It's the double- and triple-checking to make sure I know which buses I'm taking to the airport.
It's the stress of packing most of my own food because I may not have access to the foods that I need to stay healthy.
It's the fear of packing the 'right' clothes and performing the 'right' mannerisms that will enable me to pass as a cis man, because Orlando is not a safe place for my gender expression.
It's the anxiety of not being able to find my boarding gate because the signs are not visually accessible and SeaTac airport employees are not always polite and helpful.
It's the apprehension of seeing family and old friends, and the transphobic and hurtful comments I know are going to be said--with and without harmful intent.
It's knowing the hurts of childhood and adolescence are asleep in the next room.
It's knowing the hurts of childhood and adolescence are asleep in the next room.
It's the realisation that despite my constant whining, this rainy-dreary place is more of a Home than Florida ever was.
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