An awkward horse,
For all to see,
Yearning for just
Conformity
Each step new scars,
All tries with cost,
Lingering fear,
When masks are lost.
But why fear the loss,
Of chains long endured?
Is it their ‘safety’
Or feeling secured?
Authentically me,
Unlike other types.
I’ll let the mask fall,
Scars become stripes,
Something I learned
At the rising of Libra,
I’m no awkward horse,
I’m a fierce fiery zebra.
Editor’s note: This is an abandoned post being published with minimal editing, so while only being shared now, in present tense, consider it past.
(heh as if I could afford to hire an editor)
An aspect of my journey that I intend to open up about more in my new moon updates are unseen struggles. I started with a trans adjacent experience and there are plenty more tales from that realm, and I sadly fear more to come.
But add some AuDHD, surviving SA on both sides of the gender spectrum (at least 1 in 6 men/boys), and between what has happened personally, professionally and in my country over the past few years, months, days-whatever, I am spiteful af.
I know anger is a surface emotion, I also know I hate anger. I hate feeling it, I hate expressing it, I HATE to hate. Yet in the moment the surface tension breaks, when I let go, when what is hiding in the depths is gleaned, there is so much power- so much freedom.
So please forgive a neurospicy spiteful trans gal as she screams into the void for a bit to break that proverbial tension:
ADHD kids, diagnosed or not are much more likely to be subjected to a flood of negative comments in their formative years. Crippling their self-esteem.
High masking Autistic/ kids too.
Rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD) tends to be common among both of these groups as well, and I’ve recognized through my own journey and healing that this common struggle was a heavy factor leading to the years long “existing not living” state I’ve previously written at length about; the years I’m incredibly grateful to have survived.
When I was younger, I dreamed of making an impact in the world, advocating for change, ‘be the change’, all that love and light crap, those were my glorious dreams. I was a talented storyteller even at a young age mimicking characters then learning to make them my own to captivate an audience. I was equally gifted in public speaking it seemed, capable of writing my own speeches, splicing footage or building a slide deck- or whatever blend would best convey the message or information I had for the audience I’d be before.
Local Rotary Clubs, other schools in the community, even a retirement home in Japan! (Remind me to write about my student ambassadorship to Japan sometime)
And yet when it came to talking about me specifically… Well, that just wasn’t on the menu. Was it not allowed or did I just not know how? When I began to ask for help with the aspects of my own tale I couldn’t understand, long before there was any thought of writing or sharing; I was misunderstood. Rejected. Shut down and out, left completely alone and confused.
So I abandoned my own story. It was much easier to pick up a mask and play the character I was told to be.
But how do you make a difference when each day is a repeat of the last, wearing a mask, following orders, completing all the same steps you’re told will lead to happiness. Eventually.
Though I’m admittedly still learning how to simply be myself, I’m getting better at recognizing me from my many masks.
I’m learning to be the person my inner child needed, learning to connect to the moments of reverence from my past, and working to bring those moments back to the present.
I know this metamorphosis will bring change, and although I’m excited, I’m equally terrified. And you know what? That feels as fitting a place as any to end this rant…
Stay Magicakal friends.
Z's Grimoire 