Saturday, August 5, 2017

Convenient Circumstance

I went back to the blogs today, 
the old ones

It made me feel things I had forgotten
It made me remember why I started writing in the first place

It broke my heart all over again.

Sometimes I miss being anonymous
Sometimes I miss being sad

I know none of this is rational
just like I know all of this is unsolvable,

But I'm scared I'm forgetting you.

A friend of mine asked if I would add them to Paris Underground the other day
and I spent 10 minutes trying to explain that no one uses it anymore,
(I'm fine with that)

But they insisted,
that's okay I guess

I don't think I'm the person I set out to be, (she's not real, but I'm close)
but are any of us, really?

Strangers call me 'miss'
Everyone calls me Sol (except my family)
I'm so much happier now

I've come all this way, faced my demons and grown, only to ask myself:

'Now what?'

Looking back, I still feel for the all the bloggers I've never met in person, and the ones I have
We all feel so alike here

(I'm disappointing in the flesh, amiright)

To think, after reading and commenting for years,
we still treat each other like strangers in the street,
I'm not saying that it's anyone's fault

I miss all of this,
it scares me how much I've already forgotten.

We're all victims of circumstance, but we're also victims of convenience.

Don't forget that.

Sunday, June 11, 2017


Click above to play/pause accompanied post music.

Dear friend,

It's June 2017. Summer.

Friends are back from college,
I'm someone's girlfriend now.
I have a social life,
I finally came out at work.
I'm working on another film,
I'm making enough money to move out.
I'm starting to love who I am,
I'm starting to look like who I am.

So why am I still so damn sad?

I still have trouble concentrating,
I'm still tired all the time,
I know what these are symptoms of.

But I'm not about to live in a world full of symptoms.

I know my mental illness isn't entirely in my control,
But I refuse to accept that.

I will do my best to be happy, to choose to be happy.
Yet more and more often, I'm finding myself in the spaces in between these words, vast.

It feels as though the symptoms get worse the happier I become,
I don't understand this concept.

I would pray to God if I believed in such a thing,
but she's much nicer in the abstract.

I've written the word 'I' twenty seven times already, (twenty eight)
and maybe that's the problem.

I (twenty nine) know this is likely something I (thirty) will struggle with my entire life,
statistically speaking.

I (thirty one) know we're all broken,
I (thirty two) know that's the point of all this.

I just wish
I could be broken
a little less.
(Thirty four)

Sunday, May 7, 2017

HOW TO: get on with your life, in eighteen simple steps

Click above to play/pause accompanied post music.


Come out as transgender during senior year in a high school with the highest percentage of active mormons in the world.


Procrastinate calling an endocrinological clinic for a year and a half because you're scared to dial a phone number. (Turns out there's an email, go figure.)


Get super nostalgic about high school, even though at least 70% of it was a complete nightmare. Graduate.


Spend the entire summer aimlessly wandering between friends while simultaneously writing a screenplay about someone who has friends during the summer.


As the weather deteriorates, so will your mental health. Begin irrationally doubting your identity due to your lack of a supportive environment.


After fretting for a year and a half, call the clinic. They will be closed. A week later, call again. They will give you an appointment: October 31st.


Experience poetic irony. You've been wearing a costume your entire life, and you begin taking it off on Halloween. After sitting in the car for 20 minutes, pace in the hallway for 10, then enter the waiting room. Eventually, somebody will take your blood pressure. They will look at the read-out, before glancing back at you and asking, 'Are you nervous?'


Swallow four milligrams of estriol, staring at yourself in the mirror. Nothing should really feel any different. (Yet.)


Don't bother to tell anyone you started hormone replacement therapy a month ago. Don't celebrate at all. In high school, you thought you'd have a team of friends congratulating you, helping you, when this finally happened. Doing this alone will be harder than you thought it would be.


Make the film from the screenplay with a group of friends you'd like to know better. It's the hardest project you've ever worked on, and at times you'll question if this is what you want to do with you life. Eventually, you submit a shitty rough cut to the biggest youth film festival in the world.


Receive an acceptance email from the film festival, and do not believe it. While you're embarrassed about your film, you're also excited you get to go to Seattle.


Go to Emily's mission farewell. Ensure you are hanging out in Emily's room at 1:12 PM. Say hi to Clara. She will write her phone number on a piece a paper, even when you offer to type it. She will accidentally tear the paper. You will accidentally type in her number wrong a week later.


Wait for Clara to invite you to the Pride Center support group. You'll have a great time, and an even better time the next week, because Clara forgets to come, and you'll actually have to talk to people.


Talk to people.


Drive to Seattle for the film festival. After missing the 10:40 ferry, take the 11:25 to Bainbridge island. At 1:14PM, find the old book store run by an even older man. Bryce will ask him where to eat. Go there. After the meal, the waitress will return with you credit cards, and start reading the names off the receipts. First, she'll read 'Ethan..' before looking around the table and seeing only one boy: Bryce. She'll hand it to him, adding 'Well, this is obviously yours!'

After she leaves, Bryce will hand you your card, saying 'it's time to update this.'


Hold you friend's hands tight, as you film begins to play in a darkened theatre. During the applause as the credits roll, you will, for the first time, realize you've made a good film, and that you've been too hard on yourself. You will be invited to other film festivals.


Realize that you haven't just been hard on yourself as a filmmaker, but also in your appearance. Tell your parents you're moving to Salt Lake in the fall, and that you're not going to look like Ethan anymore.


Look in the mirror. Look hard. Ask yourself:

Have I made it?