Twenty past five

I woke up not knowing whether I was awake or asleep. Horrible night, of dreams and nightmares that are all coming together. I dreamed I was asleep, and woke up alone, in my own room, in my own bed, but I looked at my watch and it had stopped, and it was dark outside, and I got up and went to see what was happening, and I couldn't find anyone, and I couldn't find a clock, and I was terrified of something that was about to happen but I didn't know what, and it seemed vital I find out what time it was, but I couldn't. I don't know why I was so scared, and I know I had other dreams... I can remember a dream that involved a big room, like the lab I do Physics in, but it was older. Big, spreading, with high timbers, just like the lab I know, but somehow much older, and scarier, and yet again I don't know why I was so scared because nothing actually happened, whatever it was was implied and I've blanked it all out, except once again the clock had been removed from the lab and I didn't know what time it was and it was somehow very important that I know.

I woke up, alone in my room, and I was fairly sure I was awake, but there was blood in my mouth, which seemed like a dreamlike thing to happen, but I think I must be awake. I must also have bitten my tongue at some point during the night.

My watch has stopped at twenty past five.

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Something more than this

Just got off the phone with my mother, who managed to talk for five minutes solidly.

I am this close to giving up, letting go.

I did once before. Gave up. It lasted a whole twenty-four hours before I changed my mind again. I did it because I was so sick of fighting.

Again, I'm sick of it. Feel no shame for what you are, but I do. I can't help but wish things were different. Maybe... if my skin were a different colour.

Paler.

I wish I could make myself stop writing, stop wanting. Because if I could only stop... then I could forget I ever thought any different. I could give up fighting and go with the flow, and how nice that would be.

I am not special. There's nothing to say it will be different for me. The glass ceiling is glass, but it is there, and I'll hit it, it's over before it's begun.

Like she said, she is right. She is, she wants me to be happy, she does. She doesn't see I can never be happy like this. She thinks give me job security, enough money to be independent, the status that goes with the letters "MD" after my name, and it'll be all right, I'll be okay. I will be okay. Everything will be just that, okay. I can live. I can never forget that I do have dreams.

But dreams won't really get me anywhere. I hate being torn. There is something more than this... something I'm missing, because a choice can't be so stark, so two-dimensional. I can take the road well-travelled, follow it to the end, rise upwards steadily by virtue of those letters - "MD" - and live a normal, convention life for someone of my gender and colour.

Or, I can just not do that, and break my mother's heart, and try and do what I want, what I'd like, even though I'm not white, I'm a stranger in a strange land, and I'll never make it. That's the thing - I'll never make it, and I know in the end I'll have to turn round and say, you were right, I was wrong, I should have done what you said all those years ago, and I'm so tired.

I want out, I'm giving up.

Thank you

I don't know how to express this.

I guess, what I'm trying to say... all the people who took the time to try and make me listen when I was doing my best to be perverse...

Thank you.

I have still got problems. I stil have to make a choice. But I guess... I do know what I'm going to do, and it's not going to be giving up. And I never really knew how many friends I have, or in how many places.

I love you all. I really, honestly do, and tbe fact there are people who took the time to respond to someone who is still a stranger to them... that makes me feel good. About everything.

Thank you,

~Iona