According to people I met back home, my face didn’t match my voice.
I couldn’t fight off the sense that there is a certain absurdity to getting tested for a disease for which there is currently no cure.
Transition needn’t be a straight line.
When you love someone with dissociative identity disorder, you are not building one healthy relationship—you are building many.
In other words, the suburbs are equated with whiteness because they were designed to be.
I want medicine to meet me where I am, not where it wants me to be.
In our constrained culture where public, raw grief is not socially acceptable, I fear that grief stories are being asked to do too much.