A Matter of Habit
A transgender man and a transgender woman. A Matter of Habit “...you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it's done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on” ― Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable You learned to make those stone-cold don’t-fuck-with-me faces in fifth grade while I excelled at English, math, and history. I knew words, numbers, and dates would never betray me. In high school, we drifted away as you sought the approval of boys. You sacrificed half your humanity to fit in. I circled the edge of the pool and dove in. For me, “outside”
