CW: mentions of suicidal ideation, fatphobia, transphobia, JK Rowling, depression, anxiety

My life has been full of endings lately. And the unsettling part is that these endings haven’t been followed by new beginnings. I’m stuck in place while things I love crumble around me. (Please excuse my angst, I’m reading a YA novel right now.) I’ve been going through a grieving process while seeing these things leave my life, and not being able to move on in life has made it difficult to remember the good parts, especially since some of these endings are happening slowly, beating me down every time I have to face them.

Aside from the obvious annihilation of what was previously normal life, three big parts of my life have recently ended (or are rapidly approaching their end). Even though all three of these endings are bittersweet, I need to talk about them. They are just sitting inside me, festering wounds on the mental-illness Hydra monster that already has wild mood swings.

School: Graduating without closure

Like many Americans who grew up in the middle class, I have been in school since I was five (before if you count preschool). I am also among the unfortunate group of students who graduated during a quarantine, meaning this particular ending has been anticlimactic, overshadowed by a huge global event that seems to touch every part of our lives.

I feel gipped of the excitement and independence that comes from graduating college. I want to be pumped to start a job, even an entry-level job, and find a shitty apartment to live in. I want to feel proud to have accomplished something monumental, and I want to reap the benefits of that.

Even though I didn’t plan on walking for graduation, I still wanted to celebrate in my own way. Life sucks right now. It sucks in ways I could have never predicted. I want the predictable suckiness of a twenty-something with a humanities degree, not the catastrophic suckiness of a pandemic.

For a long, long time, my identity has revolved around being a student. Even when I didn’t want it to. In high school, I often lamented that my entire life was filled with school. I rarely did anything else. And while I eventually escaped that trap sometime during college, my main identity was still “student.” Now the “main identity” category in my brain is empty. And I don’t know what to fill it with. I’ve worked hard for my prize just to have it snatched away right before I earned it.

The ending of my school life was not unexpected. Of course I knew it would end when I graduated. But I didn’t want it to end like this. All of the suffering and anxiety that school has caused me seems like it was all for naught. The accomplishment has been emptied of meaning, at least in the short term.

School did bring me lots of good, though. I made wonderful friends that feel like family. I discovered and embraced my identity as a queer, trans guy. I’ve learned tons, read tons, and accomplished tons. I’ve done editing work for various school publications, and I’ve taken writing classes that have changed me as a writer forever. I can think more critically and trust myself to get the work done. I can let myself let go every once in a while instead of being so anxious that I am in my head the whole time. I have gained valuable adulting skills. I have become a better photographer and artist. I have become a better person.

I both loved and hated school the entire time I participated in it. And I want to be rewarded with more than a quarantine, even if that sounds a little petty.

Indigo Bridge Books & Café: Waking up from my dream job

It always sounds dramatic to say this, but getting a job at Indigo Bridge saved my life. Summer 2019 was a lonely and stressful one. The only time I’ve ever been more depressed was during a bad year in high school that I barely remember. I kept giving myself checkpoints to live until: just wait for my visit to see my sister. Wait for that concert. Wait for that visit to Colorado.

Then I got rejected for the one job I actually wanted: being a bookseller/barista at my favorite bookstore. I had just started at Walmart, and it was sucking my soul out. I kept my gender a secret because I didn’t feel safe, and I kept having to drive this random guy home who talked about his anger issues. Not exactly a way to make someone feel safe. Anyway, being rejected made me feel awkward about going back to the store, one of the few places in Lincoln, Nebraska, that actually made me feel safe as a queer person. I could be myself fully. And I thought I had lost that.

This rejection came right before I was going to drive out to see my aunt for Denver Pride. I told myself that I just had to stay alive until the end of June. That was all. That was manageable.

While in Colorado, I got the good news that the person they had hired instead of me was no longer able to take the job. This small hope was enough for me. It became a torch that I could pick up and take control of the light.

I returned home early from my trip and started my training, which meant waking up super early, dealing with gobs of anxiety, and messing up a lot while learning. But it was so worth it. Working at Indigo Bridge has been one of the best experiences of my life. It is one of the few times that the anxiety has felt worth the reward. I didn’t make a lot of money, but I was surrounded by books, accepting friends and coworkers, and many delicious types of tea. I was trusted with tasks and never reprimanded for messing up, merely taught how to fix the problem and handle it next time. Asking for help or information has been tough for me most of my life (thanks unreachable expectations!), but I never felt bad asking about something I didn’t know, even if I should have known it already. I felt comfortable and brave and able. I was loved and accepted immediately.

Now Indigo is closing. Another sucker punch from the universe. It seems that Colorado is always the place I get Indigo-related news, as I was there when the owner announced that she was closing Indigo indefinitely. And I was crushed. I feel like I am losing a community that I participated in with my whole heart. Just like I thought a year ago, I am losing the only place I have felt fully safe and fully comfortable with myself. Lincoln has become more formidable. Luckily, this pandemic has forced me to prioritize my mental health, and while it feels heart-rending right now, I know I will find another sanctuary. I just wish I didn’t have to.

