Honesty in Hell

Art is always introspective. It is an expression of the internal experience in some way. To observe one's own journey through life can be purely vain, or it can be a chance to question and grow. Those who haven't questioned and grown for themselves wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

I've observed a pattern in human behavior that fascinates and worries me. It's a means of self-reassurance and avoidance. People refuse to look at themselves and their own problems, at what they need to change within themselves.

I do it, too. We are all prone to this behavior. Change is difficult.

The self-reassurance comes in the phrase "I'm not like them." It implies that if your problematic behavior could be worse, it must not be a problem. At least you're better than that other person you're pointing at.

One example I see frequently is parents comparing their parenting to that of their own parents. "My parents did this, and I'm doing it differently," these parents will say.

It's easier than going to therapy. It's easier than admitting you might need to admit you're not perfect. It's easier than taking the pills prescribed to you.

Just look over there, not at yourself. If someone's doing worse, you must be fine.

Fickle gossip is eating itself all the time here on the internet, just like it did before the internet. Believe victims, until the victims have some agency and opinions of their own.

The fact is that our society punishes victims repeatedly. We are expected to be perfect, and even those who exceed those impossible expectations cannot save themselves. Tell the truth in grotesque detail, and it's the next bestselling tell-all memoir. They buy those books and read eagerly, basking in the shocking specifics. Never mind that the person who bared their soul for you is selling their trauma.

This world is not kind to those who express themselves honestly. They want us to perform in freak shows so they can gawk at our disabilities. If we say we don't want to be labeled as freaks, and we want accessibility to thrive, that's too honest. It draws attention to the problems in the society they built to marginalize us, the weird ones.

My initial writings were an attempt to express my rage and grief. I'd been lied to about everything. I'd been told that the entirety of life revolved around a god that does not exist. I was traumatized, and I didn't even know it. I thought there would be catharsis in telling my story. For a short time, there was. Many people wrote me kind notes saying that my writing gave them comfort and insight. I was able to tell them they were not alone.

It was not the end of the hard lessons I had to learn about the world. I often describe this as growing up in a small cage, only to find that I'd escaped into a larger cage. What my parents believed about gender, sexuality, religious fundamentalism, conservatism, and Christian nationalism is a set of extremes shared by the government of my country.

Being honest in this world is punished harshly. It takes honesty to embrace my identity as a trans, non-binary, pansexual person. My very existence is a challenge to the small-mindedness of the people who raised me.

Here in this hell, everything is opposite. They tell us lies are truth. The President of the United States spits hateful lies onto a website called "Truth Social" now. He popularized the term "Fake News," and now this accusation can be hurled in any direction.

Of course, if I tell the truth about myself and my experiences, I am called a liar.

What else did I expect?