i think

read it twice.

Monday, January 27, 2025

One week since the inauguration.

Dear Diary,

I’ve been driving around in my car, silently. Not intentionally, but I’m usually halfway to wherever it is I’m going when I realize it. Two other times in my life it’s been like this.

“This” meaning that there is so much noise in my head, swirling around that I don’t notice the silence of my car, until I do. Lately I haven’t been turning the music on even after I notice. The quiet is nice. The quiet is a reprieve.

I had my first semi-panic attack after reading too much about confiscation of documents and detaining. I was driving to work, unsure if I was speeding, and saw a cop car. My chest immediately tightened. Was I going to be pulled over? Was I speeding? Will the officer notice the X on my ID? I’m supposed to live in a sanctuary state but I don’t trust MPD for shit. And I’m a little shit so who knows what will come out of this mouth. I envision me slamming on the gas, making a break for it, and hiding at work.

Have I mentioned I was a theater major lately? My over-sensationalized flair for the dramatic comes out at the worst times. I roll my window down and let the cold air hit my face to bring me back to reality. I take some deep breaths and think “I am safe.” My normal go to phrase feels like a lie now.

Over the weekend, more chest tightening, almost to the point where I wondered if I should…do something about it.

I don’t. Instead I don’t leave my apartment for an entire day and just eat, sleep, and read. And clench each time I hear a siren or a noise in the hall of my apartment building.

I talk with another trans friend and we sit in the car trying to think of anything good to share before we part ways. In my silent car driving away, my paranoia reaches new heights. I roll the window down again.

I read more articles, ones that are grounded in better sources but the information is the same. Gender marker this, sex only this, matching documents yada yada. I think about how not all my documents match.

I think about my (chosen) family dinner this week and asking if I can stay after the kids go to bed to talk through some planning stuff. Get second opinions on what I should do about my documents that will expire this year.

I think about Grey’s Anatomy. I wonder if Bailey ever regretted saying she was a nurse in that one episode.

I think back to donnie’s last term when I was still a she/her and still a drunk. I wonder if at some point during this term I’ll end up back there.

I know I won’t.

I think about when Minneapolis was on fire and my parents were begging me on the phone to drive home and stay there until ”this was all sorted out.” “Or, maybe you should just move home. You’ve lived in the city long enough.” But running away from things isn’t how those same people raised me. I couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving my true home - (that’s my city) Minneapolis - where I practiced community in the ways I learned on the farm. Sharing leftovers with my neighbors, passing on what I no longer needed, giving a friendly hello and a smile to everyone I meet. Helping with chores, being an emergency contact, pushing back on authority. I think about staying to fight then versus staying to fight now.

I think about my name being in a database somewhere. I think about how many posts I have on the internet about being trans. I think about being hunted.

I start having dreams at night, ones I feel awake in. I’m hiding, I’m being caught, I’m running. I wake up trying to catch my breath. I think I need to be making more plans than I have because it’s worse than I thought. I think about buying a gun.

I think about how I could never have my babies over if I buy a gun.

I think about my babies. I think about all the babies. (And to clarify, a baby is anyone from birth to 17 years and 364 days, 365 on a leap year and none of whom were made by me). When I think about the babies, I weep. I think about how far we have come since I was a little trans kid being called a tomboy in southern Minnesota, stuffing socks in my pants and throwing a softball at the side of a barn. About how we know better so, in theory, we should be DOING better. I think about how this country is failing these kids, all kids.

I think about how I have never failed any of my babies and I don’t intend to start now.

Suddenly, clarity and the fire returns to my chest.

I think about how I’m a cocky little shit. I think about how you can’t tell me shit when I decide you can’t.

So as for me?

I’ll be here.

I’ll be right fucking here.

Waving my motherfucking flag.

Wearing my motherfucking pronoun pin.

Being so f u c k i n g proud of who am I - the person I have always been and have grown into and keep growing into.

Being so. fucking. happy. it makes them sick(er).

I think about how I fought for this life, to make myself my home, and how I’ll fight for that every fucking day if I have to.

I think about how they call it open season but forget that the prey also knows how to hunt.

fingers up,

xo sarah

“I will remind myself that I deserve to live my transness for all those who came before, who exist now, those to come, and above all, for myself.” - rhiannon salt

when i look at the sky i feel expansive and powerful. chest out, shoulders back. don’t forget to look up friends.