Second Letter to K

Dear Karen,


My apologies for the delay in my response, but I wanted to respond with compassion and empathy for how you're feeling, and so I could properly collect my thoughts and feelings on how much this pained me to read.


What I initially took away from it, was that the importance of who you thought I was, who you believed me to be, was more important than recognizing who I am now; who I'm becoming.


You say my values and interests now are different from myself pre-transition, and I need to let you know that simply isn't the case; all the interests I had beforehand are still there, but with my transition has come a sense of comfort with my body, with my voice, that I never felt before.


In terms of my polyamory, the desire had been there for years, long before I even met you - my sexuality is a similar story; transition has given me the strength to bare myself without shame. To speak for myself, and for those I care about dearly.


I remember a few months back, you told me I had 'a chip on my shoulder' for the frustration I felt towards the state of my transition care, and essentially made me feel I should be grateful to get anything at all, that somehow correcting a verifiable, documented medical condition should be a privilege, not a right.


I bristle at the state of healthcare in this country, and particularly trans healthcare, because we are the most marginalized group of the entire population. Our identities are constantly scrutinized, doubted, and shamed. We are, and this is especially true for the 'trans feminine' of us, told that we're somehow a danger to cisgender women and children; that we're predators that disguise ourselves as women to cause harm.


We are regularly, and routinely, denied healthcare, housing, and jobs. Even with the legal protections here in Oregon, I was still terminated from my last place of employment, simply for daring to present myself in a way that's aligned with how I feel my gender should be.


Even with the proper documentation, I am regularly deadnamed and misgendered by people in the healthcare industry, by people I care about deeply that I've had to tell time and again: That boy is dead, and his flesh is mine: his Ghost resides within me, and his memories are mine, hazy as they might be, and to be perfectly honest with you? They are. They are incredibly hazy to me, like I've awoken from a dream that had, until then, lasted me a lifetime.


But, identities are not static. We, as with the entirety of the Universe, are not Static. We are impermanent; in constant flux; ever-changing, growing, dying. With his Death came my Birth, and it is not something I've taken lightly. But it is not fair to me, to the young woman that stands before you, the young woman who dreams of helping children through these very same struggles, who has already found the family she always wanted, to say those old ambitions are erased, that his light has been snuffed.


No.


The light within me is a focused beam, too intense for me to contain or share with just one person. In Armand's death, I found myself. I hold within me, his love, and I have amplified it so loudly that it drowns out the hatred around me, and if it weren't for my love for you, I wouldn't have told you any of this.


Because when you've lived the life I've lived, it becomes easy to cut out the people that hurt you, but it is so hard to let go of those you love. It is so hard, but we must continue to love those we care for, no matter what or who they become.


Please. I implore you. Love the girl that writes to you now, as you loved the boy you thought you knew so well a year ago; she still loves her big sister. She still loves you.


- Armeline