The thing about this election is, I'm not scared. Not in the way I expected to be.
I don't wake up in the morning with my heart in my mouth and I can sleep at night with only a little difficulty. My hands don't shake, my skin remains blessedly clear, and my eating habits are still only a little unhealthy. I hear stories of people crying at work and staring at the ceiling every night and developing ulcers, and none of that is me.
The thing about this election is, I'm still scared.
My fear is the knots that follow my shoulders and spine even in the mornings. My fear is how I read fairy tales again because I need good to triumph. My fear is how I need to keep my hands busy, so I drink water and swim and experiment with makeup. My fear is why, at 7:30 on a Saturday night in what should be the best years of my life, I'm wondering if I can call a friend of mine for the third time this week just to say that I'm feeling a little down.
The life expectancy for a trans person is between thirty and thirty-seven years old. A classmate of mine turned twenty today. She may have only ten years left. She may have less. I don't want her to have less.
I don't anyone to have less.
