velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 21

JAIRE

During my childhood, a Christian psychiatrist used gaslighting tactics to make me question my own identity. The sessions centered on my status as a child of God and my sinful opposition to the Creator's choices. He created me as a girl. Therefore, I was a girl, and any other identification was blasphemy.

Every Sunday, Momma lugged me to the altar for prayer. Ministers surrounded me with their hands, rocking my body as they spoke in a chaotic chorus of syllables. Their zealous intonations echoed in my ears, and their spit pelted me, trying to wash out any demon spirit.

Although I sensed the Spirit's presence, it misaligned with the gibberish raining down on me. While God consistently told me my way of life wasn't wrong, I wondered why He didn't give the same guidance to those around me. If He loved his queer children as much as His straight ones, why were we subject to abuse, exclusion, and condemnation?

Maybe it's not as simple. Perhaps hate is engrained too deeply in society. Possibly, those who claim to bend to God's word ignore His revelations when their convictions are contradicted.

As a toddler, I began telling my mom I was a boy and continued to do so throughout my childhood, begging her to take me seriously. My prayers for understanding persisted, unanswered until I turned fourteen.

It was my third year at a Christian youth retreat. Marketed as a nature-filled summer vacation for kids who wish to strengthen their relationship with God, the camp was a judgment fest for children like myself.

Some counselors were chill college students who supervised us to fluff their resumes. Most were abusive assholes who forced us to open up about our "sins" and then threatened us with the concept of Hell.

During my last year at camp, an older counselor with blue eyes and a receding hairline obstructed my path to the lunch hall. As my peers lollygagged out of the cabin, his glacial stare froze me in place. My stomach grumbled with hunger as the mouth-watering smell of grilled hotdogs permeated the hut. Once we were alone, he promised he wouldn't keep me long and only wished to ask me something. His unsettling question made the scent of food revolting. A surge of bile rose in my esophagus.

The question has become fuzzier over time, but it was related to my genitalia. After his query, he yanked my shorts down and then his. When his hands extended towards me again, my fist collided with his nose. If I remember one thing, it's the crunch of his bones breaking and the blood pouring from his nostrils.

He dragged me towards the head leader's office, his grip on my arm leaving bruises and his words increasingly menacing. Once we barged into the main cabin, he produced a fabricated story. According to him, I punched him in the face randomly while he quoted a scripture at me. I countered with the truth, but as one of the few Black people on the campsite, my accusations were futile.

Pops was called and drove at breakneck speed, completing the two-hour drive in one. Sensing something was amiss, Pops rose hell until threatened with police intervention. The risk of charges being pressed against us lingered in the air, casting a shadow over our every move. Few officers will believe a queer, Black kid and outraged Black father over two God-fearing, traditional white men.

On the ride home, Pops asked me for the facts. In a quiet voice, I told him, "No one ever believes me. There's no need to waste my breath."

"J, whatever that man did to you, I'm sure it warranted a broken nose," Pops said. "As your father and protector, I gotta know what went down."

Tears welled, and the world beyond the window became a blurry canvas of passing evergreens. As I recounted what happened, Pops' foot eased off the gas pedal. He guided the car to the gravelly roadside and abruptly stopped. He clutched the steering wheel with such intensity that his knuckles seemed on the brink of tearing through his skin. After apologizing for my experience and his absence, he promised me he was going to "get that motherfucker."