What Do I Do Now That The World Didn’t End? (…yet)

I always wondered what would come next

Over the weekend, Prism & Pen published my memoir short about going through trans conversion therapy as a 90s girl in Mississippi. I waited decades to tell the truth.

I couldn’t bring myself to confess these secrets while I felt that persistent fear that my dad, my mom, my twin brother, my older sister modeled and trained me to reflect. All my life, showing them even a hint of the harm they’d done to me sent them into panicked, abusive rages.

The sick part of me refused to let go of their lie that the red mist descends upon them so quickly because I did something to cause it. But no matter what I’ve changed, no matter how healthy or whole I’ve come back to them, their addictions never stop. Their abusive behavior toward me never changes. They may forever remain unwilling or unable to see beyond their pain and simply acknowledge what they did and how it affected me.

How ironic that letting go of the need to ever be worthy of their love is what finally brought real love within my grasp.

I didn’t cause their trauma. I can’t control how they responded to it. I can’t cure whatever compels them to hurt me.

I can’t make them feel worthy, nor can I make them experience ME as worthy.

They couldn’t make me feel worthy, either. That was a journey I had to go on when I was ready to face life alone. Given how quick they are to respond to my presence by hurting me, I have to look back and wonder if they ever wanted me around in the first place.

Now that I’ve spoken about their abuse so loudly…will they hurt me just as loudly to silence me for good?

SOME QUESTIONS REMAIN UNANSWERED

Now I feel safe. Now I feel whole. At least enough to never, ever again submit to the people who hurt me. I spent my life worrying how they’d come for me if I ever told their secrets.

But here I am. Still alive. No one showed up at my door. In the end, they probably never will. They survived (and some thrived) by controlling the narrative. By keeping me and the other women they hurt silent or coerced into supporting them. By surrounding themselves with enough people who were into the same things that the people who instead experienced abuse seemed like the odd ones.

I can’t help but wonder what will happen to my brother, if anything. Men have done far worse than him for far longer and gotten away with it. I just don’t want to empower him any more through my silence.

His abusive rages — what he calls a red mist — come over him so quickly. I no longer believe I have any power to protect myself from his behavior. What I can do is empower myself and my queer community so that predators like him no longer have more power than us. We don’t need to fight him any more. At least I don’t. I am too full of a person and more full each day.

For any of my abusers to challenge the secrets I’ve shared would mean clarifying all of the awful details about their behavior. It would mean bringing their abuse out of the shadows.

And while there are plenty of men who carry an overwhelming arrogance and the power to back it up— one former male Disney celebrity is putting on a masterclass of vengeful abuse toward women right now, in fact — my abusers are not powerful.

These people are small. They only had power over me because they abused me until I was smaller than them. They started when I was too young a kid to have the knowledge or the power to fight back.

They only kept power over me because it took me until now to see they can’t do those things to me any more.

They only had power over me because it took me until now to see the only one holding me in that prison of lies any more is myself.

Maybe they’ll come for me. One or two of them already tried on this very platform. Given what I know about them, it was easy to see through their fake identities.

It felt good to assert legal action. It felt good to speak truth to power and not for a second feel tempted to feed their addiction to abusing me, to fixing me, to showing me every little thing that could be improved if only they could make me see things the way they see them.

ONE LAST TWIST

You ever watch a movie and get so strong sense of deja vu that you understand it’s not just a feeling?

Back when I spoke with him, my brother had this very particular French phrase he still uses as an affectation.

I couldn’t place exactly when or how he started using it. We took French courses as teenagers, so I figured it was one of those specific phrases he incorporated into his pick-up artist routines to make people perceive him as cultured and interesting.

He’s got lots of scripts. Say this, insult them like this, be ready if they have appropriate (but unacceptable boundaries), SMILE, get them to react this way by hurting them in a way that makes them want you. And then with little details like adding “n’est-ce pas?” to the end of a question, the idea is that you can establish the social proof necessary for power and seduction.

I really didn’t sleep very well last week. I knew this was coming once I decided to publish Trans Conversion Therapy. My restless nights came from as much anticipation as terror. So sometimes, I lay awake in the morning, wondering if I’ll fall back asleep but letting my mind do what it needs to do if I can’t.

Sometimes, I listen to movies. I don’t watch them. I just leave the audio on.

Last week, I put up Batman (1989). That’s the one that blew everyone’s mind when Mr. Mom delivered a WOW performance as Bruce Wayne/Batman.

Did you know my dad’s name is Bruce Wayne? Well, that was his first and middle name.

My brother is kind of a dark reflection of my dad. Sort of like how the character of Joker has become a kind of mirror for the superhero.

One of my brother’s favorite phrases suddenly made sense.

FINIS

Well, anyway. Now it’s done. The story is out there. It’s the most detailed account of what I went through. Detailed enough that I feel like I can make space for other things. At least a little and more every day.

I keep feeling like someone is coming for me. I look over my shoulder. I wake up shaking and crying. But I’ve been doing that most of my life. It’s just that I was shaking from keeping all of these secrets inside of me. Now that they’re coming out, so are the feelings I buried with them. But that’s part of the healing process.

Each breath feels a little more free. I needed to speak truth to power. Even if it was my own family.

AND NOW FOR…

SOMETHING FUN: Ten More New Extremely Queer Memes (Mostly Smudge memes pointing fun at shouty people)

SOMETHING SERIOUS: All of My Articles On Being Raised By Narcissists (and put through trans conversion therapy)

THE END (DAMN GIRL, THAT’S DARK)

Hi, it’s Stephenie!

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