Interviewee: The only family that really matters is the one you pick for yourself.
Content warning for depictions of transphobia.
Interviewee: Hey doc.
Interviewee: Yeah, I’m doing alright.
Interviewee: No, I have not gone to the group sessions. You know why. I’m not ready for that yet.
Interviewee: I can’t feel comfortable if everything feels like I’m slowly getting pinpricked in the back over and over again.
Interviewee: Why are you still trying to force me to like any of this? No matter how soft the bedsheets are, a prison is still a prison.
Interviewee: I know.
Interviewee: But it’s hard to get used to it. How can I? This isn’t my life anymore. This isn’t any life to live.
…
Interviewee: At least this isn’t 17. But let’s be real here, anything is better than 17.
Interviewee: As if.
Interviewee: I know the people here aren’t just cold-blooded bootlickers. They go out partying, they have lives and dreams of their own, they care about each other and others like them. They’re human.
Interviewee: But guess what, doc. So are we.
Interviewee: I’d rather not switch subjects. I know this is about me, but it’s more important that we talk about you. The Foundation you, I mean.
Interviewee: Must be really topical, if your clients have this conversation with you all the time.
Interviewee: Circles and circles, huh?
Interviewee: Yep, you do the best with what you have. But there needs to be more done.
Interviewee: I don’t know, I just want to do something for the world, you get me? I’m tired of wasting away in this cell. I’m tired of watching the world burn around me. I’m tired.
Interviewee: Wish I could’ve done some activism, or something. Anything.
…
Interviewee: Look, when you’re moved from one shitty environment to another, less shitty environment, you might think it’s something, right? At least a change.
Interviewee: But I still have that empty feeling inside. Because it’s over. Everything that I looked forward to in my life is gone. The second I was finally able to just be myself for once without having to pass as someone I’m not, your people came, and now I’m here.
Interviewee: I know that you care. I know you’re trying. It’s nice that I can get therapy, and walk around out of my cell and stretch my legs. But I still feel that heavy weight under my pillow. I still have to see concrete walls every day when I wake up in the morning.
Interviewee: And I’ll always know that instead of getting out there and living my life the way I see fit, I’ll just be here. Talking with you once a week, and then back to my cell.
Interviewee: You gotta know how that feels, right?
Interviewee: Yeah, you can’t really change anything. I get it. But you have to let me go.
Interviewee: I don’t care if that means you lose your job, it’s not like your job is a moral one. You need to let me go.
Interviewee: But you won’t. And that’s fine. It’s fine.
Interviewee: I can still live in spite of it all.
…
Interviewee: Can I tell you something?
Interviewee: Great, thanks.
Interviewee: I’m better off here than back home. Only by a bit, though.
Interviewee: Yeah, I’ll tell you why. It’s why I’m here, right?
Interviewee: Haven’t exactly had the best home life. Mom left my dad and the house when I was three. Just walked right out, and never came back. Didn’t even know her face.
Interviewee: Only thing I learned about her after the fact was how much she drank. 10 cans of beer a day. It’s wild, I know.
Interviewee: My brothers were a rowdy bunch, but they cared a lot about me. We always spent the time wrestling and fooling around, or dunking on each other while playing Mario Kart in the living room. They always supported me when no one else would, and I’ll forever be grateful for that. I hope they’re doing well. I miss them.
Interviewee: But my dad, well.
Interviewee: He just didn’t get it. I tried to explain it to him, but he couldn’t get it. I don’t blame him. He grew up in a different time. People like me were hit with bricks, called slurs, killed. That’s still around now, but it was so much worse back then.
Interviewee: You know how I like to cross my legs, right? I do it because I want to. Not for any other reason. But my dad looked at me doing it once and told me I would look too much like a woman if I kept crossing my legs like that.
Interviewee: Yeah.
Interviewee: It’s okay, I’m better now.
Interviewee: I was never going to be the son that he wanted. I’m my own thing.
Interviewee: Not like I was ever a son to him anyway.
Interviewee: I know.
Interviewee: The only family that really matters is the one you pick for yourself.
Interviewee: Well, at least I got someone to go through this horseshit with me. That’s something, I guess.
…
Interviewee: Is there anything else we need to talk about?
Interviewee: Oh yeah, the other stuff.
Interviewee: I’m just glad you’re not pointing out how ‘self-aware’ I am. I hate it when therapists do that.
Interviewee: Yeah, it only grants me the ability to watch myself self-destruct from the VIP section of the stage. I can’t stop the problems just because I’m aware of them.
Interviewee: I am trying, this time. I am.
Interviewee: I know.
Interviewee: I’m just tired.
Interviewee: I’m sure we will, since I’m going to be stuck in a cell for the rest of my life.
Interviewee: At least it’s not home. But I’ll make my own home.
Interviewee: Thank you, doc. I’m glad to be here, at least. Who knows what would’ve happened if I was still at 17.
Interviewee: Or killed.
Interviewee: I could’ve sworn the Foundation did more than lock people up. That’s what the others are telling me.
Interviewee: You’re still a part of it. You have to at least acknowledge that.
Interviewee: Circles and circles.
Interviewee: Same time next week?
Interviewee: You know I’ll be there. It’s not like there’s a lot to do around here.
Interviewee: I’ll see you around. And thanks. I’m glad you’re trying.