"I don’t have the words for it at my young age, but I was suffering from severe depression; partially because of my genetics, partially because of my upbringing. Trauma and PTSD hide large swathes of my childhood from me and some of my strongest memories are of trying to find ways to urge myself to keep on living; which are often self-destructive. I don’t think twice about disappearing into the brush and returning with wounds – this is normal to me. This is my survival tactic."

"I stand on my tippy-toes to reach the doorknob; using all the might my eight-year-old body can muster to swing the door open. I plop myself onto the cold linoleum and strain my neck to see outside, barely able to peek over the edge of the screen door. The storm hasn't started yet, but I can feel it beginning to brew. The air is thick and the world outside is dulled by an overcast of heavy clouds."

"Tonight, I wonder what a world would be like where others showed the amount of stressed, desperate gratitude I do for being respected. What would a world look like where cisgender people are so afraid they will be disrespected that they carefully tiptoe around their truth and celebrate it when it’s even acknowledged."

"I am constantly left out of conversations about reproductive justice because I’m a man, but I am also denied my manhood. Society doesn’t know what to do with me, even if I know exactly what to do with me and all they ever had to do was listen. I am so often forced to exist on the outskirts of gender, actively erased from all spaces."

"I knew the Hudson Valley like the back of my hand. I knew what towns I could leave my car doors unlocked in. I knew where all the swimming holes were. I knew what Kingston, my hometown, looked like before gentrification started to plant its roots in the historic streets, sprouting new bars and antique shops and putting up fences so the weeds of the displaced, impoverished many wouldn't taint the fertile soil?"

"I don't know how you did it, Dad. I don't know how you kept on putting your feet in your slippers and getting out of bed every day. It's so hard for me, and as much as I try to pretend I understood it, my life wasn't yours. I mean, sure, you had mom, but did you even love her? I'm sure you did when you first met - I've seen your wedding pictures, but after 30 years did you still love her?"