I woke up today and found myself going through agonizing physical therapy. I don’t have a physical therapist that has a body, though, so it was something like laying down on my bed with my legs dangling over the sides. I twisted around, my hips screaming in agony over minor stretches. I am assured that this is not normal and some day I’ll be better.
This is day 654 of PT. I used to break up some of the time with legitimate work, but this invisible force threw away my job somewhere in the middle of all of it. It was July 7th, 2021, actually. I just don’t care to calculate how many days that means.
I squealed in pain as I jiggled my legs, testing muscles that were holding my hips in an awkward angle. They’re still busted, but we’re almost there. I just have to turn back the clock a few more years on my body. I feel like the Curious Case of Benjamin Button, living my life backwards, in a way. This must be what Alzheimer’s is like. I assume that’s what the movie is truly about. I ask God if most people get that, but he said no, so I felt it was worth stating now.
There’s a lot of art out there to try to help us understand insanity or mental health problems (or even plain health problems.)
After two hours of working on my broken pelvis, I finally got up, but the bones weren’t seated properly. I ended PT early because I was tired of the invisible force that drives my body taking precedent over me. I was dehydrated and needed water. I’ve had six cups since then, I’m happy to report. Now, I have earned myself a beloved coffee.
However, my hips are still sore. It wasn’t until I went by the grocery store and locked eyes with a man back in the delicatessen area, well, more accurately it was about thirty minutes after that, that my hips started to feel fine again. Why is he relevant? Why, indeed. Somehow, he healed me with his thoughts. I quite appreciate it and I’d like to tell him “thank you,” but I’m sure I’ll get a response of “you’re crazy!” That is, unless he’s already a reiki healer.
He could be, I have no idea. All I know is he was wearing a very blue shirt today. It’s not his best color at all, but it’s not up to me to dictate what he wears. It’s not anyone’s responsibility to dictate how another being be dressed. It’s one reason I’m not married yet: the stupid cow I wanted to get hitched to demanded a white dress. No, thank you. I’ll wear whatever I like, not what you daydream about because you’re already married in your head to a fantasy that looks nothing like the real me.
It just didn’t look as good as the white shirt I first saw him in. If it’s even the same guy. If you ask me, he looked like the guy that used to make submarine sandwiches that I caught sight of a few times… Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I’m not even sure why I care anymore. All men are handsome and we can leave it at that.
Oh, right, that invisible force inside me is boy crazy. Every day, I must contort like a pretzel, trying to appease these invisible forces acting upon me. “Go flirt with deli men, at least you know they can cook.” And then I do. And then these invisible voices bring them up over and over again while I try to do real stuff, like learn new kinds of reiki and take other spiritual courses on Udemy.
I’m literally being blocked from moving on to a new career. I’m in stasis and it’s driving me absolutely insane. I want to let go of who I used to be and charge headlong into who I’m going to become. I am in transition, but I don’t mean to take that word away from people who determine that they were born with the wrong body. That sounds like a personal hell, honestly, to be born with the wrong body… Is it karmic retribution for misdeeds in the past? Is it something that always was?
I remember asking my Facebook friends once if eunuchs were evidence of this happening in the past. It made sense to me that if men are born as women and the other way around, it’s a phenomenon that’s been happening since the dawn of time… much like gay and lesbian relations.
I got a lecture, instead, about how eunuchs were chosen to be castrated so that they would keep the choir voice of angels and so on. This is not a satisfying answer, Jennifer, I’m sorry. I reject your “I know all the things” attitude and say FIE ON YOU. You didn’t answer my question: IS IT POSSIBLE THAT EUNUCHS ARE THE PRECURSOR TO THE TRANS MOVEMENT OF TODAY?!
I would like to think that they are, because nothing like this just rises up over night. There is no magic wand being waved around through the air making people go insane. We are just insane, generally speaking. And, if we were to embrace the rainbow flag, would as many people feel the incorrect gender as do today? I have no idea. I want to heal people, not hurt them, and to heal we need to understand.
I am in the trans capital of the USA now, thankfully, so maybe I can make some friends and find out more from their perspective. I wonder which coffee shops I need to go to. I wonder which bars are the right bars. I wonder how do I get an IN when I missed the pride parade? I’m going to keep missing it because I’m shy. Maybe there’s a meetup or something instead… hmm.
The invisible forces that take me over prevent me from obtaining real friendships as it is. “If I can’t have her, no one can!” Sound familiar to you? Sounds like hubris to me. And the death knell of my free will, now that I’ve got a dozen men who all believe it to the core.
However, I’m not done fighting for me. I know I’m in here somewhere in this mess. I know I can beat them all, most likely by pitting them against each other… for that is what I do. I let me enemies do all the fighting and I heal what’s leftover for a brand new day. I think it’s the Christian thing to do, if you ask me.
In fact, because of that, many of these individual invisible forces inside me called me The Messiah. The messenger, I believe. I’ve got one wallop of a message for you:
make peace, not war.
Angel-Sansara 