The First

Falling for someone is about the most dangerous thing a young trans person can do. In her new article, Aura Baroli writes about solitude, unexpected encounters and the beauty of human connection. 

Warning: this article discusses serious topics, such as self-harm and mental health issues. Reading discretion advised.

The Brain — is wider than the Sky —

For — put them side by side —

The one the other will contain

With ease — and You — beside —

The Brain is deeper than the sea —

For — hold them — Blue to Blue —

The one the other will absorb —

As Sponges — Buckets — do —

Emily Dickinson

Part I: The Island

Exactly four years ago, I woke up on a deserted island.

It is nothing more than a rocky patch of sand, devoid of any trees, bushes and grass, rising slightly above the water line. Wherever you turn, you see the same thing: the ocean, endless, bound only by the sky above. You’re alone, and there is nowhere for you to run: you’re perpetually imprisoned, circling around like koi in a fishbowl. You want to seek shelter, but there is nowhere to hide, so you’re constantly exposed to the fury of the elements. The sun burns your skin, and the wind cracks it open, while the waves bend your body beyond repair. As water and sand fill your lungs, you grasp for more air to keep your brain from going dark. You are caught by the current and brought back to the island, thrown like a plastic bottle onto the stone-hard shore. You don’t get up.

Your body aches from the lack of nutrition, your arms bleed from the cuts and your head pounds from the pressure. You pray for a few seconds of relief, for someone to come and help you, but there is no one that can spare you from the pain. Your first primal instinct is to scream, but you know no one will hear you, so you stay in silence. Your eyes close. Pain becomes a background noise, just like the crashing of the waves.

The island does not show up on any map and is far too remote to be noticed by anyone. Nonetheless, as you lay on the sand with your eyes shut, you think about the chances of someone finding and helping you. But this is just wishful thinking, something you say to distract yourself from the relentless flow of pain, because you know the only way you can be found is if someone starts looking for you. And even then, it would take a long time.

That is because the island is found at the center of my mind, surrounded by the sea that is my memory and by the ocean that is our shared reality. To reach it, one must win the strong currents that push away anyone who comes too close and cross the high reefs that surround the sea of memory like a stone mask. Most importantly, one must be determined to find my corner of the world, because my island is not the only one that punctuates reality: there are many more, and the majority are lush, warm, quiet keys where existing is a pleasure. Despite this, most are empty, as those who inhabited them left to follow others, with whom they now sail.

People do return sometimes, but they don’t stay for long, as they are drawn back to the ocean by the vessels and the continents they see in the distance. I’ve inhabited my island for over one thousand four hundred days, and I’ve never left since the day I woke up. I see them too, I hear their calling, but I cannot answer, because I cannot leave.

For others, the island is just the beginning, a port to start exploring the world from, a gulf to wait the passage of a storm in. For us transgender people, it is a cage we can’t unlock, an open-air prison we can’t escape, a state of mind we can’t free ourselves from.

Why?

Because we’re afraid of what is out there, so much so we’d rather spend our entire lives secluded in our minds than out in the world, living. While there is the chance that by leaving, we’ll get to experience happiness, fulfillment and love, there exists the risk of suffering even more than on the island. Reality is a dangerous ocean to sail on, where monsters wait under the surface for a prey to capture and drag to the bottom. More than once have I come into contact with them, as they circled around my island, waiting for me to make a noise to jump out of the water with their maws open. Thus, now, every time I see someone in the distance, fear comes alive at the same time as hope. In the end, I share the same preoccupations as other transgender people: we worry about being discovered by
others, we worry about our lies being revealed for what they are, we worry about our identities being dragged forcibly under the spotlight, we worry about our truths being ridiculed and dismissed, we worry about other people being horrified at the sight of our scars, we worry about our minds being bitten by aggressive and invasive questions, we worry about our bodies being shoved and beaten by those that have power over us.

We worry about our souls being raped by those that think of us as mere animals.

