Seeing Bikini Kill Made Me Feel Like I Was 16 Again
Bikini Kill opened a door for me, a door that has stayed open ever since.
Bikini Kill opened a door for me, a door that has stayed open ever since.
Leaving always compels you to look back, a final glimpse, a glance at what exactly you are leaving before you make the jump to part.
I’d avoided saris all my life. It was during the pandemic, when crop tops brought me a sense of freedom and gender euphoria, that I realized saris weren’t too far off.
The truth is, as hard as I ride for it now, there was a time when I couldn’t imagine living here anymore, too.
To really love anything, I think, is to run the risk of it not loving you back.
This is how it feels to come to art too late. It’s no longer an experience of immediate connection, but one of processing, of rewriting.
In queer spaces, I cannot be disabled. In disability spaces, people ask if my spouse is my sister. I hope that someday I don’t have to choose.
When you first meet her, scared and sick and alone, you’ll know that if you don’t take her with you she’ll probably die. Of course, she’s going to die either way. Better to have a life with you first, you’ll decide. You’ll make it nice for her. You’ll try your best, at least.
The story of how I joined theatre is like if the Disney Channel was dark and gay.
I’m 23, and I’m not sure if I’m on a date (I’m not).
Scrabble has always been an exciting way to show that my English degree might have meant something.
If I had a dollar for every therapist I’ve had, I’d probably have enough money to buy a relatively decent meal at a nearby bodega.
I had to figure out what it meant to reconnect with a body I’d always been afraid of.
I finally understood that the “normal” I was seeking was mythical and that my body was beautiful and precious the way it was.
I never imagined I’d have to get an IUI, or that there would be a silver lining.
When I was 12, men started to ask me for my number at the mall.
There’s nothing quite as powerful as being in charge of your own pleasure.
I think of all the things that have taught me lessons and made me the woman I am and feel that, even if my mothers didn’t care for me the way I wanted them to, I still came out on the other side, not unscathed, but survived.
Something had to change, because I’d never be free, be myself, if I kept it up. I decided to take the biggest risk yet, and started transitioning again.
My care team couldn’t help me with the sexual side effects of PTSD — I had to figure this one out on my own.