I’ve always wanted to work at an independent bookstore, and I am incredibly grateful for this experience, but every day I go to work feels like it crushes me a bit more. I have to help prepare for the closing of my favorite place. I have to watch the store I’ve put love into close, the people I’ve become friends with get fired or quit because of poor management, and my future become uprooted. I wanted to stay Lincoln to continue working there, but now I feel aimless. Why am I still here? What is my purpose for staying in Lincoln if I don’t have Indigo to go to?

Losing the one place in my city that I felt one hundred percent safe is really hard. I’ve never had a place like that, and now that I’ve found it, it’s disappearing.

One year. I had this comfort for one year, and it seems like it will be near impossible to find it again anytime soon. I’m scared and heartbroken, as I imagine many people are right now. The things that I could rely on are falling down one by one. And this time it’s not the Hydra monster doing it. It’s out of my control.

Harry Potter and the Transphobic Asshole: Begrudgingly making room for new passions

So, JK Rowling really just chucked the second chance we all gave her right into a burning trashcan, didn’t she?

Like a lot of readers, Harry Potter has become a big part of my identity. Reading the books and watching the movies has felt like going home since I read and watched them in sixth grade. The HP universe has sucked up a lot of my money, time, and hope.

However, since sixth grade, I have changed a lot, especially in regard to my critical thinking skills and celebration of differentness. This is good, but it also means that it’s harder for me to look the other direction when something comes to my attention.

And now JK has, once again, bashed trans people. And I am a trans person. I can’t look the other way. Her fatphobia in the books was bad, but it didn’t affect me, so I didn’t think about it too much. It was problematic but not enough to take away any enjoyment. But now she has been transphobic time and time again, and I am paying attention. I hope that I will learn from this and evolve as a citizen of the world. Someone who is bigoted against any group of people is a problem, not just groups I’m a part of. Especially if that person has a wide-reaching voice.

It’s despicable that she took time during Pride Month and a pivotal moment in the Black Lives Matter movement to shift attention to her discriminatory views.

I’ve been left confused. I want to say I can separate the artist from the art, but I just can’t this time. I can do it with Orson Scott Card because I’ve only ever bought his books used, and I haven’t constructed part of my identity around his works. The Pathfinder series was awesome to read for my inner physics nerd, but it’s not part of me. I’ve invested a lot of myself in Harry Potter. I would classify myself as a Hufflepuff; this was a way I let people know who I was. The books offered a way to bond with my sister and the (still) amazing HP community. Now HP feels tainted. Even if I am able to enjoy the books and movies again in the future, there will always be a dark cloud hanging over Hogwarts. A cloud with a friggin’ Dark Mark. A story of love and acceptance, albeit one with problems, has now been tainted by hatred and ignorance. The very things that I would expect the creator of Harry Potter to be against.

While I sort out my feelings on this—because I do believe we can like problematic works of art as long as we address their issues and their creators’ issues—I’ve removed many of my HP belongings from my apartment and brought them back to my childhood bedroom to give myself the space to reflect without being surrounded on all sides.

My therapist has recently assigned me the task of coming up with one good thing at the end of every day (which is when I am writing this), and in the interest of that, here’s the silver lining. The absence of HP obsession has allowed me to explore more deeply other fictional worlds that I love. The Harry Potter series is not the only piece of media or art that feels like coming home for me. I can turn to Paper Towns by John Green or The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I can look to The Raven Cycle or the Six of Crows duology. I have trans Spider-Man to support me. I can watch the Doctor Who episodes my mom recorded on YouTube TV.

There are other things that can fill this hole, but I still wish the hole hadn’t been dug in the first place. (Though maybe we can trap JK in it without access Twitter…) So many bad things have been happening lately, and while this is a pretty benign one in the sense of lives taken, it is a big one in terms of identities shaken.

To end this section, I’m going to steal a recommendation from the podcast Dear Hank & John, which is to read Sorted by Jackson Bird. (I was going to give a link to a place to buy this book, but I actually want to encourage you to support your local bookstores.) His memoir became one of my favorite books when I read it, and I do plan on re-reading it during this weird time. Jackson Bird is an activist in the HP community and an overall wonderful person, so I hope that his story restores my ability to enjoy HP and be active in the community around it.

Conclusion: Dealing with closed doors

Along with these monumental endings, I have also dealt with: the death of my old laptop, leaving my apartment, the discontinuation of scrapbooking materials I’ve used forever, lack of drive to run or even move, and the Green Day/Fall Out Bot/Weezer concert my dad and I were supposed to go to has been postponed by at least a year.

 When one door closes, another one is supposed to open. But right now, I’m stuck in a room, surrounded by closed and locked doors. I have no keys, and I can’t hope to find a key anytime soon. I might have to learn how to pick locks. Or maybe forge a key of my own. Both tasks that will take a long time to master.

For now, I’m stuck, and all I can do is look for a way out while keeping myself busy in this room that feels like a prison. The wounded Hydra monster is locked in here with me; it’s restless and angry, which makes me restless and angry.

But even in the face of all this, I feel resilient. I feel like I can come out victorious because I have hopes and dreams that I still plan on achieving, even if the universe throws me some huge obstacles. Endings are sad, but I still have hope that some beginnings will find me eventually. I’ll get one of these doors open, you’ll see!