These fears keep us from leaving, because an eternity of predictable pain on the island is safer than a future filled with anguish and terror. Since the steady flow of hurt is the only thing we know well enough to feel safe in, we choose it over the chance of living a happier life. We conform, we avoid, we shut up, we hide, we disappear, all to spare our minds and bodies from pains we couldn’t handle. To preserve ourselves, we choose to remain on the island, but the cruelest aspect is that even if we wanted to leave, we wouldn’t be able to do so. Even if we were to overcome all the fears that keep us tied to the center of our uninhabitable minds, our bodies, our physicality, too alien for most other people, would keep us locked behind our skins, imprisoned. Our only option is to wait for our flesh to slowly evolve into its new shape; for the reefs that surround our islands to crumble into the sea, allowing us to sail away.

In the meantime, we sit on the shore and admire the light that enters our heads through our eyes, hoping someone safe will find our corner of the world and stay with us as we wait to leave.

Part II: The Voyager

I didn’t hear him.

I didn’t hear him as he cut across the perfectly still seawater, I didn’t hear him as he crossed with ease the disorienting reefs that surround the island, and I didn’t hear him as he battled the currents that push away those who venture too close. Then, before I could say anything, he stepped foot on the shore, and that is when I realized that someone had made it to the ground that up until then only I had walked on.

I was exposed and defenseless, alone with him in the echoing cavern of my mind. His eyes were fixed on me, and I knew he could see everything about my being, but I could not oppose any resistance, as there was no way for me to escape his gaze. As I laid my eyes on his, all my fears erupted as geysers and my heart started pumping liquid panic throughout my body. A voice kept pounding in my ears, warning me about the dangers of being seen by another person, ordering me to react in some way. I couldn’t move, my muscles heavy and rigid, sedated, ready for surgery. I had fallen in a trap to which he held the keys.

I knew he was about to say something, I could feel it in the air, so I stood quiet, waiting to be struck by the sound of his voice.

He shattered the silence with a question.

Whenever I or someone else ask you what is going on inside your head, you always reply “nothing”, why?

Because I don’t think it’s worth it to say anything. Why? Speaking up leads to arguments, and I don’t want to get entangled in pointless discussions that do not lead anywhere. But getting entangled is the main reason why you choose to speak with others; you open your mind and allow your ideas to float between you and someone else, and maybe they’ll come up with something that’ll change your view of the world, something you wouldn’t have thought otherwise. I doubt that could happen. You think you know better than the rest of us? No, I am simply different from you, from the others, and so is my perspective; most of the times what people tell me I have already thought. If you never say anything, if you never open yourself up to someone else, you’ll never form true bonds with anyone. And maybe I don’t want to connect, maybe I’m perfectly fine with the shallow, meaningless bonds I have right now. Are you, Aura? Because I don’t think you are. Tell me the truth: why do you choose to isolate yourself? What are you so afraid of?

That people will use what I tell them to stab me in the back.

Not everyone you’ll meet in your life will hurt you, Aura, I promise. Some won’t. Most have, one way or another.

Well, you can’t live if you only trust yourself. You have to give people a chance.

That is not the only reason. So, tell me.

If I don’t open myself up to anyone, if I don’t get attached to anyone, when a friendship fails, I can cut off the other person without suffering. This way, losing someone will never cause me to feel like I am losing a piece of myself.

And what will you do when you meet someone you like, someone who wants to be with you, someone who wants to understand you? Will you lie to them too?

I don’t know what I would do, but there are some things about me I could only tell a person I love. I get that.

Though I doubt anyone would want to be with me if they saw what hides beneath my skin, only someone insane would do that. I am here. Do I look insane to you?

No.

But I haven’t told you anything about myself either. You’d be horrified if you knew. You can’t know how me or anyone else would react. Well, I can’t forgive myself, and neither would others if they discovered about my past, certain things simply scar you for life and can’t be forgotten no matter how hard one tries.

Aura, you have to let go of your past.

I can’t, it’s not fair.

