the side of me that's playful and jokes about themselves. It's also exhausting and it's starting to make my heart ache with need.

I don't want to be this facade. I want to be me.

I work with so many girls with such nice eye makeup! I could be getting tips left and right, but I'm so afraid to even peek out from behind my mask that I'm becoming complacent as this man, this ogre, this oaf! When I'm alone, I speak as I am, as I desire, as feels best to me, but at work, it's the same old "dude," and "brother," where I want to say "honey," or "sister" or "dear" or - dare I? - "sugar."

I even make sexist jokes! I'm so ashamed of that, I refuse to hide it! It's hypocrisy! I contribute to the delegitimizing of women's basic dignity just to keep myself safe from male ridicule and social rejection! I'm so disgusted with this complacent narcissist I've become!

But here's the central problem. It's not my coworkers, who tell me they love me, rejection or the difficulty of the job; I'd be happy, thrilled to do this work en femme.

But I live in a state in America where being trans affords zero employment protection. I'm not being hyperbolic; I can be fired for it, and I have no defense; it is not protected. I'm unaware of any restrictions specifically against gender recognition, but I know when it comes to jobs we are without recourse.

If I was to get fired, the best I can hope for is that some of my peers walk out in solidarity and maybe some journalist or lawyer takes minor notice of their sacrifice and maybe it becomes a broader example of injustice that helps propel change... ♪ ~ but I'll still be fired ~ ♪

So I'm making a plan. It's not complete. It's not even that good, probably. But I think if I get enough of what I need from this miserable little arrangement (money), then get out of Dodge, I can find some place that will accept me, find friends that will love me, write the books I was meant to, and finally wear skirts in public and then maybe, just maybe, I will achieve what the Doctors have promised me is actual "happiness."

Then again, the Doctors also told me they needed part of my brain and I'm pretty sure they haven't given it back yet, so...

Hey, maybe it's the part that remembers intermediate math!

Anyway. If you read all this, I don't know who you are or how to thank you. But I hope you know I love you for it. Even if you didn't, I love you anyway.

 

You're both very kind to take the time to offer encouragement! I appreciate your input and will try my best to live up to my own standards of dignity and humility. I deserve to, and, if it's not being immodest, I've always wanted to try to represent transpeople in general by being kind and patient and trustworthy.

I hope to gain the courage to see myself on to that stage of my life in the coming year. And I hope that we can all keep each other strong through these incredibly strange and difficult times.

With love!