Are You Afraid of Me?
(This is intentionally presented in the fashion of a one on one conversation, with asides at times. It’s one of those conversations with someone that I just can’t have.)
Do I scare you? Does the way I talk worry you?
I’m not talking about intimidation. I’m tall, and I’ve always been told I’m stronger than I realize – usually just after hurting someone without realizing it, but that’s not what I mean.
When you begin working with a therapist, the default warning is something to the effect of “yourself or others…” As long as you aren’t going to hurt yourself or others, this stays private. Well, do you think I am a danger to others? Myself – that’s rather clear. A few suicide attempts on the record and plenty more urges to go around, there’s no doubt about that. But am I a danger to others?
Too soon, though it never really is, is it? Could I be an “Adam Lanza?” Am I a monster just waiting for something to snap to reveal some dark and horrible thing inside of me? Were these people ‘normal’ at some point, simply indulging in some idle imagination to vent anger and frustration, until the day that it wasn’t just idle anymore?
You say it’s a ‘fantasy’ world, and not reality, and it’s harmless (mostly) as long as it stays that way, but the idea that this could be a ‘fantasy’ inspires revulsion in me. I want nothing to do with this fantasy, much less its reality; the Auroras, the Newtowns, the Casas Adobes. But what if it’s not me who will decide that? What if some reclusive mental illness, some breakdown, some psychotic episode allowed this to be in control instead?
I know the realities of these situations – more often than not these people were never ‘normal,’ or hadn’t been in a very long time, and people “saw it coming.” The histories established in the aftermath showed a pattern of behavior long beforehand, and a certain planning and forethought, and you look at it in hindsight and know that this person was a nightmare in the making. But surely, there are the ones that nobody expected, and I have to wonder why. Were they just quiet, or did they conceal something from everyone, maybe even themselves?
So I ask you again: Do I scare you?
I think… I think I scare me, and I’m afraid.
About Author
Katie Bongiorno
Katie is a self identified out and proud transsexual woman, and a lesbian. She currently resides in Westchester, north of NYC, working for a major hospital in New York City as a Junior System Administrator. In her "spare" time, she likes to rebuild old computer systems and give them to friends and acquaintances (mostly other trans women) who lack a computer, as well as road bicycling, and daydreaming about building all manner of mildly complex items from kayaks to bows. When not doing these particular things, she often can be found taking apart just about anything she thinks she can get away with destroying for the sake of hacking, modifying, and tinkering. The most frequent victim of these assaults is usually her car. Often, she is wearing a dress or skirt far too nice (and possibly short) for the job on a mechanic's creeper, sticking halfway out from under the car like the Wicked Witch of the East. I mean, really now, how many girls do you know who change their oil in a Michael Kors dress?
So, I wrote this after a conversation with a close friend of mine who is also a psychiatrist. Though she is not *my* psychiatrist, once you have training like that, it can be hard not to let it influence your interactions with others. I have a rather ‘violent imagination,’ which is somewhat true, and I was indulging in some idle venting of frustrations I have with some day to day issues I face.
For example, in my neighborhood in Manhattan, there are groups of kids who ride dirt bikes around the streets, and they’re loud, annoying, and dangerous. My ‘idle idealation’ is often to the effect of using a police spike strip to blow their tires and wreck them all in one good shot. What happens to the riders in addition to the bikes is just a bonus. Virtually none of them wear helmets, doing 60+ MPH down side streets, blowing lights, doing wheelies and stunts down the street, and of course, they’re dirt bikes, so they’re not registered, the riders are obviously not licensed, and I’m just waiting for them to kill some toddler one day.
Anyway, I presented this, including this story and others that float around my mind to my psychiatrist. To my extreme relief, he indicated that he actually finds this sort of ‘idle rage’ healthy given my upbringing and history, and that we all have a certain amount of completely harmless fantasy, no matter how violent. Since my violence is rarely directed explicitly at harming people, more often property in elaborate revenge schemes, he finds it absolutely nothing to worry about, and, in fact, has reassured me that there’s nothing to worry about assuming I never actually try to act on any of these things.
In short, he stated I have absolutely nothing in common with the monsters who commit these horrible acts, possibly save a history of abuse and bullying, and some form of mental illness (though not necessarily any of the same).
What I am saying is that if you also have feelings and thoughts like this, don’t be afraid to express them to your doctor. You should obviously make it clear if you have no intent to act on them, that they are just ‘fantasies,’ but if you worry as I did, it may help you to be reassured that you are just like everyone else. (That is, intensely fucked up but mostly harmless.)