CAUTION: LIKLY SUICIDE TRIGGER CONTENT:
There is no light opening this week. I got into a verbal altercation with some asshole acephobic in the Wal Mart (is there any other place in Arkansas) parking lot after he chased me (in his mini tanker trunk)and my friend J (a cisgender married female) while we were running errands and happily discussing lgbtq fiction). He was so far up my ass he might as well have been rimming me. When I found a parking place he was right there telling me I was driving too slow, when in fact, I was searching for a place close to the store so that I could use my handicapped plaquard. I told him that as a genderless asexual I not only refuse to eat ass but do not want my ass eaten, literally or figuratively. He stepped towards me and threatened bodily harm but I told him that if he laid one hand on me, he would be in handcuffs, and minus at least one testicle by the time I was finished with him. I screamed so loud in fact that I ruptured my vocal cords, had a nosebleed and other bleeding I’d rather not talk about here. I was so out of sorts that I wanted to leave the state for 2 measly nights, but one of my family members, who thinks they OWN me like a house slave and can’t let me go anywhere just because I’ve had 4 heart attacks, said get back home. I have now decided that when I’ve saved enough $$$ I’m leaving this fucking bible belt, and that I’m finished trying to take care of older members of family who treated me like shit when I was a child. My father’s side of the family? Shit! Every one in my family, on every side, thinks they have the right to tell me when I can go and where I can go. One of these days, I’m leaving in the middle of the night, taking the one member of the family who DOESN’T treat me like ass droppings, my CAT. I have spent 3 weeks crying, and I’m tired of it. I called the Trevor Project telling them I either wanted to leave this hellhole or kill myself. The counsillor helped me…for now.
The following snippet doesn’t even begin to touch my state of mind right now.
“But,” I try.
“No, Derek,” the doctor insists. “If he upsets you like that again, you’re liable to have a seizure and worsen your head injury, or fracture your skull. I won’t have that! I’m prescribing you a sedative to take by mouth twice a day, plus a seizure medicine. They’ll both make you sleepy. You won’t be able to drive anymore.”
“What?” I wail. “Oh no! Dr. Khaled!”
“I’m sorry, but if you’re a seizure risk, it’s against the law to drive.”
On the way home, I cry.
Because I can’t drive now.
And now, how will I be able to search for Joey?