May 8th

Whenever I think of this month I think of three things:

1.     Skipping my birthday

2.     Moving away from home after a year to work on another campaign

3.     May 8^th

Cerasi, who is delectable, came to spend the day with me at my office. We got a gift certificate from my coworker to a nearby restaurant, so we went there for dinner. During the dinner we inhaled a piece of chocolate cake, but also we chatted about life. Cerasi brought up the great point that I was not over May 8^th and how hard I worked to not see things go my way.

It’s weird to think that nearly 3 days ago a bunch of bigots decided to put hate into the constitution for they are afraid. Afraid of people like me who want the 1188 benefits that federal marriage brings. Instead I was told in my home state that I do not belong there anymore.

That all my hard work was in vain.

Yes,

I united the activist community of my hometown.

Yes,

My office became a central location for regional political activities.

Yes,

I saw the potential in my hometown to embrace me like I never thought it could.

Does that resolve the crushing sense that I am unwelcome in my home state?

No.

61% of people in my state do not believe I should have 1188 rights at any time.

100% of my opposition voted to put discrimination into the constitution and held a fake wedding ceremony to mock me. They also said that people can live the way they want to, just not have equal right.

13% of my state says that my livelihood should be a felony.

Currently, I am not even considering moving back to my home state.

Would I move to a state with a similar amendment?

Absolutely.

But why not my home state?

Is it because we once had a segregationist, homophobic, anti-woman Senator who has left his stain and protégées in our congress? Is it because of hurricanes? Is it because of 11% unemployment? Is it because enough is enough and I just want to be somewhere where I feel accepted and have pride?

Or, is it because I had faith that things can change?

I just realized that most of this piece so far has been a series of questions. I honestly do not know the answers.

Some days I still cry about it. Concurrent thoughts of use, value, societal burden all converge together into this mass of futility. Going to another state was my only therapy after May 8^th.

From May 8^th until May 13^th I packed up, giving myself no time to dwell.

The 9^th I cried, of course, between bags of goodwill donations.

The 10^th was the interview and confirmation of my new employment.

The 11^th became Avengers and trash bags overflowing the dumpster.

The 12^th involved skyping D while packing the car.

The 13^th was my last day living with my parents a year after graduation.

BUT…

May 8^th

14 hours of phones, canvassing, training, food ordering, holding back the tears, frequently calling parents, friends and family and waiting.

That morning I woke up with a bubble in my stomach. Not the kind that hurt or make you feel sick. The kind you get when something bad is happening. Usually this bubble sprouts during mortem moments. We could do nothing more than bring our people to the polls.

Polls closed at 7:30PM.

We had the results by 9PM.

Nearby there was a party planned for my office and one of our congressional allies who helped us with volunteering.

Home by 10 PM shocked by my lack of control.

May 9^th

My mother lost a few of her close friends because of the way they voted.

We celebrated my birthday by my family getting into a huge argument.

I told my parents that I was leaving the house Monday whether I had a job or not.

May 13^th

I slept with my dog for the last time, knowing that I would never live in that house again.

BUT…

There was one May 8^th I liked.

There was a boy in school who had a May 8^th birthday. His birthday was the day after mine so my birthday that year was on a Friday while his was on a Saturday. That Saturday I went to his birthday at a miniature golf course. It was kind of weird golf course next to a major road near the mall. The water was bleach blue and the green dinosaur on the course had paint chipping off. Mini golf was fun but nothing to rave about.

Of course the best part of any kids birthday party at a childrens’ attraction is the icing-laden cake and skim milk. This was nearly twenty years ago and now they serve pink lemonade or soda with the cake. I know because I went there last year as a gag birthday and did not like it at all.

As we were playing video games, hyped up on the icing and energy I needed to burn, I found out I did not like playing the games everyone else liked. Everyone was playing in the ball pit or whack a mole. My only desire was to not mess up my dress so instead I played the bowling game that I was great at cheating at and the Grease pinball machine. ABT liked the same games I did.

ABT was a kid in my class, who also did not want to mess up her party dress and was also told by her mother that the ball pit was disgusting. (Thank you hypochondriac mother) I did not know it at the time, but I had something of a crush on her. I did not know what this was because even though I was in the single digits, it was already hammered into my head that a crush was between a boy and a girl. Since no boys interested me, in this framework I had no crushes.

Everything ABT did was fun to me. She was the one who taught my how to cheat at the bowling game. We walked around holding hands, which the mothers thought were cute, except ABT’s mom who took her away from the party immediately after our third consideration of entering the ball pit. ABT kissed me on the cheek a year later, which caused ABT to switch classes.

Maybe I should keep one May 8^th memory more than another.

Maybe I should remember holding hands and cheating at bowling.

Maybe I should remember that I united a community that even my campaign did not think was salvageable.

Maybe now is a good time to let it all out and forget May 8^th altogether.

That’s impossible.

May 8^th will always be on the calendar.

It will always be the day after my birthday.

It will always be the day I held ABT’s hand for the first time.

It will always be the day that I learned sometimes hard work is not rewarded.

But May 8^th

Also taught me what kind of person I was under pressure.

It taught me that I am the kind of person who can unite a community

It taught me that I am the kind of person that exceeds expectations.

May 8^th is who I am.

May 8^th changed my life.

Now I know who I am.

I am worth something.

Nobody can take that away.