a prefix occurring in loanwords from Latin ( transcend; transfix ); on this model, used with the meanings “across,” “beyond,” “through,” “changing thoroughly,” “transverse,” in combination with elements of any origin: transisthmian; trans-Siberian; transempirical; transvalue.
3. Change; transfer: transketolation.
strong displeasure at something considered unjust, offensive, insulting, or base; righteous anger.
a nation of offensive, insulting individuals full of righteous anger towards anything or anyone that is fluid in being and that does not fit into their comfort zone.
We’ve all heard the stories of those that have survived being bullied. We have all seen at least one It Gets Better video on Facebook, Youtube, or our favorite news site. What these stories and video blogs don’t convey to the average viewer is what it’s truly like. What it is for all of us to live in a transindigNation. I feel that it is extremely important to recognize that this affects us all. Queer, straight, disabled, poor, of color, women, children, white, tall, male, short, or whatever you may be, you have been a survivor of this transindigNation.
If you don’t believe me, then I ask you this:
whenever you read a headline of how the Westboro Baptist Church has picketed, sullied, and spewed their ignorance and hatred at yet another funeral, do you get angry, upset, or feel ashamed in anyway?
If you answered yes, or are fighting not to, then you my friend are a survivor in this transindigNation.
I am a twenty seven year old transsexual. I live in a time where the concepts of our forefathers are being constantly re-examined and defined to suit the needs of the obtuse minded, weak and powerful. Where my story of transindigNation starts is near the beginning. We can skip the David Copperfield “to begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born” and get straight to the point. My mother married my step father, a coward of a man. I knew as a child that I was different and that being a girl was not for me. It wasn’t until many years later that I knew what the differences were. My ignorance however did not stop my step father from righteously and rigorously teaching me that these differences were wrong and a scar on the face of God. He was quick to point out that God hates queers and that Sodom and Gamorrah got what they deserved. That no self respecting Catholic could be gay. I didn’t even know what gay was at the time. Let alone trans anything; gendered, sexual, Siberian…
Lessons learned in youth didn’t sink in until much later. It took me a long time to know that being repeatedly raped and simultaneously forced to recite Genesis was not a part of God’s master plan for the queers. That our path with God is our own. I spent years trying to hide what was wrong with me, but every time someone called me sir to my face or through a drive-thru speaker, that sickening feeling came back. The fear, the terror, the indigNation. I would try to push it down, choke on it if I had to, but it continued to grow.
I was afraid.
Afraid I would lose my job if anyone found out. Afraid my wife would leave me. Afraid my friends would bail. Afraid that my step father was right. The longer I tried to hide it, the more pain it caused, physical and emotional. I was easily angered. I wasn’t eating. I would go through periods of not sleeping and then suddenly shift into sleeping so much I would lose track of time. I stopped believing I was capable of doing anything good let alone great. I hated everything about me.
I had created my own transindigNation.
One summer day it hit me like the semi’s nailing the pothole on the highway next to our apartment. It was beyond time for a change. All the other changes I had made in my life weren’t making things better. I couldn’t hide from it anymore. I thought to myself, “this is crazy. I’m going to lose my job, my family… everything. I’m going to be ridiculed, and possibly worse, beaten and left bleeding to death in an alley.” I wrestled with what I like to think of as the “pro’s and con’s of being a tranny” for a while. Then I came to the realization that I have already lived through the indigNation. I no longer have to hide, the worst had passed and the damage done. I had already learned to live with the ridicule and literally the beatings.
We all have our own stories of survival. Some not quite as grim as the Matthew Shepherd’s of the world. Some yet to be told. However your story begins or ends I hope it makes you stronger. I hope you see how important it is for us all to have the ability and freedom to Be. Simply be. “Unique special snowflakes. Space monkeys. The all singing all dancing crap of the world.” However you’d like to define it, it’s all of the utmost importance. In a day and age where the corporate giants line the pockets of those we elect to “speak for us,” and our voices are not heard, we need to rise above the indigNation.