I Fled the United States.

As a white person, I understand that I am privileged to get away. Most people can’t leave. Many people may not wish to leave. For me, it was a question of survival. I’m going to need a lot more therapy for the survivor’s guilt. I’m terrified for my friends and the broader trans and disabled community. I wish I could have done more for the other marginalized groups in the heart of the empire.

It has been extremely difficult to survive in the US, and in the end, our combined EBT SNAP benefits (formerly known as food stamps) barely stretched to feed us for half the month. We’d moved from coast to coast for a better chance to get by, but costs continued to skyrocket under Trump’s second term.

The most accessible building we could find still had a set of stairs before the elevator. Every time we left the building, I had to carry Ryann’s wheelchair down those stairs while he carefully leaned on the railing to climb down them. At the bottom, we’d both be out of breath from the effort. Most outings were for medical appointments, and he underwent two brain surgeries while we lived on the East Coast. Still, we had to cancel most appointments because it was too difficult to leave the building.

For months, Ryann and I have been meticulously planning to get out of the country that wants us to shut up and die. We never had the chance to save much money. When I won my disability case last year, it took almost four months to get my payout. I was declared temporarily disabled, so I did not receive ongoing payments. One of the first things we did was purchase one-way flight tickets.

Our inner circle understood the danger, and came together to support us in moving. Friends and allies sent money to help us pay expenses, and family members helped with the physical aspects of moving.

Ryann looked at many countries before deciding where we should go. Many places are attractive destinations for able-bodied people, but fall short on accessibility. It’s also important to note that small countries with mostly white populations have had an easier time implementing socially supportive systems. Global racism has meant ongoing genocides against Black and Indigenous people for centuries. For us, the best location seemed to be Spain.

The week I left, even the New York Times finally published a piece about how the United States is a dangerous place for trans people. As many of you know, I don’t think the New York Times is a good source of news. They often report too little, too late, if at all. NYT coverage of trans people being targeted is more of an indicator that it’s worse than they will ever admit. They helped stoke hatred against trans people for years before deciding to cover it, as if they had nothing to do with the results of their own actions. Just a few days ago, Trans News Network compiled excellent reasons to boycott The New York Times.

I have been in Spain for three weeks. Every step of the way, I waited with severe anxiety. We were afraid my partner’s passport wouldn’t go through because of mismatched gender markers. We were afraid I might not be approved for a student visa. Every day, I was haunted by the imminent sense that the window of opportunity to get out was closing rapidly.

The Trump administration targets leftists. Texas is torturing trans prisoners by forcibly detransitioning them.  

Over the past several months, I’ve been very quiet about my day-to-day life because I didn’t feel safe to say I was trying to leave the country. Ryann worked hard to research our options and plan out details. We had to part with most of our belongings to fit everything into a few suitcases. We had to rehome one of our beloved cats because she would not have survived the trip, a gut-wrenching decision that haunts us both. We had to plan for the worst and hope for the best.

When we arrived in Madrid, the relief was massive. I had grown so accustomed to the crushing anxiety that I didn’t think it was possible to feel another way. It didn’t feel real. I knew it was real because some things were unexpected and others were familiar. The streets were arranged for more pedestrians than vehicles, for instance. I had to ask where the names of the streets were. I had to practice rudimentary Spanish whenever I went to the store, and the prices were shockingly low.

What was familiar was the struggle to survive. The mundanity of poverty follows us wherever we go, and each new beginning is expensive. It means starting over on gathering necessities. One particular loss was my spice collection, and I am slowly starting to gather those again. Salt, pepper, paprika, garlic. Each item lasts a long time because it is used in small amounts, but I won’t be replacing my cabinet of herbs and spices overnight.

We spent ten days in a hotel until we’d secured and signed a lease for a new studio apartment. It’s smaller than the one we had in Philadelphia, but perfect for us. The two cats that we still have are settling in well, and we’ve been busy unpacking and arranging our space to suit our needs. It’s cozy and quiet with little street noise. There was an AC unit from a previous tenant, but it had been sitting long enough to develop mold, and we had to dispose of it. Still, we’re lucky to have a good placement for combating the heat of Madrid. Our unit is on the first floor of the building, and our front door and windows face a patio shared with a few neighbors. The tiled floor stays naturally cool, and the heat of midday doesn’t reach us.

I’m here on a student visa, and classes start at the beginning of September. I’m enrolled at a university that teaches in English, but I am taking a Spanish class so I can learn how to communicate here better. My upcoming writings and reflections will focus on two main things:

1.        School is going to keep me very busy, and

2.        I’m free to speak my mind like never before.

In the United States, I worried about how radical I could be. Sometimes I’d be working away at an essay and stop myself, realizing I’d have to return to the project when it wouldn’t be so risky.

As I wrote on Patreon last week, this is not just a new chapter for me. It feels like a sequel to the life I lived before.