As I had read Susan Stryker’s article on trans rage and the comparison of Victor Frankenstein’s unfortunate monster, I found myself following each word closely. I had so rarely seen anyone talk so openly about the pains and sorrows that are hidden about transgender identity. The discussion in class presented an extremely important point on who is allowed to show and vocalize strong negative emotions like rage and pain. As a person of color, as a queer and transgender individual, my permission of showing these emotions has been quite small, but looking further inward I know that there are other reasons I am not one to show these emotions. For my last post I call upon Stryker’s voice of these negative emotions and a monstrous identity, but not for my transgender identity, but one I am coming to terms with existing within me. I open up the physical patchwork body of mine to see inwards, within the darkness I see a cage chained to the ground. Moving closer I can hear the rattling of anger, I peer inside the cage to see a gnarled and patched up figure, teeth unnaturally pointed and sharp objects partially embedded in its body. I instinctively know these objects were brandished weapons with the purpose of subduing and killing this figure, but they have failed. This figure was human once and I can’t help the sadness I feel seeing what has become of them.

“What happened to you?” I ask cautiously.

The pause feels deafening.

“I’d think you’d recognize us, not many come back from the war of trauma unscathed.”

It’s said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, but no one should be forced to be this strong to the point of being caged in fear.

As an echo to the original article, my comparison of monstrous identity in regards to trauma is not one to be used against all who have trauma. This is my sole reclamation of my past and should never be used against individuals who do not wish to do the same. This post will include raw calls to mental health happenings in response to traumatic experiences. Though there will be no details of happenings, there are insinuations of abuse on varying levels.

What monster does abuse create? One who learns to read the impending air of anger and frustration, one who cuts away at parts of itself that they are told are in the way and annoying to deal with, one who fears confrontation to it’s core so they must stop it before it has the chance to begin, and one that learns to stay out of the way in hidden. I had always thought I was very good at defusing harrowing situations that threatened to spill into conflict, now I know it’s called “over accountability” and isn’t diffusing the situation but instinctively pulling all blame onto myself in hopes it will appease the upset party. I recall times where I have done this and even those who love me and are my closest friends have seen this as a form of admission of my guilt and jumped to “oh, this is your fault and is none of mine!”. I had thought I was being the bigger person when I would preemptively apologize when I sense the other person is frustrated or annoyed, now I know this is a phenomenon called “fawning” in which an individual attempts to deter escalation by conceding, a common occurrence in those with ptsd, trauma, and neurodivergency that makes grasping a social situation difficult. 

In a similar fashion that medical intervention is described as a body pulled apart and put back together differently, trauma does this with your identity. Being told “I’m not angry” then hearing doors slamming, loud footsteps and things being cleaned roughly to be audible throughout the house causes me to face away and recoil, just like Frankenstein’s monster at the sight and sound of villagers. Like the monster with torches, I too freeze up at “torches”, certain names, seeing certain words and imagery, hearing certain songs and seeing certain colors, the fear that only takes seconds to chill me to my core is alarming. An interesting point is that like many other individuals with trauma, I can’t remember everything that happened or that even triggers me. More than once have I been doing my usual errands of the day or going about my day and something causes me to freeze. My heart rate jumps up, I’m shaking, I can’t breathe, but I have no idea why. My body is preparing for a fight it has seen before but I have no recollection of. As I type this I feel myself clenched for I am about to say something I still haven’t fully accepted myself and have only ever told one other person, my dear friend of over a decade. There are holes in my memory. Periods of my life, my childhood, I have no memory of. This is a very scary reality to those with severe trauma, memory loss.

I often joke saying I remember a lot of very unimportant things and moments, but comparatively to my other memories, it is quite true. I can remember exactly what my friend of over a decade was wearing when I met her, where we were and what she was doing, but I can’t remember anything from before I moved to Maryland in later elementary school. I can remember the name of the kid who roughly pulled my long hair in the hallway in elementary school on spirit day and how I cried, but I can’t remember anything else from my time at this elementary school. I remember the outlandish situation that got me my date to prom but I don’t remember much of my freshman, sophomore, and junior year of high school. I have people see me and say hi and ask about my pets and classes, I smile and answer back before we wave goodbye, who was this person and where do they know me from, hell if I know, but obviously they know me enough to ask about my specific classes and pets. While I can somewhat go about my life without having to think about my memory issues, moments in which I am being yelled at for not remembering to do something or a specific conversation had is like I’m being roughly grabbed by my arm and pulled back to stare at the caged figure from before. I can only pretend things are so okay for so long before something causes me to remember that cages and chains can only keep dangerous things at bay for so long. Another thing that I live in fear of is that something will happen that will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. My mental health issues and general issues continue to pile onto my shoulders and my ability to stay standing falters. I’m not sure what I will do when things become too much or if I collapse from the weight, but I hope that what little I manage will suffice.

This semester we talked a lot about embodiment and in the beginning we discussed theorists who present a separation of body and mind. We exist on many different planes of existence and embodiment, who we are in relation to society, to culture, to the people we come in contact with, and even to the higher controls like government and productivity like capitalism. Similar to a point my old therapist made about names for different parts of our lives, we have identities for the different spaces we embody. Your matryoshka may not be monstrous, but you and many others still exist as identities within identities. Presenting this metaphor and as a take away, take a moment to think about your identities. Thought about it? Now as a matryoshka is, there is the “last” identity inside you all the way inside… What or who are they?