Trauma, Transition, and Truth

My Conversation With Benjamin Boyce (And Afterthoughts)

I sat down (actually, continued just sitting in my apartment online) with Benjamin Boyce to speak about some of my experiences before, during, and after transitioning. It is part of his Detrans Stories series, but I also made sure to introduce my Funk philosophy and some other ideas about psychology and mental health.

He titled the conversation “Trauma, Transition, and Truth” and per my request, included a funk-based description on the video title “The Funk and the Fury.”

The conversation itself was an engaging experience and I was happy to have a captive audience to lecture about absurdism and some of the origins of Funk God and art, which are my preferred topics of discussion, but often neglected for the more…trauma porn-esque gender stories. Benjamin is a great listener and I knew he already had a stronger foundation than most when it came to detransition, allowing me to feel quite comfortable sharing my story and even joking about the hard times. I felt relaxed to be my impish self, despite the more tragic elements of my life story.

What I’ve since found interesting are the responses to my interview by people who aren’t familiar with my story. I’ve gathered a consensus that a cohort of individuals do not know what to make of a sardonic approach to discussing intimate details of suffering, especially transition or PTSD related suffering. Some concluded that because I repurpose pain into art, or have a sense of humor about the things that I’ve cried about every day for over a decade, that I am simply lying, embellishing, or making up having PTSD, trauma, or really any other problems besides just being a narcissistic imbecile who is now getting attention for illusionary mental health issues.

I’m not going to pretend that these accusations don’t bother me. They do trigger (legitimately trigger, not trendy trigger) my core wounds of self-doubt, shame, and invalidation and denial of my abuse experiences from childhood. I also don’t enjoy being misunderstood in my experiences (by how many times I’ve told them by now, essentially black humor stand up routines) because as I often joke about, the pain ought to be used for something, and when I use it to inform, entertain, or share and it is dismissed, everything feels like a waste of time.

My philosophy is that these excruciating years of suffering be turned into something worthwhile, including education, wisdom, humor, and art. If when using them for those purposes, the intention is lost, the pain feels like what it actually was; unnecessary, unfair, and unbearable. However, I also recognize my need to practice self-regulation, and non-reactivity, and these cruel and inaccurate analyzations of my most vulnerable life experiences provide the perfect way to strengthen resilience to criticism, and remember my inner dedication to the truth, and my abilities.

No jester wants to be laughed at vs. laughed with, especially if it’s about the loss of their intimate body parts, waste of childhood, or suicidal crisis, but I acknowledge that these comments exemplify everything I was discussing about authenticity, having an internal locus of control, and the Absurd. How absurd it is to share life-changing personal realizations in earnest, only to be shot down for doing so. I’m not going to slip off the soap box, though, because it reminds me that the target audience cannot be everybody; it must only be people who are emotionally available to be connected with, helped, entertained, etc.

On principle I find it appalling to lack empathy for child abuse or medical neglect, but there is a higher principle I believe in which is telling the truth no matter what. That has always been my greatest power, and my greatest vulnerability. Earnestness is what made me unique and funky as a child, got me into trouble, and what sets me apart today. Funk God isn’t some narcissistic effort to receive praise for uniqueness either in suffering or art; Funk God is about finding truth, and using it to inspire meaning.

The more negative response I get for telling the truth, the more I understand why I must continue to speak it. I joke about being some sort of martyr not because of having some unique pain others could never possibly understand, or a noble self-sacrifice to be applauded over, but because I’m aware that truth is an unpopular currency, and having genuine honesty to the point of legitimate vulnerability, is an alienating way to live. To call myself Funk God, I must accept that I will always be a polarizing figure, and be able to, as Benjamin Boyce described a funky “lone gun” on the wild west of the cosmos. (And especially if I want to promote my rats.)