We Are Drowning, and They Cheer From the Shore

My partner asked me what was wrong, and the words just fell out of me through the tears and sobs.

‘It’s heartbreaking to know that so many people in the world hate me without even knowing me.’

That grief is nothing new, it lives just under the surface, every day. And tonight it spilled out.

Because being trans right now feels like we are caught in a whirlpool. An inescapable, accelerating pull downward, slowly spinning and being swept to our end.

And we are clinging to each other with all our might.

Trying to hold one another up.

Trying to survive.

But we’re all drowning together. We’re all in the same current, gasping, struggling – some have already gone.

And all the while, we are dying.

Because joy doesn’t erase trauma.

Visibility doesn’t stop violence.

And empty praise cannot substitute for real action, real protection, real love.

This is not a one off moment or event. This is a slow erasure. This is what it feels like when the world decides you are inconvenient, controversial, disposable, and politely watches as you slip beneath the surface.

So no, I’m not okay, I doubt I ever will be. But I’m still here. If you’re in this whirlpool too: I see you, I’m holding on with you. We are the ones who keep showing up for each other when the world won’t.

Who wave and smile and tell us we’re ‘so brave’ and ‘inspirational’ while doing nothing as we drown, this message is for you:

When we are gone, I want you to remember me.

Remember us.

Remember the names, the faces, the laughter and joy you liked to borrow when it was convenient. The stories and real lives you’ve shared for clout.

Remember that we cried out. That we begged for help. That we clung to each other as the world closed in.

And never, ever forget: You stood idly by.

– Amelia