You must. You have to spit out your monsters, look them in the eyes, and pulverize them. It’ll take a long time, and you’ll suffer tremendously, but if you endure, if you never give up, there is a better life that waits for you on the other side. I know you wish you could simply skip to future, where all your problems are solved, but certain things require time, and you have to accept this. I know this frustrates you, but it’s the unfortunate truth. But you will make it, trust me. I believe in you, Aura.

And with that, I broke down.

All the emotions I had refused to feel, the memories I had vowed to repress and the darkness I had tried to ignore rushed back to the surface; the sunlight became boiling and set my skin on fire, the wind turned violent and made sand a swarm of wasps, while the waves, now solid as fists, pounded the island on all sides. The sound of pain grew in volume and devolved into a relentless drilling that made my ears bleed; grief hit my body like a round of bullets, I fell to the ground, tears flooded my eyes, breath collapsed into sobs, limbs went numb.

I looked up. He was still there.

The sun had burned his body, the wasp had stung him, and the sea had hit his face time and time again, but he was still there. He didn’t leave me when my pain struck him and became his too; he didn’t leave me when pain kept going for hours, days or weeks without stopping; he didn’t leave me when, after what seemed to be an improvement, destruction came striking again. He stayed.

And each time my eyes were about to close, and I was on the verge of fading into nothingness, he kept me awake, not letting me fall into the quiet acceptance I had towards suffering. His presence filled the emptiness that reigned on the island and thanks to him, instead of vanishing, I emerged. The truths hidden in me followed the sound of his voice and poured out onto the ground, the weight of an entire ocean lifting from my chest each time I pronounced my last words.

He was the first.

He was the first to search for me, he was the first to find me, he was the first to hear me, he was the first to stay with me, and he was the first to suffer with me. He was the first person to truly see me for who I am, and his embrace of my shadows lit a fire that keeps on burning within me.

Despite everything that followed.

Part III: The Hurricane

When I first met him, I was convinced that if anyone got to know what hides within me, they would leave instantly, without ever looking back. As he kept on listening to my past and sharing my pain, though, never showing even a shadow of judgement, I began thinking that maybe I wasn’t impossible to be around, that maybe I wasn’t the monster I’d always thought I was, that maybe I wasn’t condemned to feel perpetually inferior to others.

Then he went away, so what should I believe now?

I was told I could always call, then I was told it was pointless; I was told I would never be a drag, then I was told I dragged everyone down; I was told I would always be supported, then I was told to seek help elsewhere.

How did it come to this?

What is the truth?

What am I?

I am a cause of pain, every memory every emotion every behavior of mine a destructive force, a boiling wind that agitates the sea. As I remembered my past on the island the wind grew stronger the sand turned a swarm the sharp rocks underneath became bullets they hit us and cut across our arms our faces our legs revealing the blood underneath and he couldn’t stand the sight of me wounded the anguish I caused him to feel so he walked back from me and in doing so he broke me, but he made the right decision.

I’ll never blame him for leaving.

I should have sent him away myself but I was looking inward not outwards in any case I wouldn’t have seen his pain as he concealed it to help me heal mine I would have never allowed him to do so had he told me upfront and God I’ll forever be mortified for hurting him the way I did.

The only thing left is the empty space he used to occupy as for the rest I’m alone on an island under a threatening sky the water dark as the clouds the horizon blurred as tie dye and while others can escape my storm I am left behind a child with no parents who’s terrified but cannot afford to cry.

And even though I made progress I feel right back there when the only friend I had was me a black hole in my chest a buzzing sound inside my head a pressure behind my eyes I want to puncture my skull to let it all out to release it but I can’t so it increases increases increases until there’s no more space for me and I can’t breathe the rain floods the island the wind throws debris at me the waves want to eat me I don’t want to go I am terrified but I have no other choice.

I glance down I see pieces of wood the waves brought them I grab one I jump in the sea I fight to stay afloat I know I’m leaving my only home don’t know where the current will let me go but who cares anywhere now is better than staying there.

This essay describes episodes of emotional turmoil. If you or someone you know is going through something similar, consider contacting a counsellor, a therapist or a friend you trust.