Chapter 10: Don’t think you matter, tranny

The cynicism of society, and how you end up internalizing it.

At some point you start laughing. Not because it’s funny, but because it hurts less when you do. When someone calls you “tranny,” you barely flinch. Not because it is okay, but because your nervous system is out of capacity. The insult loses its bite after the hundredth time. It comes with a sour but familiar taste, like the cheap coffee you only drink because you can’t afford anything else.

Society has its own kind of humor. It smiles generously while assuring you that of course you can be who you are. As long as you don’t disturb anyone. As long as you stay invisible. As long as you don’t make demands. As long as you are neither too depressed nor too happy.

You learn: Your existence is a disruption with PR potential. The “brave trans person” who is “finally sharing her story.” A tragedy with an Instagram filter. A walking educational resource, as long as she speaks softly. And when you get angry, or vulnerable, or complicated, the sentence drops that shuts everything down: “Don’t think you matter.”

Here is the real message: You are never the center. You are not to be taken seriously. At best you are the topic, not the subject. And you start believing that. You wonder if you are exaggerating. Whether you are too sensitive. Whether you really are too loud, too much, too complicated. You begin editing yourself before anyone else can. Self‑censorship becomes a survival strategy. Cynicism becomes armor. Irony becomes self‑care. You throw the insults at yourself before anyone else gets the chance. You make yourself small before they crush you. You reclaim the T‑slur so it won’t hit you anymore.

And at some point, you barely recognize yourself. You’re just a shadow. Perfectly adjusted, perfectly irrelevant.

But maybe, on a quiet day, you ask yourself: What if I do take myself seriously? Not taller than anyone else. Just as tall as I actually am.

What if that is already radical enough?